note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the works of alexandre dumas in thirty volumes the queen's necklace illustrated with drawings on wood by eminent french and american artists [illustration: cagliostro and oliva _dumas, vol. eight_] [illustration] new york p.f. collier and son mcmiv the queen's necklace. prologue.--the predictions. an old nobleman and an old maÎtre-d'hÔtel. it was the beginning of april, , between twelve and one o'clock. our old acquaintance, the marshal de richelieu, having with his own hands colored his eyebrows with a perfumed dye, pushed away the mirror which was held to him by his valet, the successor of his faithful raffè and shaking his head in the manner peculiar to himself, "ah!" said he, "now i look myself;" and rising from his seat with juvenile vivacity, he commenced shaking off the powder which had fallen from his wig over his blue velvet coat, then, after taking a turn or two up and down his room, called for his maître-d'hôtel. in five minutes this personage made his appearance, elaborately dressed. the marshal turned towards him, and with a gravity befitting the occasion, said, "sir, i suppose you have prepared me a good dinner?" "certainly, your grace." "you have the list of my guests?" "i remember them perfectly, your grace; i have prepared a dinner for nine." "there are two sorts of dinners, sir," said the marshal. "true, your grace, but----" the marshal interrupted him with a slightly impatient movement, although still dignified. "do you know, sir, that whenever i have heard the word 'but,' and i have heard it many times in the course of eighty-eight years, it has been each time, i am sorry to say, the harbinger of some folly." "your grace----" "in the first place, at what time do we dine?" "your grace, the citizens dine at two, the bar at three, the nobility at four----" "and i, sir?" "your grace will dine to-day at five." "oh, at five!" "yes, your grace, like the king----" "and why like the king?" "because, on the list of your guests, is the name of a king." "not so, sir, you mistake; all my guests to-day are simply noblemen." "your grace is surely jesting; the count haga,[a] who is among the guests----" [a] the name of count haga was well known as one assumed by the king of sweden when traveling in france. "well, sir!" "the count haga is a king." "i know no king so called." "your grace must pardon me then," said the maître-d'hôtel, bowing, "but, i believed, supposed----" "your business, sir, is neither to believe nor suppose; your business is to read, without comment, the orders i give you. when i wish a thing to be known, i tell it; when i do not tell it, i wish it unknown." the maître-d'hôtel bowed again, more respectfully, perhaps, than he would have done to a reigning monarch. "therefore, sir," continued the old marshal, "you will, as i have none but noblemen to dinner, let us dine at my usual hour, four o'clock." at this order, the countenance of the maître-d'hôtel became clouded as if he had heard his sentence of death; he grew deadly pale; then, recovering himself, with the courage of despair he said, "in any event, your grace cannot dine before five o'clock." "why so, sir?" cried the marshal. "because it is utterly impossible." "sir," said the marshal, with a haughty air, "it is now, i believe, twenty years since you entered my service?" "twenty-one years, a month, and two weeks." "well, sir, to these twenty-one years, a month, and two weeks, you will not add a day, nor an hour. you understand me, sir," he continued, biting his thin lips and depressing his eyebrows; "this evening you seek a new master. i do not choose that the word impossible shall be pronounced in my house; i am too old now to begin to learn its meaning." the maître-d'hôtel bowed a third time. "this evening," said he, "i shall have taken leave of your grace, but, at least, up to the last moment, my duty shall have been performed as it should be;" and he made two steps towards the door. "what do you call as it should be?" cried the marshal. "learn, sir, that to do it as it suits me is to do it as it should be. now, i wish to dine at four, and it does not suit me, when i wish to dine at four, to be obliged to wait till five." "your grace," replied the maître-d'hôtel, gravely, "i have served as butler to his highness the prince de soubise, and as steward to his eminence the cardinal de rohan. with the first, his majesty, the late king of france, dined once a year; with the second, the emperor of austria dined once a month. i know, therefore, how a sovereign should be treated. when he visited the prince de soubise, louis xv. called himself in vain the baron de gonesse; at the house of m. de rohan, the emperor joseph was announced as the count de packenstein; but he was none the less emperor. to-day, your grace also receives a guest, who vainly calls himself count haga--count haga is still king of sweden. i shall leave your service this evening, but count haga will have been treated like a king." "but that," said the marshal, "is the very thing that i am tiring myself to death in forbidding; count haga wishes to preserve his incognito as strictly as possible. well do i see through your absurd vanity; it is not the crown that you honor, but yourself that you wish to glorify; i repeat again, that i do not wish it imagined that i have a king here." "what, then, does your grace take me for? it is not that i wish it known that there is a king here." "then in heaven's name do not be obstinate, but let us have dinner at four." "but at four o'clock, your grace, what i am expecting will not have arrived." "what are you expecting? a fish, like m. vatel?" "does your grace wish that i should tell you?" "on my faith, i am curious." "then, your grace, i wait for a bottle of wine." "a bottle of wine! explain yourself, sir, the thing begins to interest me." "listen then, your grace; his majesty the king of sweden--i beg pardon, the count haga i should have said--drinks nothing but tokay." "well, am i so poor as to have no tokay in my cellar? if so, i must dismiss my butler." "not so, your grace; on the contrary, you have about sixty bottles." "well, do you think count haga will drink sixty bottles with his dinner?" "no, your grace; but when count haga first visited france, when he was only prince royal, he dined with the late king, who had received twelve bottles of tokay from the emperor of austria. you are aware that the tokay of the finest vintages is reserved exclusively for the cellar of the emperor, and that kings themselves can only drink it when he pleases to send it to them." "i know it." "then, your grace, of these twelve bottles of which the prince royal drank, only two remain. one is in the cellar of his majesty louis xvi.----" "and the other?" "ah, your grace!" said the maître-d'hôtel, with a triumphant smile, for he felt that, after the long battle he had been fighting, the moment of victory was at hand, "the other one was stolen." "by whom, then?" "by one of my friends, the late king's butler, who was under great obligations to me." "oh! and so he gave it to you." "certainly, your grace," said the maître-d'hôtel with pride. "and what did you do with it?" "i placed it carefully in my master's cellar." "your master! and who was your master at that time?" "his eminence the cardinal de rohan." "ah, mon dieu! at strasbourg?" "at saverne." "and you have sent to seek this bottle for me!" cried the old marshal. "for you, your grace," replied the maître-d'hôtel, in a tone which plainly said, "ungrateful as you are." the duke de richelieu seized the hand of the old servant and cried, "i beg pardon; you are the king of maîtres d'hôtel." "and you would have dismissed me," he replied, with an indescribable shrug of his shoulders. "oh, i will pay you one hundred pistoles for this bottle of wine." "and the expenses of its coming here will be another hundred; but you will grant that it is worth it." "i will grant anything you please, and, to begin, from to-day i double your salary." "i seek no reward, your grace; i have but done my duty." "and when will your courier arrive?" "your grace may judge if i have lost time: on what day did i have my orders for the dinner?" "why, three days ago, i believe." "it takes a courier, at his utmost speed, twenty-four hours to go, and the same to return." "there still remain twenty-four hours," said the marshal; "how have they been employed?" "alas, your grace, they were lost. the idea only came to me the day after i received the list of your guests. now calculate the time necessary for the negotiation, and you will perceive that in asking you to wait till five i am only doing what i am absolutely obliged to do." "the bottle is not yet arrived, then?" "no, your grace." "ah, sir, if your colleague at saverne be as devoted to the prince de rohan as you are to me, and should refuse the bottle, as you would do in his place----" "i? your grace----" "yes; you would not, i suppose, have given away such a bottle, had it belonged to me?" "i beg your pardon, humbly, your grace; but had a friend, having a king to provide for, asked me for your best bottle of wine, he should have had it immediately." "oh!" said the marshal, with a grimace. "it is only by helping others that we can expect help in our own need, your grace." "well, then, i suppose we may calculate that it will be given, but there is still another risk--if the bottle should be broken?" "oh! your grace, who would break a bottle of wine of that value?" "well, i trust not; what time, then, do you expect your courier?" "at four o'clock precisely." "then why not dine at four?" replied the marshal. "your grace, the wine must rest for an hour; and had it not been for an invention of my own, it would have required three days to recover itself." beaten at all points, the marshal gave way. "besides," continued the old servant, "be sure, your grace, that your guests will not arrive before half-past four." "and why not?" "consider, your grace: to begin with m. de launay; he comes from the bastile, and with the ice at present covering the streets of paris----" "no; but he will leave after the prisoners' dinner, at twelve o'clock." "pardon me, your grace, but the dinner hour at the bastile has been changed since your grace was there; it is now one." "sir, you are learned on all points; pray go on." "madame dubarry comes from the luciennes, one continued descent, and in this frost." "that would not prevent her being punctual, since she is no longer a duke's favorite; she plays the queen only among barons; but let me tell you, sir, that i desire to have dinner early on account of m. de la pérouse, who sets off to-night, and would not wish to be late." "but, your grace, m. de la pérouse is with the king, discussing geography and cosmography; he will not get away too early." "it is possible." "it is certain, your grace, and it will be the same with m. de favras, who is with the count de provence, talking, no doubt, of the new play by the canon de beaumarchais." "you mean the 'marriage of figaro'?" "yes, your grace." "why, you are quite literary also, it seems." "in my leisure moments i read, your grace." "we have, however, m. de condorcet, who, being a geometrician, should at least be punctual." "yes; but he will be deep in some calculation, from which, when he rouses himself, it will probably be at least half an hour too late. as for the count cagliostro, as he is a stranger, and not well acquainted with the customs of versailles, he will, in all probability, make us wait for him." "well," said the marshal, "you have disposed of all my guests, except m. de taverney, in a manner worthy of homer, or of my poor raffè." the maître-d'hôtel bowed. "i have not," said he, "named m. de taverney, because, being an old friend, he will probably be punctual." "good; and where do we dine?" "in the great dining-room, your grace." "but we shall freeze there." "it has been warmed for three days, your grace; and i believe you will find it perfectly comfortable." "very well; but there is a clock striking! why, it is half-past four!" cried the marshal. "yes, your grace; and there is the courier entering the courtyard with my bottle of tokay." "may i continue for another twenty years to be served in this manner!" said the marshal, turning again to his looking-glass, while the maître-d'hôtel ran down-stairs. "twenty years!" said a laughing voice, interrupting the marshal in his survey of himself; "twenty years, my dear duke! i wish them you; but then i shall be sixty--i shall be very old." "you, countess!" cried the marshal, "you are my first arrival, and, mon dieu! you look as young and charming as ever." "duke, i am frozen." "come into the boudoir, then." "oh! tête-à-tête, marshal?" "not so," replied a somewhat broken voice. "ah! taverney!" said the marshal; and then whispering to the countess, "plague take him for disturbing us!" madame dubarry laughed, and they all entered the adjoining room. * * * * * ii.--m. de la perouse. at the same moment, the noise of carriages in the street warned the marshal that his guests were arriving; and soon after, thanks to the punctuality of his maître-d'hôtel, nine persons were seated round the oval table in the dining-room. nine lackeys, silent as shadows, quick without bustle, and attentive without importunity, glided over the carpet, and passed among the guests, without ever touching their chairs, which were surrounded with furs, which were wrapped round the legs of the sitters. these furs, with the heat from the stoves, and the odors from the wine and the dinner, diffused a degree of comfort, which manifested itself in the gaiety of the guests, who had just finished their soup. no sound was heard from without, and none within, save that made by the guests themselves; for the plates were changed, and the dishes moved round, with the most perfect quiet. nor from the maître d'hôtel could a whisper be heard; he seemed to give his orders with his eyes. the guests, therefore, began to feel as though they were alone. it seemed to them that servants so silent must also be deaf. m. de richelieu was the first who broke the silence, by saying to the guest on his right hand, "but, count, you drink nothing." this was addressed to a man about thirty-eight years of age, short, fair-haired, and with high shoulders; his eye a clear blue, now bright, but oftener with a pensive expression, and with nobility stamped unmistakably on his open and manly forehead. "i only drink water, marshal," he replied. "excepting with louis xv.," returned the marshal; "i had the honor of dining at his table with you, and you deigned that day to drink wine." "ah! you recall a pleasing remembrance, marshal; that was in . it was tokay, from the imperial cellar." "it was like that with which my maître-d'hôtel will now have the honor to fill your glass," replied richelieu, bowing. count haga raised his glass, and looked through it. the wine sparkled in the light like liquid rubies. "it is true," said he; "marshal, i thank you." these words were uttered in a manner so noble, that the guests, as if by a common impulse, rose, and cried,-- "long live the king!" "yes," said count haga, "long live his majesty the king of france. what say you, m. de la pérouse?" "my lord," replied the captain, with that tone, at once flattering and respectful, common to those accustomed to address crowned heads, "i have just left the king, and his majesty has shown me so much kindness, that no one will more willingly cry 'long live the king' than i. only, as in another hour i must leave you to join the two ships which his majesty has put at my disposal, once out of this house, i shall take the liberty of saying, 'long life to another king, whom i should be proud to serve, had i not already so good a master.'" "this health that you propose," said madame dubarry, who sat on the marshal's left hand, "we are all ready to drink, but the oldest of us should take the lead." "is it you, that that concerns, or me, taverney?" said the marshal, laughing. "i do not believe," said another on the opposite side, "that m. de richelieu is the senior of our party." "then it is you, taverney," said the duke. "no, i am eight years younger than you! i was born in ," returned he. "how rude," said the marshal, "to expose my eighty-eight years." "impossible, duke! that you are eighty-eight," said m. de condorcet. "it is, however, but too true; it is a calculation easy to make, and therefore unworthy of an algebraist like you, marquis. i am of the last century--the great century, as we call it. my date is ." "impossible!" cried de launay. "oh, if your father were here, he would not say impossible, he, who, when governor of the bastile, had me for a lodger in ." "the senior in age, here, however," said m. de favras, "is the wine count haga is now drinking." "you are right, m. de favras; this wine is a hundred and twenty years old; to the wine, then, belongs the honor----" "one moment, gentlemen," said cagliostro, raising his eyes, beaming with intelligence and vivacity; "i claim the precedence." "you claim precedence over the tokay!" exclaimed all the guests in chorus. "assuredly," returned cagliostro, calmly; "since it was i who bottled it." "you?" "yes, i; on the day of the victory won by montecucully over the turks in ." a burst of laughter followed these words, which cagliostro had pronounced with perfect gravity. "by this calculation, you would be something like one hundred and thirty years old," said madame dubarry; "for you must have been at least ten years old when you bottled the wine." "i was more than ten when i performed that operation, madame, as on the following day i had the honor of being deputed by his majesty the emperor of austria to congratulate montecucully, who by the victory of st. gothard had avenged the day at especk, in sclavonia, in which the infidels treated the imperialists so roughly, who were my friends and companions in arms in ." "oh," said count haga, as coldly as cagliostro himself, "you must have been at least ten years old, when you were at that memorable battle." "a terrible defeat, count," returned cagliostro. "less terrible than cressy, however," said condorcet, smiling. "true, sir, for at the battle of cressy, it was not only an army, but all france, that was beaten; but then this defeat was scarcely a fair victory to the english; for king edward had cannon, a circumstance of which philip de valois was ignorant, or rather, which he would not believe, although i warned him that i had with my own eyes seen four pieces of artillery which edward had bought from the venetians." "ah," said madame dubarry; "you knew philip de valois?" "madame, i had the honor to be one of the five lords who escorted him off the field of battle; i came to france with the poor old king of bohemia, who was blind, and who threw away his life when he heard that the battle was lost." "ah, sir," said m. de la pérouse, "how much i regret, that instead of the battle of cressy, it was not that of actium at which you assisted." "why so, sir?" "oh, because you might have given me some nautical details, which, in spite of plutarch's fine narration, have ever been obscure to me." "which, sir? i should be happy to be of service to you." "oh, you were there, then, also?" "no, sir; i was then in egypt. i had been employed by queen cleopatra to restore the library at alexandria--an office for which i was better qualified than any one else, from having personally known the best authors of antiquity." "and you have seen queen cleopatra?" said madame dubarry. "as i now see you, madame." "was she as pretty as they say?" "madame, you know beauty is only comparative; a charming queen in egypt, in paris she would only have been a pretty grisette." "say no harm of grisettes, count." "god forbid!" "then cleopatra was----" "little, slender, lively, and intelligent; with large almond-shaped eyes, a grecian nose, teeth like pearls, and a hand like your own, countess--a fit hand to hold a scepter. see, here is a diamond which she gave me, and which she had had from her brother ptolemy; she wore it on her thumb." "on her thumb?" cried madame dubarry. "yes; it was an egyptian fashion; and i, you see, can hardly put it on my little finger;" and taking off the ring, he handed it to madame dubarry. it was a magnificent diamond, of such fine water, and so beautifully cut, as to be worth thirty thousand or forty thousand francs. the diamond was passed round the table, and returned to cagliostro, who, putting it quietly on his finger again, said, "ah, i see well you are all incredulous; this fatal incredulity i have had to contend against all my life. philip de valois would not listen to me, when i told him to leave open a retreat to edward; cleopatra would not believe me when i warned her that antony would be beaten: the trojans would not credit me, when i said to them, with reference to the wooden horse, 'cassandra is inspired; listen to cassandra.'" "oh! it is charming," said madame dubarry, shaking with laughter; "i have never met a man at once so serious and so diverting." "i assure you," replied cagliostro, "that jonathan was much more so. he was really a charming companion; until he was killed by saul, he nearly drove me crazy with laughing." "do you know," said the duke de richelieu, "if you go on in this way you will drive poor taverney crazy; he is so afraid of death, that he is staring at you with all his eyes, hoping you to be an immortal." "immortal i cannot say, but one thing i can affirm----" "what?" cried taverney, who was the most eager listener. "that i have seen all the people and events of which i have been speaking to you." "you have known montecucully?" "as well as i know you, m. de favras; and, indeed, much better, for this is but the second or third time i have had the honor of seeing you, while i lived nearly a year under the same tent with him of whom you speak." "you knew philip de valois?" "as i have already had the honor of telling you, m. de condorcet; but when he returned to paris, i left france and returned to bohemia." "and cleopatra." "yes, countess; cleopatra, i can tell you, had eyes as black as yours, and shoulders almost as beautiful." "but what do you know of my shoulders?" "they are like what cassandra's once were; and there is still a further resemblance,--she had like you, or rather, you have like her, a little black spot on your left side, just above the sixth rib." "oh, count, now you really are a sorcerer." "no, no," cried the marshal, laughing; "it was i who told him." "and pray how do you know?" the marshal bit his lips, and replied, "oh, it is a family secret." "well, really, marshal," said the countess, "one should put on a double coat of rouge before visiting you;" and turning again to cagliostro, "then, sir, you have the art of renewing your youth? for although you say you are three or four thousand years old, you scarcely look forty." "yes, madame, i do possess that secret." "oh, then, sir, impart it to me." "to you, madame? it is useless; your youth is already renewed; your age is only what it appears to be, and you do not look thirty." "ah! you flatter." "no, madame, i speak only the truth, but it is easily explained: you have already tried my receipt." "how so?" "you have taken my elixir." "i?" "you, countess. oh! you cannot have forgotten it. do you not remember a certain house in the rue st. claude, and coming there on some business respecting m. de sartines? you remember rendering a service to one of my friends, called joseph balsamo, and that this joseph balsamo gave you a bottle of elixir, recommending you to take three drops every morning? do you not remember having done this regularly until the last year, when the bottle became exhausted? if you do not remember all this, countess, it is more than forgetfulness--it is ingratitude." "oh! m. cagliostro, you are telling me things----" "which were only known to yourself, i am aware; but what would be the use of being a sorcerer if one did not know one's neighbor's secrets?" "then joseph balsamo has, like you, the secret of this famous elixir?" "no, madame, but he was one of my best friends, and i gave him three or four bottles." "and has he any left?" "oh! i know nothing of that; for the last two or three years, poor balsamo has disappeared. the last time i saw him was in america, on the banks of the ohio: he was setting off on an expedition to the rocky mountains, and since then i have heard that he is dead." "come, come, count," cried the marshal; "let us have the secret, by all means." "are you speaking seriously, sir?" said count haga. "very seriously, sire,--i beg pardon, i mean count;" and cagliostro bowed in such a way as to indicate that his error was a voluntary one. "then," said the marshal, "madame dubarry is not old enough to be made young again?" "no, on my conscience." "well, then, i will give you another subject: here is my friend, m. taverney--what do you say to him? does he not look like a contemporary of pontius pilate? but perhaps, he, on the contrary, is too old." cagliostro looked at the baron. "no," said he. "ah! my dear count," exclaimed richelieu; "if you will renew his youth, i will proclaim you a true pupil of medea." "you wish it?" asked cagliostro of the host, and looking round at the same time on all assembled. every one called out, "yes." "and you also, m. taverney?" "i more than any one," said the baron. "well, it is easy," returned cagliostro; and he drew from his pocket a small bottle, and poured into a glass some of the liquid it contained. then, mixing these drops with half a glass of iced champagne, he passed it to the baron. all eyes followed his movements eagerly. the baron took the glass, but as he was about to drink he hesitated. every one began to laugh, but cagliostro called out, "drink, baron, or you will lose a liquor of which each drop is worth a hundred louis d'ors." "the devil," cried richelieu; "that is even better than tokay." "i must then drink?" said the baron, almost trembling. "or pass the glass to another, sir, that some one at least may profit by it." "pass it here," said richelieu, holding out his hand. the baron raised the glass, and decided, doubtless, by the delicious smell and the beautiful rose color which those few drops had given to the champagne, he swallowed the magic liquor. in an instant a kind of shiver ran through him; he seemed to feel all his old and sluggish blood rushing quickly through his veins, from his heart to his feet, his wrinkled skin seemed to expand, his eyes, half covered by their lids, appeared to open without his will, and the pupils to grow and brighten, the trembling of his hands to cease, his voice to strengthen, and his limbs to recover their former youthful elasticity. in fact, it seemed as if the liquid in its descent had regenerated his whole body. a cry of surprise, wonder, and admiration rang through the room. taverney, who had been slowly eating with his gums, began to feel famished; he seized a plate and helped himself largely to a ragout, and then demolished a partridge, bones and all, calling out that his teeth were coming back to him. he ate, laughed, and cried for joy, for half an hour, while the others remained gazing at him in stupefied wonder; then little by little he failed again, like a lamp whose oil is burning out, and all the former signs of old age returned upon him. "oh!" groaned he, "once more adieu to my youth," and he gave utterance to a deep sigh, while two tears rolled over his cheeks. instinctively, at this mournful spectacle of the old man first made young again, and then seeming to become yet older than before, from the contrast, the sigh was echoed all round the table. "it is easy to explain, gentlemen," said cagliostro; "i gave the baron but thirty-five drops of the elixir. he became young, therefore, for only thirty-five minutes." "oh more, more, count!" cried the old man eagerly. "no, sir, for perhaps the second trial would kill you." of all the guests, madame dubarry, who had already tested the virtue of the elixir, seemed most deeply interested while old taverney's youth seemed thus to renew itself; she had watched him with delight and triumph, and half fancied herself growing young again at the sight, while she could hardly refrain from endeavoring to snatch from cagliostro the wonderful bottle; but now, seeing him resume his old age even quicker than he had lost it, "alas!" she said sadly, "all is vanity and deception; the effects of this wonderful secret last for thirty-five minutes." "that is to say," said count haga, "that in order to resume your youth for two years, you would have to drink a perfect river." every one laughed. "oh!" said de condorcet, "the calculation is simple; a mere nothing of , , drops for one year's youth." "an inundation," said la pérouse. "however, sir," continued madame dubarry; "according to you, i have not needed so much, as a small bottle about four times the size of that you hold has been sufficient to arrest the march of time for ten years." "just so, madame. and you alone approach this mysterious truth. the man who has already grown old needs this large quantity to produce an immediate and powerful effect; but a woman of thirty, as you were, or a man of forty, as i was, when i began to drink this elixir, still full of life and youth, needs but ten drops at each period of decay; and with these ten drops may eternally continue his life and youth at the same point." "what do you call the periods of decay?" asked count haga. "the natural periods, count. in a state of nature, man's strength increases until thirty-five years of age. it then remains stationary until forty; and from that time forward, it begins to diminish, but almost imperceptibly, until fifty; then the process becomes quicker and quicker to the day of his death. in our state of civilization, when the body is weakened by excess, cares, and maladies, the failure begins at thirty-five. the time, then, to take nature, is when she is stationary, so as to forestall the beginning of decay. he who, possessor as i am of the secret of this elixir, knows how to seize the happy moment, will live as i live; always young, or, at least, always young enough for what he has to do in the world." "oh, m. cagliostro," cried the countess; "why, if you could choose your own age, did you not stop at twenty instead of at forty?" "because, madame," said cagliostro, smiling, "it suits me better to be a man of forty, still healthy and vigorous, than a raw youth of twenty." "oh!" said the countess. "doubtless, madame," continued cagliostro, "at twenty one pleases women of thirty; at forty, we govern women of twenty, and men of sixty." "i yield, sir," said the countess, "for you are a living proof of the truth of your own words." "then i," said taverney, piteously, "am condemned; it is too late for me." "m. de richelieu has been more skilful than you," said la pérouse naïvely, "and i have always heard that he had some secret." "it is a report that the women have spread," laughed count haga. "is that a reason for disbelieving it, duke?" asked madame dubarry. the old duke colored, a rare thing for him; but replied, "do you wish, gentlemen, to have my receipt?" "oh, by all means." "well, then, it is simply to take care of yourself." "oh, oh!" cried all. "but, m. cagliostro," continued madame dubarry, "i must ask more about the elixir." "well, madame?" "you said you first used it at forty years of age----" "yes, madame." "and that since that time, that is, since the siege of troy----" "a little before, madame." "that you have always remained forty years old?" "you see me now." "but then, sir," said de condorcet, "you argue, not only the perpetuation of youth, but the preservation of life; for if since the siege of troy you have been always forty, you have never died." "true, marquis, i have never died." "but are you, then, invulnerable, like achilles, or still more so, for achilles was killed by the arrow of paris?" "no. i am not invulnerable, and there is my great regret," said cagliostro. "then, sir, you may be killed." "alas! yes." "how, then, have you escaped all accidents for three thousand five hundred years?" "it is chance, marquis, but will you follow my reasoning?" "yes, yes," cried all, with eagerness. cagliostro continued: "what is the first requisite to life?" he asked, spreading out his white and beautiful hands covered with rings, among which cleopatra's shone conspicuously. "is it not health!" "certainly." "and the way to preserve health is?" "proper management," said count haga. "right, count. and why should not my elixir be the best possible method of treatment? and this treatment i have adopted, and with it have preserved my youth, and with youth, health, and life." "but all things exhaust themselves; the finest constitution, as well as the worst." "the body of paris, like that of vulcan," said the countess. "perhaps, you knew paris, by the bye?" "perfectly, madame; he was a fine young man, but really did not deserve all that has been said of him. in the first place, he had red hair." "red hair, horrible!" "unluckily, madame, helen was not of your opinion: but to return to our subject. you say, m. de taverney, that all things exhaust themselves; but you also know, that everything recovers again, regenerates, or is replaced, whichever you please to call it. the famous knife of st. hubert, which so often changed both blade and handle, is an example, for through every change it still remained the knife of st. hubert. the wines which the monks of heidelberg preserve so carefully in their cellars, remain still the same wine, although each year they pour into it a fresh supply; therefore, this wine always remains clear, bright, and delicious: while the wine which opimus and i hid in the earthen jars was, when i tried it a hundred years after, only a thick dirty substance, which might have been eaten, but certainly could not have been drunk. well, i follow the example of the monks of heidelberg, and preserve my body by introducing into it every year new elements, which regenerate the old. every morning a new and fresh atom replaces in my blood, my flesh, and my bones, some particle which has perished. i stay that ruin which most men allow insensibly to invade their whole being, and i force into action all those powers which god has given to every human being, but which most people allow to lie dormant. this is the great study of my life, and as, in all things, he who does one thing constantly does that thing better than others, i am becoming more skilful than others in avoiding danger. thus, you would not get me to enter a tottering house; i have seen too many houses not to tell at a glance the safe from the unsafe. you would not see me go out hunting with a man who managed his gun badly. from cephalus, who killed his wife, down to the regent, who shot the prince in the eye, i have seen too many unskilful people. you could not make me accept in battle the post which many a man would take without thinking, because i should calculate in a moment the chances of danger at each point. you will tell me that one cannot foresee a stray bullet; but the man who has escaped a thousand gun-shots will hardly fall a victim to one now. ah, you look incredulous, but am i not a living proof? i do not tell you that i am immortal, only that i know better than others how to avoid danger; for instance, i would not remain here now alone with m. de launay, who is thinking that, if he had me in the bastile, he would put my immortality to the test of starvation; neither would i remain with m. de condorcet, for he is thinking that he might just empty into my glass the contents of that ring which he wears on his left hand, and which is full of poison--not with any evil intent, but just as a scientific experiment, to see if i should die." the two people named looked at each other, and colored. "confess, m. de launay, we are not in a court of justice; besides, thoughts are not punished. did you not think what i said? and you, m. de condorcet, would you not have liked to let me taste the poison in your ring, in the name of your beloved mistress, science?" "indeed," said m. de launay, laughing, "i confess you are right; it was folly, but that folly did pass through my mind just before you accused me." "and i," said m. de condorcet, "will not be less candid. i did think that if you tasted the contents of my ring, i would not give much for your life." a cry of admiration burst from the rest of the party; these avowals confirming not the immortality, but the penetration, of count cagliostro. "you see," said cagliostro, quietly, "that i divined these dangers; well, it is the same with other things. the experience of a long life reveals to me at a glance much of the past and of the future of those whom i meet. my capabilities in this way extend even to animals and inanimate objects. if i get into a carriage, i can tell from the look of the horses if they are likely to run away; and from that of the coachman, if he will overturn me. if i go on board ship, i can see if the captain is ignorant or obstinate, and consequently likely to endanger me. i should then leave the coachman or captain, escape from those horses or that ship. i do not deny chance, i only lessen it, and instead of incurring a hundred chances, like the rest of the world, i prevent ninety-nine of them, and endeavor to guard against the hundredth. this is the good of having lived three thousand years." "then," said la pérouse, laughing, amidst the wonder and enthusiasm created by this speech of cagliostro's, "you should come with me when i embark to make the tour of the world; you would render me a signal service." cagliostro did not reply. "m. de richelieu," continued la pérouse, "as the count cagliostro, which is very intelligible, does not wish to quit such good company, you must permit me to do so without him. excuse me, count haga, and you, madame, but it is seven o'clock, and i have promised his majesty to start at a quarter past. but since count cagliostro will not be tempted to come with me, and see my ships, perhaps he can tell me what will happen to me between versailles and brest. from brest to the pole i ask nothing; that is my own business." cagliostro looked at la pérouse with such a melancholy air, so full both of pity and kindness, that the others were struck by it. the sailor himself, however, did not remark it. he took leave of the company, put on his fur riding coat, into one of the pockets of which madame dubarry pushed a bottle of delicious cordial, welcome to a traveler, but which he would not have provided for himself, to recall to him, she said, his absent friends during the long nights of a journey in such bitter cold. la pérouse, still full of gaiety, bowed respectfully to count haga, and held out his hand to the old marshal. "adieu, dear la pérouse," said the latter. "no, duke, au revoir," replied la pérouse, "one would think i was going away forever; now i have but to circumnavigate the globe--five or six years' absence; it is scarcely worth while to say 'adieu' for that." "five or six years," said the marshal; "you might almost as well say five or six centuries; days are years at my age, therefore i say, adieu." "bah! ask the sorcerer," returned la pérouse, still laughing; "he will promise you twenty years' more life. will you not, count cagliostro? oh, count, why did i not hear sooner of those precious drops of yours? whatever the price, i should have shipped a tun. madame, another kiss of that beautiful hand, i shall certainly not see such another till i return; au revoir," and he left the room. cagliostro still preserved the same mournful silence. they heard the steps of the captain as he left the house, his gay voice in the courtyard, and his farewells to the people assembled to see him depart. then the horses shook their heads, covered with bells, the door of the carriage shut with some noise, and the wheels were heard rolling along the street. la pérouse had started on that voyage from which he was destined never to return. when they could no longer hear a sound, all looks were again turned to cagliostro; there seemed a kind of inspired light in his eyes. count haga first broke the silence, which had lasted for some minutes. "why did you not reply to his question?" he inquired of cagliostro. cagliostro started, as if the question had roused him from a reverie. "because," said he, "i must either have told a falsehood or a sad truth." "how so?" "i must have said to him,--'m. de la pérouse, the duke is right in saying to you adieu, and not au revoir.'" "oh," said richelieu, turning pale, "what do you mean?" "reassure yourself, marshal, this sad prediction does not concern you." "what," cried madame dubarry, "this poor la pérouse, who has just kissed my hand----" "not only, madame, will never kiss it again, but will never again see those he has just left," said cagliostro, looking attentively at the glass of water he was holding up. a cry of astonishment burst from all. the interest of the conversation deepened every moment, and you might have thought, from the solemn and anxious air with which all regarded cagliostro, that it was some ancient and infallible oracle they were consulting. "pray then, count," said madame dubarry, "tell us what will befall poor la pérouse." cagliostro shook his head. "oh, yes, let us hear!" cried all the rest. "well, then, m. de la pérouse intends, as you know, to make the tour of the globe, and continue the researches of poor captain cook, who was killed in the sandwich islands." "yes, yes, we know." "everything should foretell a happy termination to this voyage; m. de la pérouse is a good seaman, and his route has been most skilfully traced by the king." "yes," interrupted count haga, "the king of france is a clever geographer; is he not, m. de condorcet?" "more skilful than is needful for a king," replied the marquis; "kings ought to know things only slightly, then they will let themselves be guided by those who know them thoroughly." "is this a lesson, marquis?" said count haga, smiling. "oh, no. only a simple reflection, a general truth." "well, he is gone," said madame dubarry, anxious to bring the conversation back to la pérouse. "yes, he is gone," replied cagliostro, "but don't believe, in spite of his haste, that he will soon embark. i foresee much time lost at brest." "that would be a pity," said de condorcet; "this is the time to set out: it is even now rather late--february or march would have been better." "oh, do not grudge him these few months, m. de condorcet, for, during them, he will at least live and hope." "he has got good officers, i suppose?" said richelieu. "yes, he who commands the second ship is a distinguished officer. i see him--- young, adventurous, brave, unhappily." "why unhappily?" "a year after i look for him, and see him no more," said cagliostro, anxiously consulting his glass. "no one here is related to m. de langle?" "no." "no one knows him?" "no." "well, death will commence with him." a murmur of affright escaped from all the guests. "but he, la pérouse?" cried several voices. "he sails, he lands, he reembarks; i see one, two years, of successful navigation; we hear news of him, and then----" "then?" "years pass----" "but at last?" "the sea is vast, the heavens are clouded, here and there appear unknown lands, and figures hideous as the monsters of the grecian archipelago. they watch the ship, which is being carried in a fog amongst the breakers, by a tempest less fearful than themselves. oh! la pérouse, la pérouse, if you could hear me, i would cry to you. you set out, like columbus, to discover a world; beware of unknown isles!" he ceased, and an icy shiver ran through the assembly. "but why did you not warn him?" asked count haga, who, in spite of himself, had succumbed to the influence of this extraordinary man. "yes," cried madame dubarry, "why not send after him and bring him back? the life of a man like la pérouse is surely worth a courier, my dear marshal." the marshal rose to ring the bell. cagliostro extended his arm to stop him. "alas!" said he, "all advice would be useless. i can foretell destiny, but i cannot change it. m. de la pérouse would laugh if he heard my words, as the son of priam laughed when cassandra prophesied; and see, you begin to laugh yourself, count haga, and laughing is contagious: your companions are catching it. do not restrain yourselves, gentlemen--i am accustomed to an incredulous audience." "oh, we believe," said madame dubarry and the duke de richelieu; "and i believe," murmured taverney; "and i also," said count haga politely. "yes," replied cagliostro, "you believe, because it concerns la pérouse; but, if i spoke of yourself, you would not believe." "i confess that what would have made me believe, would have been, if you had said to him, 'beware of unknown isles;' then he would, at least, have had the chance of avoiding them." "i assure you no, count; and, if he had believed me, it would only have been more horrible, for the unfortunate man would have seen himself approaching those isles destined to be fatal to him, without the power to flee from them. therefore he would have died, not one, but a hundred deaths, for he would have gone through it all by anticipation. hope, of which i should have deprived him, is what best sustains a man under all trials." "yes," said de condorcet; "the veil which hides from us our future is the only real good which god has vouchsafed to man." "nevertheless," said count haga, "did a man like you say to me, shun a certain man or a certain thing, i would beware, and i would thank you for the counsel." cagliostro shook his head, with a faint smile. "i mean it, m. de cagliostro," continued count haga; "warn me, and i will thank you." "you wish me to tell you what i would not tell la pérouse?" "yes, i wish it." cagliostro opened his mouth as if to begin, and then stopped, and said, "no, count, no!" "i beg you." cagliostro still remained silent. "take care," said the count, "you are making me incredulous." "incredulity is better than misery." "m. de cagliostro," said the count, gravely, "you forget one thing, which is, that though there are men who had better remain ignorant of their destiny, there are others who should know it, as it concerns not themselves alone, but millions of others." "then," said cagliostro, "command me; if your majesty commands, i will obey." "i command you to reveal to me my destiny, m. de cagliostro," said the king, with an air at once courteous and dignified. at this moment, as count haga had dropped his incognito in speaking to cagliostro, m. de richelieu advanced towards him, and said, "thanks, sire, for the honor you have done my house; will your majesty assume the place of honor?" "let us remain as we are, marshal; i wish to hear what m. de cagliostro is about to say." "one does not speak the truth to kings, sire." "bah! i am not in my kingdom; take your place again, duke. proceed, m. de cagliostro, i beg." cagliostro looked again through his glass, and one might have imagined the particles agitated by this look, as they danced in, the light. "sire," said he, "tell me what you wish to know?" "tell me by what death i shall die." "by a gun-shot, sire." the eyes of gustavus grew bright. "ah, in a battle!" said he; "the death of a soldier! thanks, m. de cagliostro, a thousand times thanks; oh, i foresee battles, and gustavus adolphus and charles xii. have shown me how a king of sweden should die." cagliostro drooped his head, without replying. "oh!" cried count haga, "will not my wound then be given in battle?" "no, sire." "in a sedition?--yes, that is possible." "no, not in a sedition, sire." "but, where then?" "at a ball, sire." the king remained silent, and cagliostro buried his head in his hands. every one looked pale and frightened; then m. de condorcet took the glass of water and examined it, as if there he could solve the problem of all that had been going on; but finding nothing to satisfy him, "well, i also," said he, "will beg our illustrious prophet to consult for me his magic mirror: unfortunately, i am not a powerful lord; i cannot command, and my obscure life concerns no millions of people." "sir," said count haga, "you command in the name of science, and your life belongs not only to a nation, but to all mankind." "thanks," said de condorcet; "but, perhaps, your opinion on this subject is not shared by m. de cagliostro." cagliostro raised his head. "yes, marquis," said he, in a manner which began to be excited, "you are indeed a powerful lord in the kingdom of intelligence; look me, then, in the face, and tell me, seriously, if you also wish that i should prophesy to you." "seriously, count, upon my honor." "well, marquis," said cagliostro, in a hoarse voice, "you will die of that poison which you carry in your ring; you will die----" "oh, but if i throw it away?" "throw it away!" "you allow that that would be easy." "throw it away!" "oh, yes, marquis," cried madame dubarry; "throw away that horrid poison! throw it away, if it be only to falsify this prophet of evil, who threatens us all with so many misfortunes. for if you throw it away you cannot die by it, as m. de cagliostro predicts; so there at least he will have been wrong." "madame la comtesse is right," said count haga. "bravo, countess!" said richelieu. "come, marquis, throw away that poison, for now i know you carry it, i shall tremble every time we drink together; the ring might open of itself, and----" "it is useless," said cagliostro quietly; "m. de condorcet will not throw it away." "no," returned de condorcet, "i shall not throw it away; not that i wish to aid my destiny, but because this is a unique poison, prepared by cabanis, and which chance has completely hardened, and that chance might never occur again; therefore i will not throw it away. triumph if you will, m. de cagliostro." "destiny," replied he, "ever finds some way to work out its own ends." "then i shall die by poison," said the marquis; "well, so be it. it is an admirable death, i think; a little poison on the tip of the tongue, and i am gone. it is scarcely dying: it is merely ceasing to live." "it is not necessary for you to suffer, sir," said cagliostro. "then, sir," said m. de favras, "we have a shipwreck, a gun-shot, and a poisoning which makes my mouth water. will you not do me the favor also to predict some little pleasure of the same kind for me?" "oh, marquis!" replied cagliostro, beginning to grow warm under this irony, "do not envy these gentlemen, you will have still better." "better!" said m. de favras, laughing; "that is pledging yourself to a great deal. it is difficult to beat the sea, fire, and poison!" "there remains the cord, marquis," said cagliostro, bowing. "the cord! what do you mean?" "i mean that you will be hanged," replied cagliostro, seeming no more the master of his prophetic rage. "hanged! the devil!" cried richelieu. "monsieur forgets that i am a nobleman," said m. de favras, coldly; "or if he means to speak of a suicide, i warn him that i shall respect myself sufficiently, even in my last moments, not to use a cord while i have a sword." "i do not speak of a suicide, sir." "then you speak of a punishment?" "yes." "you are a foreigner, sir, and therefore i pardon you." "what?" "your ignorance, sir. in france we decapitate noblemen." "you may arrange this, if you can, with the executioner," replied cagliostro. m. de favras said no more. there was a general silence and shrinking for a few minutes. "do you know that i tremble at last," said m. de launay; "my predecessors have come off so badly, that i fear for myself if i now take my turn." "then you are more reasonable than they; you are right. do not seek to know the future; good or bad, let it rest--it is in the hands of god." "oh! m. de launay," said madame dubarry, "i hope you will not be less courageous than the others have been." "i hope so, too, madame," said the governor. then, turning to cagliostro, "sir," he said, "favor me, in my turn, with my horoscope, if you please." "it is easy," replied cagliostro; "a blow on the head with a hatchet, and all will be over." a look of dismay was once more general. richelieu and taverney begged cagliostro to say no more, but female curiosity carried the day. "to hear you talk, count," said madame dubarry, "one would think the whole universe must die a violent death. here we were, eight of us, and five are already condemned by you." "oh, you understand that it is all prearranged to frighten us, and we shall only laugh at it," said m. de favras, trying to do so. "certainly we will laugh," said count haga, "be it true or false." "oh, i will laugh too, then," said madame dubarry. "i will not dishonor the assembly by my cowardice; but, alas! i am only a woman, i cannot rank among you and be worthy of a tragical end; a woman dies in her bed. my death, a sorrowful old woman abandoned by every one, will be the worst of all. will it not, m. de cagliostro?" she stopped, and seemed to wait for the prophet to reassure her. cagliostro did not speak; so, her curiosity obtaining the mastery over her fears, she went on. "well, m. de cagliostro, will you not answer me?" "what do you wish me to say, madame?" she hesitated--then, rallying her courage, "yes," she cried, "i will run the risk. tell me the fate of jeanne de vaubernier, countess dubarry." "on the scaffold, madame," replied the prophet of evil. "a jest, sir, is it not?" said she, looking at him with a supplicating air. cagliostro seemed not to see it. "why do you think i jest?" said he. "oh, because to die on the scaffold one must have committed some crime--stolen, or committed murder, or done something dreadful; and it is not likely i shall do that. it was a jest, was it not?" "oh, mon dieu, yes," said cagliostro; "all i have said is but a jest." the countess laughed, but scarcely in a natural manner. "come, m. de favras," said she, "let us order our funerals." "oh, that will be needless for you, madame," said cagliostro. "why so, sir?" "because you will go to the scaffold in a car." "oh, how horrible! this dreadful man, marshal! for heaven's sake choose more cheerful guests next time, or i will never visit you again." "excuse me, madame," said cagliostro, "but you, like all the rest, would have me speak." "at least i hope you will grant me time to choose my confessor." "it will be superfluous, countess." "why?" "the last person who will mount the scaffold in france with a confessor will be the king of france." and cagliostro pronounced these words in so thrilling a voice that every one was struck with horror. all were silent. cagliostro raised to his lips the glass of water in which he had read these fearful prophecies, but scarcely had he touched it, when he set it down with a movement of disgust. he turned his eyes to m. de taverney. "oh," cried he, in terror, "do not tell me anything; i do not wish to know!" "well, then, i will ask instead of him," said richelieu. "you, marshal, be happy; you are the only one of us all who will die in his bed." "coffee, gentlemen, coffee," cried the marshal, enchanted with the prediction. every one rose. but before passing into the drawing-room, count haga, approaching cagliostro, said,-- "tell me what to beware of." "of a muff, sir," replied cagliostro. "and i?" said condorcet. "of an omelet." "good; i renounce eggs," and he left the room. "and i?" said m. de favras; "what must i fear?" "a letter." "and i?" said de launay. "the taking of the bastile." "oh, you quite reassure me." and he went away laughing. "now for me, sir," said the countess, trembling. "you, beautiful countess, shun the place louis xv." "alas," said the countess, "one day already i lost myself there; that day i suffered much." she left the room, and cagliostro was about to follow her when richelieu stopped him. "one moment," said he; "there remains only taverney and i, my dear sorcerer." "m. de taverney begged me to say nothing, and you, marshal, have asked me nothing." "oh, i do not wish to hear," again cried taverney. "but come, to prove your power, tell us something that only taverney and i know," said richelieu. "what?" asked cagliostro, smiling. "tell us what makes taverney come to versailles, instead of living quietly in his beautiful house at maison-rouge, which the king bought for him three years ago." "nothing more simple, marshal," said cagliostro. "ten years ago, m. de taverney wished to give his daughter, mademoiselle andrée, to the king louis xv., but he did not succeed." "oh!" growled taverney. "now, monsieur wishes to give his son philippe de taverney, to the queen marie antoinette; ask him if i speak the truth." "on my word," said taverney, trembling, "this man is a sorcerer; devil take me if he is not!" "do not speak so cavalierly of the devil, my old comrade," said the marshal. "it is frightful," murmured taverney, and he turned to implore cagliostro to be discreet, but he was gone. "come, taverney, to the drawing-room," said the marshal; "or they will drink their coffee without us." but when they arrived there, the room was empty; no one had courage to face again the author of these terrible predictions. the wax lights burned in the candelabra, the fire burned on the hearth, but all for nothing. "ma foi, old friend, it seems we must take our coffee tête-à-tête. why, where the devil has he gone?" richelieu looked all around him, but taverney had vanished like the rest. "never mind," said the marshal, chuckling as voltaire might have done, and rubbing his withered though still white hands; "i shall be the only one to die in my bed. well, count cagliostro, at least i believe. in my bed! that was it; i shall die in my bed, and i trust not for a long time. hola! my valet-de-chambre and my drops." the valet entered with the bottle, and the marshal went with him into the bedroom. end of the prologue. chapter i. two unknown ladies. the winter of , that monster which devoured half france, we could not see, although he growled at the doors, while at the house of m. de richelieu, shut in as we were in that warm and comfortable dining-room. a little frost on the windows seems but the luxury of nature added to that of man. winter has its diamonds, its powder, and its silvery embroidery for the rich man wrapped in his furs, and packed in his carriage, or snug among the wadding and velvet of a well-warmed room. hoar-frost is a beauty, ice a change of decoration by the greatest of artists, which the rich admire through their windows. he who is warm can admire the withered trees, and find a somber charm in the sight of the snow-covered plain. he who, after a day without suffering, when millions of his fellow-creatures are enduring dreadful privations, throws himself on his bed of down, between his fine and well-aired sheets, may find out that all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds. but he who is hungry sees none of these beauties of nature; he who is cold hates the sky without a sun, and consequently without a smile for such unfortunates. now, at the time at which we write, that is, about the middle of the month of april, three hundred thousand miserable beings, dying from cold and hunger, groaned in paris alone--in that paris where, in spite of the boast that scarcely another city contained so many rich people, nothing had been prepared to prevent the poor from perishing of cold and wretchedness. for the last four months, the same leaden sky had driven the poor from the villages into the town, as it sent the wolves from the woods into the villages. no more bread. no more wood. no more bread for those who felt this cold--no more wood to cook it. all the provisions which had been collected, paris had devoured in a month. the provost, short-sighted and incapable, did not know how to procure for paris, which was under his care, the wood which might have been collected in the neighborhood. when it froze, he said the frost prevented the horses from bringing it; if it thawed, he pleaded want of horses and conveyances. louis xvi., ever good and humane, always ready to attend to the physical wants of his people, although he overlooked their social ones, began by contributing a sum of , francs for horses and carts, and insisting on their immediate use. still the demand continued greater than the supply. at first no one was allowed to carry away from the public timber-yard more than a cart-load of wood; then they were limited to half this quantity. soon the long strings of people might be seen waiting outside the doors, as they were afterwards seen at the bakers' shops. the king gave away the whole of his private income in charity. he procured , , francs by a grant and applied it to the relief of the sufferers, declaring that every other need must give way before that of cold and famine. the queen, on her part, gave louis from her purse. the convents, the hospitals, and the public buildings were thrown open as places of asylum for the poor, who came in crowds for the sake of the fires that were kept there. they kept hoping for a thaw, but heaven seemed inflexible. every evening the same copper-colored sky disappointed their hopes; and the stars shone bright and clear as funeral torches through the long, cold nights, which hardened again and again the snow which fell during the day. all day long, thousands of workmen, with spades and shovels, cleared away the snow from before the houses; so that on each side of the streets, already too narrow for the traffic, rose a high, thick wall, blocking up the way. soon these masses of snow and ice became so large that the shops were obscured by them, and they were obliged to allow it to remain where it fell. paris could do no more. she gave in, and allowed the winter to do its worst. december, january, february, and march passed thus, although now and then a few days' thaw changed the streets, whose sewers were blocked up, into running streams. horses were drowned, and carriages destroyed, in the streets, some of which could only be traversed in boats. paris, faithful to its character, sang through this destruction by the thaw as it had done through that by famine. processions were made to the markets to see the fisherwomen serving their customers with immense leathern boots on, inside which their trousers were pushed, and with their petticoats tucked round their waists, all laughing, gesticulating, and splashing each other as they stood in the water. these thaws, however, were but transitory; the frost returned, harder and more obstinate than ever, and recourse was had to sledges, pushed along by skaters, or drawn by roughshod horses along the causeways, which were like polished mirrors. the seine, frozen many feet deep, was become the rendezvous for all idlers, who assembled there to skate or slide, until, warmed by exercise, they ran to the nearest fire, lest the perspiration should freeze upon them. all trembled for the time when, the water communications being stopped, and the roads impassable, provisions could no longer be sent in, and began to fear that paris would perish from want. the king, in this extremity, called a council. they decided to implore all bishops, abbés, and monks to leave paris and retire to their dioceses or convents; and all those magistrates and officials who, preferring the opera to their duties, had crowded to paris, to return to their homes; for all these people used large quantities of wood in their hotels, and consumed no small amount of food. there were still the country gentlemen, who were also to be entreated to leave. but m. lenoir, lieutenant of police, observed to the king that, as none of these people were criminals, and could not therefore be compelled to leave paris in a day, they would probably be so long thinking about it, that the thaw would come before their departure, which would then be more hurtful than useful. all this care and pity of the king and queen, however, excited the ingenious gratitude of the people, who raised monuments to them, as ephemeral as the feelings which prompted them. obelisks and pillars of snow and ice, engraved with their names, were to be seen all over paris. at the end of march the thaw began, but by fits and starts, constant returns of frost prolonging the miseries of the people. indeed, in the beginning of april it appeared to set in harder than ever, and the half-thawed streets, frozen again, became so slippery and dangerous, that nothing was seen but broken limbs and accidents of all kinds. the snow prevented the carriages from being heard, and the police had enough to do, from the reckless driving of the aristocracy, to preserve from the wheels those who were spared by cold and hunger. it was about a week after the dinner given by m. de richelieu that four elegant sledges entered paris, gliding over the frozen snow which covered the cours la reine and the extremity of the boulevards. from thence they found it more difficult to proceed, for the sun and the traffic had begun to change the snow and ice into a wet mass of dirt. in the foremost sledge were two men in brown riding coats with double capes. they were drawn by a black horse, and turned from time to time, as if to watch the sledge that followed them, and which contained two ladies so enveloped in furs that it was impossible to see their faces. it might even have been difficult to distinguish their sex, had it not been for the height of their coiffure, crowning which was a small hat with a plume of feathers. from the colossal edifice of this coiffure, all mingled with ribbons and jewels, escaped occasionally a cloud of white powder, as when a gust of wind shakes the snow from the trees. these two ladies, seated side by side, were conversing so earnestly as scarcely to see the numerous spectators who watched their progress along the boulevards. one of them taller and more majestic than the other, and holding up before her face a finely-embroidered cambric handkerchief, carried her head erect and stately, in spite of the wind which swept across their sledge. it had just struck five by the clock of the church st. croix d'antin and night was beginning to descend upon paris, and with the night the bitter cold. they had just reached the porte st. denis, when the lady of whom we have spoken made a sign to the men in front, who thereupon quickened the pace of their horse, and soon disappeared among the evening mists, which were fast thickening around the colossal structure of the bastile. this signal she then repeated to the other two sledges, which also vanished along the rue st. denis. meanwhile, the one in which she sat, having arrived at the boulevard de menilmontant, stopped. in this place few people were to be seen; night had dispersed them. besides, in this out-of-the-way quarter, not many citizens would trust themselves without torches and an escort, since winter had sharpened the wants of three or four thousand beggars who were easily changed into robbers. the lady touched with her finger the shoulder of the coachman who was driving her, and said, "weber, how long will it take you to bring the cabriolet you know where?" "madame wishes me to bring the cabriolet?" asked the coachman, with a strong german accent. "yes, i shall return by the streets; and as they are still more muddy than the boulevard, we should not get on in the sledge; besides, i begin to feel the cold. do not you, petite?" said she, turning to the other lady. "yes, madame." "then, weber, we will have the cabriolet." "very well, madame." "what is the time, petite?" the young lady looked at her watch, which, however, she could hardly see, as it was growing dark, and said, "a quarter to six, madame." "then at a quarter to seven, weber." saying these words, the lady leaped lightly from the sledge, followed by her friend, and walked away quickly; while the coachman murmured, with a kind of respectful despair, sufficiently loud for his mistress to hear, "oh, mein gott! what imprudence." the two ladies laughed, drew their cloaks closer round them, and went tramping along through the snow, with their little feet. "you have good eyes, andrée," said the lady who seemed the elder of the two, although she could not have been more than thirty or thirty-two; "try to read the name at the corner of that street." "rue du pont-aux-choux, madame." "rue du pont-aux-choux! ah, mon dieu, we must have come wrong. they told me the second street on the right;--but what a smell of hot bread!" "that is not astonishing," said her companion, "for here is a baker's shop." "well, let us ask there for the rue st. claude," she said, moving to the door. "oh! do not you go in, madame; allow me," said andrée. "the rue st. claude, my pretty ladies?" said a cheerful voice. "are you asking for the rue st. claude?" the two ladies turned towards the voice, and saw, leaning against the door of the shop, a man who, in spite of the cold, had his chest and his legs quite bare. "oh! a naked man!" cried the young lady, half hiding behind her companion; "are we among savages?" "was not that what you asked for?" said the journeyman baker, for such he was, who did not understand her movement in the least, and, accustomed to his own costume, never dreamed of its effect upon them. "yes, my friend, the rue st. claude," said the elder lady, hardly able to keep from laughing. "oh, it is not difficult to find; besides, i will conduct you there myself;" and, suiting the action to the words, he began to move his long bony legs, which terminated in immense wooden shoes. "oh, no!" cried the elder lady, who did not fancy such a guide; "pray do not disturb yourself. tell us the way, and we shall easily find it." "first street to the right," said he, drawing back again. "thanks," said the ladies, who ran on as fast as they could, that he might not hear the laughter which they could no longer restrain. chapter ii. an interior. if we do not calculate too much on the memory of our readers, they certainly know the rue st. claude, which joins at one end the boulevard, and at the other the rue st. louis; this was an important street in the first part of our story, when it was inhabited by joseph balsamo, his sibyl, lorenza, and his master, althotas. it was still a respectable street, though badly lighted, and by no means clean, but little known or frequented. there was, however, at the corner of the boulevard a large house, with an aristocratic air; but this house, which might, from the number of its windows, have illuminated the whole street, had it been lighted up, was the darkest and most somber-looking of any. the door was never seen to open; and the windows were thick with dust, which seemed never disturbed. sometimes an idler, attracted by curiosity, approached the gates and peeped through; all he could see, however, were masses of weeds growing between the stones of the courtyard, and green moss spreading itself over everything. occasionally an enormous rat, sole inmate of those deserted domains, ran across the yard, on his way to his usual habitation in the cellars, which seemed, however, to be an excess of modesty, when he had the choice of so many fine sitting-rooms, where he need never fear the intrusion of a cat. at times, one or two of the neighbors, passing the house, might stop to take a survey, and one would say to the other: "well, what do you see?" "why," he would reply, "i see the rat." "oh! let me look at him. how fat he has grown!" "that is not to be wondered at; he is never disturbed; and there must be some good pickings in the house. m. de balsamo disappeared so suddenly, that he must have left something behind." "but you forget that the house was half burned down." and they would pursue their way. opposite this ruin was a high narrow house inclosed within a garden wall. from the upper windows, a light was to be seen; the rest was shrouded in darkness. either all the inhabitants were already asleep, or they were very economical of wood and candles, which certainly were frightfully dear this winter. it is, however, with the fifth story only that we have any business. we must, in the first place, take a survey of the house, and, ascending the staircase, open the first door. this room is empty and dark, however, but it opens into another of which the furniture deserves our attention. the doors were gaudily painted, and it contained easy chairs covered in white, with yellow velvet trimming, and a sofa to match; the cushions of which, however, were so full of the wrinkles of old age as scarcely to be cushions any longer. two portraits hanging on the walls next attracted attention. a candle and a lamp--one placed on a stand, about three feet high, and the other on the chimney-piece--threw a constant light on them. the first was a well-known portrait of henry iii., king of france and poland; a cap on his head, surmounting his long pale face and heavy eyes; a pointed beard, and a ruff round his neck. under it was the inscription, traced in black letters, on a badly-gilded frame, "henri de valois." the other portrait, of which the gilding was newer, and the painting more fresh and recent, represented a young lady with black eyes, a straight nose, and rather compressed lips, who appeared crushed under a tower of hair and ribbons, to which the cap of henry iii. was in the proportion of a mole-hill to a pyramid. under this portrait was inscribed, "jeanne de valois." glance at the fireless hearth, at the faded curtains, and then turn towards a little oak table in the corner; for there, leaning on her elbow, and writing the addresses of some letters, sits the original of this portrait. a few steps off, in an attitude half curious, half respectful, stands a little old woman, apparently about sixty. "jeanne de valois," says the inscription; but if this lady be indeed a valois, one wonders however the portrait of henry iii., the sybarite king, the great voluptuary, could support the sight of so much poverty in a person not only of his race, but bearing his name. in her person, however, this lady of the fifth story did no discredit to her portrait. she had white and delicate hands, which from time to time she rubbed together, as if to endeavor to put some warmth into them; her foot also, which was encased in a rather coquettish velvet slipper, was small and pretty. the wind whistled through all the old doors, and penetrated the crevices of the shaking windows; and the old servant kept glancing sadly towards the empty grate. her lady continued her occupation, talking aloud as she did so. "madame de misery," she murmured; "first lady of the bedchamber to her majesty--i cannot expect more than six louis from her, for she has already given to me once." and she sighed. "madame patrick, lady's-maid to her majesty, two louis; m. d'ormesson, an audience; m. de calonne, some good advice, m. de rohan, a visit; at least, we will try to induce him," said she, smiling at the thought. "well, then, i think i may hope for eight louis within a week." then, looking up, "dame clotilde," she said, "snuff this candle." the old woman did as she was bid, and then resumed her place. this kind of inquisition seemed to annoy the young lady, for she said, "pray go and look if you cannot find the end of a wax candle for me; this tallow is odious." "there is none," replied the old woman. "but just look." "where?" "in the ante-chamber." "it is so cold there." "there is some one ringing," said the young lady. "madame is mistaken," replied the obstinate old woman. "i thought i heard it, dame clotilde;" then, abandoning the attempt, she turned again to her calculations. "eight louis! three i owe for the rent, and five i have promised to m. de la motte, to make him support his stay at bar-sur-aube. pauvre diable, our marriage has not enriched him as yet--but patience;" and she smiled again, and looked at herself in the mirror that hung between the two portraits. "well, then," she continued, "i still want one louis for going from versailles to paris and back again; living for a week, one louis; dress, and gifts to the porters of the houses where i go, four louis; but," said she, starting up, "some one is ringing!" "no, madame," replied the old woman. "it is below, on the next floor." "but i tell you it is not," said she angrily, as the bell rang yet louder. even the old woman could deny it no longer; so she hobbled off to open the door, while her mistress rapidly cleared away all the papers, and seated herself on the sofa, assuming the air of a person humble and resigned, although suffering. it was, however, only her body that reposed; for her eyes, restless and unquiet, sought incessantly, first her mirror and then the door. at last it opened, and she heard a young and sweet voice saying, "is it here that madame la comtesse de la motte lives?" "madame la comtesse de la motte valois," replied clotilde. "it is the same person, my good woman; is she at home?" "yes, madame; she is too ill to go out." during this colloquy, the pretended invalid saw reflected in the glass the figure of a lady talking to clotilde, unquestionably belonging to the higher ranks. she then saw her turn round, and say to some one behind, "we can go in--it is here." and the two ladies we have before seen asking the way prepared to enter the room. "whom shall i announce to the countess?" said clotilde. "announce a sister of charity," said the elder lady. "from paris?" "no; from versailles." clotilde entered the room, and the strangers followed her. jeanne de valois seemed to rise with difficulty from her seat to receive her visitors. clotilde placed chairs for them, and then unwillingly withdrew. chapter iii. jeanne de la motte valois. the first thought of jeanne de la motte was to examine the faces of her visitors, so as to gather what she could of their characters. the elder lady, who might have been, as we have said, about thirty-two years of age, was remarkably beautiful, although, at first sight, a great air of hauteur detracted slightly from the charm of her expression; her carriage was so proud, and her whole appearance so distingué that jeanne could not doubt her nobility, even at a cursory glance. she, however, seemed purposely to place herself as far as possible from the light, so as to be little seen. her companion appeared four or five years younger, and was not less beautiful. her complexion was charming; her hair, drawn back from her temples, showed to advantage the perfect oval of her face; two large blue eyes, calm and serene; a well-formed mouth, indicating great frankness of disposition; a nose that rivaled the venus de medicis; such was the other face which presented itself to the gaze of jeanne de valois. she inquired gently to what happy circumstance she owed the honor of their visit. the elder lady signed to the younger, who thereupon said, "madame, for i believe you are married----" "i have the honor to be the wife of m. le comte de la motte, an excellent gentleman." "well, madame la comtesse, we are at the head of a charitable institution, and have heard concerning your condition things that interest us, and we consequently wished to have more precise details on the subject." "mesdames," replied jeanne, "you see there the portrait of henry iii., that is to say, of the brother of my grandfather, for i am truly of the race of valois, as you have doubtless been told." and she waited for the next question, looking at her visitors with a sort of proud humility. "madame," said the grave and sweet voice of the elder lady, "is it true, as we have also heard, that your mother was housekeeper at a place called fontelle, near bar-sur-seine?" jeanne colored at this question, but replied, "it is true, madame; and," she went on, "as marie jossel, my mother, was possessed of rare beauty, my father fell in love with her, and married her, for it is by my father that i am nobly descended; he was a st. rémy de valois, direct descendant of the valois who were on the throne." "but how have you been reduced to this degree of poverty, madame?" "alas! that is easily told. you are not ignorant that after the accession of henry iv., by which the crown passed from the house of valois to that of bourbon, there still remained many branches of the fallen family, obscure, doubtless, but incontestably springing from the same root as the four brothers who all perished so miserably." the two ladies made a sign of assent. "then," continued jeanne, "these remnants of the valois, fearing, in spite of their obscurity, to be obnoxious to the reigning family, changed their name of valois into that of st. rémy, which they took from some property, and they may be traced under this name down to my father, who, seeing the monarchy so firmly established, and the old branch forgotten, thought he need no longer deprive himself of his illustrious name, and again called himself valois, which name he bore in poverty and obscurity in a distant province, while no one at the court of france even knew of the existence of this descendant of their ancient kings." jeanne stopped at these words, which she had spoken with a simplicity and mildness which created a favorable impression. "you have, doubtless, your proofs already arranged, madame," said the elder lady, with kindness. "oh, madame," she replied, with a bitter smile, "proofs are not wanting--my father arranged them, and left them to me as his sole legacy; but of what use are proofs of a truth which no one will recognize?" "your father is then dead?" asked the younger lady. "alas! yes." "did he die in the provinces?" "no, madame." "at paris, then?" "yes." "in this room?" "no, madame; my father, baron de valois, great-nephew of the king henry iii., died of misery and hunger; and not even in this poor retreat, not in his own bed, poor as that was. no; my father died side by side with the suffering wretches in the hôtel dieu!" the ladies uttered an exclamation of surprise and distress. "from what you tell me, madame, you have experienced, it is evident, great misfortunes; above all, the death of your father." "oh, if you heard all the story of my life, madame, you would see that my father's death does not rank among its greatest misfortunes." "how, madame! you regard as a minor evil the death of your father?" said the elder lady, with a frown. "yes, madame; and in so doing i speak only as a pious daughter, for my father was thereby delivered from all the ills which he experienced in this life, and which continue to assail his family. i experience, in the midst of the grief which his death causes me, a certain joy in knowing that the descendant of kings is no longer obliged to beg his bread." "to beg his bread?" "yes, madame; i say it without shame, for in all our misfortunes there was no blame to my father or myself." "but you do not speak of your mother?" "well, with the same frankness with which i told you just now that i blessed god for taking my father, i complain that he left me my mother." the two ladies looked at each other, almost shuddering at these strange words. "would it be indiscreet, madame, to ask you for a more detailed account of your misfortunes?" "the indiscretion, madame, would be in me, if i fatigued you with such a long catalogue of woes." "speak, madame," said the elder lady, so commandingly, that her companion looked at her, as if to warn her to be more guarded. indeed, madame de la motte had been struck with this imperious accent, and stared at her with some astonishment. "i listen, madame," she then said, in a more gentle tone; "if you will be good enough to inform us what we ask." her companion saw her shiver as she spoke, and fearing she felt cold, pushed towards her a rug, on which to place her feet, and which she had discovered under one of the chairs. "keep it yourself, my sister," said she, pushing it back again. "you are more delicate than i." "indeed, madame," said jeanne, "it grieves me much to see you suffer from the cold; but wood is now so dear, and my stock was exhausted a week ago." "you said, madame, that you were unhappy in having a mother," said the elder lady, returning to the subject. "yes, madame. doubtless, such a blasphemy shocks you much, does it not?" said jeanne; "but hear my explanation. i have already had the honor to tell you that my father made a mésalliance, and married his housekeeper. marie jossel, my mother, instead of feeling gratified and proud of the honor he had done her, began by ruining my father, which certainly was not difficult to a person determined to consult only her own pleasures. and having reduced him to sell all his remaining property, she induced him to go to paris to claim the rights to which his name entitled him. my father was easily persuaded; perhaps he hoped in the justice of the king. he came then, having first turned all he possessed into money. he had, besides me, another daughter, and a son. "his son, unhappy as myself, vegetates in the lowest ranks of the army; the daughter, my poor sister, was abandoned, on the evening of our departure, before the house of a neighboring farmer. "the journey exhausted our little resources--my father wore himself out in fruitless appeals--we scarcely ever saw him--our house was wretched--and my mother, to whom a victim was necessary, vented her discontent and ill-humor upon me: she even reproached me with what i ate, and for the slightest fault i was unmercifully beaten. the neighbors, thinking to serve me, told my father of the treatment i experienced. he endeavored to protect me, but his interference only served to embitter her still more against me. "at last my father fell ill, and was confined first to the house, and then to his bed. my mother banished me from his room on the pretext that i disturbed him. she made me now learn a sentence, which, child as i was, i shrank from saying; but she would drive me out into the street with blows, ordering me to repeat it to each passer-by, if i did not wish to be beaten to death." "and what was this sentence?" asked the elder lady. "it was this, madame: 'have pity on a little orphan, who descends in a direct line from henri de valois.'" "what a shame!" cried the ladies. "but what effect did this produce on the people?" inquired andrée. "some listened and pitied me, others were angry and menaced me; some kind people stopped and warned me that i ran a great risk from repeating such words; but i knew no other danger than that of disobeying my mother. the result was, however, as she hoped: i generally brought home a little money, which kept us for a time from starvation or the hospital; but this life became so odious to me, that at last, one day, instead of repeating my accustomed phrase, i sat on a doorstep all the time, and returned in the evening empty-handed. my mother beat me so that the next day i fell ill; then my poor father, deprived of all resources, was obliged to go to the hôtel dieu, where he died." "oh! what a horrible history," cried the ladies. "what became of you after your father's death?" asked the elder lady. "god took pity upon me a month after my father's death, my mother ran away with a soldier, abandoning my brother and me. we felt ourselves relieved by her departure, and lived on public charity, although we never begged for more than enough to eat. one day, i saw a carriage going slowly along the faubourg saint marcel. there were four footmen behind, and a beautiful lady inside; i held out my hand to her for charity. she questioned me, and my reply and my name seemed to strike her with surprise. she asked for my address, and the next day made inquiries, and finding that i had told her the truth, she took charge of my brother and myself; she placed my brother in the army, and me with a dressmaker." "was not this lady madame de boulainvilliers?" "it was." "she is dead, i believe?" "yes; and her death deprived me of my only protector." "her husband still lives, and is rich." "ah, madame, it is to him that i owe my later misfortunes. i had grown tall, and, as he thought, pretty, and he wished to put a price upon his benefits which i refused to pay. meanwhile, madame de boulainvilliers died, having first married me to a brave and loyal soldier, m. de la motte, but, separated from him, i seemed more abandoned after her death than i had been after that of my father. this is my history, madame, which i have shortened as much as possible, in order not to weary you." "where, then, is your husband?" asked the elder lady. "he is in garrison at bar-sur-aube; he serves in the gendarmerie, and is waiting, like myself, in hopes of better times." "but you have laid your case before the court?" "undoubtedly." "the name of valois must have awakened some sympathy." "i know not, madame, what sentiments it may have awakened, for i have received no answer to any of my petitions." "you have seen neither the ministers, the king, nor the queen?" "no one. everywhere i have failed." "you cannot now beg, however." "no, madame; i have lost the habit; but i can die of hunger, like my poor father." "you have no child?" "no, madame; and my husband, by getting killed in the service of his king, will find for himself a glorious end to all our miseries." "can you, madame--i beg pardon if i seem intrusive--but can you bring forward the proofs of your genealogy?" jeanne rose, opened a drawer, and drew out some papers, which she presented to the lady, who rose to come nearer the light, that she might examine them; but seeing that jeanne eagerly seized this opportunity to observe her more clearly than she had yet been able to do, she turned away as if the light hurt her eyes, turning her back to madame de la motte. "but," said she, at last, "these are only copies." "oh! madame, i have the originals safe, and am ready to produce them." "if any important occasion should present itself, i suppose?" said the lady, smiling. "it is, doubtless, madame, an important occasion which procures me the honor of your visit, but these papers are so precious----" "that you cannot show them to the first comer. i understand you." "oh, madame!" cried the countess; "you shall see them;" and opening a secret drawer above the other, she drew out the originals, which were carefully inclosed in an old portfolio, on which were the arms of the valois. the lady took them, and after examining them, said, "you are right; these are perfectly satisfactory, and you must hold yourself in readiness to produce them when called upon by proper authority." "and what do you think i may expect, madame?" asked jeanne. "doubtless a pension for yourself, and advancement for m. de la motte, if he prove worthy of it." "my husband is an honorable man, madame, and has never failed in his military duties." "it is enough, madame," said the lady, drawing her hood still more over her face. she then put her hand in her pocket, and drew out first the same embroidered handkerchief with which we before saw her hiding her face when in the sledge, then a small roll about an inch in diameter, and three or four in length, which she placed on the chiffonier, saying, "the treasurer of our charity authorizes me, madame, to offer you this small assistance, until you shall obtain something better." madame de la motte threw a rapid glance at the little roll. "three-franc pieces," thought she, "and there must be nearly a hundred of them; what a boon from heaven." while she was thus thinking, the two ladies moved quickly into the outer room, where clotilde had fallen asleep in her chair. the candle was burning out in the socket, and the smell which came from it made the ladies draw out their smelling-bottles. jeanne woke clotilde, who insisted on following them with the obnoxious candle-end. "au revoir, madame la comtesse," said they. "where may i have the honor of coming to thank you?" asked jeanne. "we will let you know," replied the elder lady, going quickly down the stairs. madame de la motte ran back into her room, impatient to examine her rouleau, but her foot struck against something, and stooping to pick it up, she saw a small flat gold box. she was some time before she could open it, but having at last found the spring, it flew open and disclosed the portrait of a lady possessing no small beauty. the coiffure was german, and she wore a collar like an order. an m and a t encircled by a laurel wreath ornamented the inside of the box. madame de la motte did not doubt, from the resemblance of the portrait to the lady who had just left her, that it was that of her mother, or some near relation. she ran to the stairs to give it back to them; but hearing the street-door shut, she ran back, thinking to call them from the window, but arrived there only in time to see a cabriolet driving rapidly away. she was therefore obliged to keep the box for the present, and turned again to the little rouleau. when she opened it, she uttered a cry of joy, "double louis, fifty double louis, two thousand and four hundred francs!" and transported at the sight of more gold than she had ever seen before in her life, she remained with clasped hands and open lips. "a hundred louis," she repeated; "these ladies are then very rich. oh! i will find them again." chapter iv. belus. madame de la motte was not wrong in thinking that the cabriolet which she saw driving off contained the two ladies who had just left her. they had, in fact, found it waiting for them on their exit. it was lightly built, open and fashionable, with high wheels, and a place behind for a servant to stand. it was drawn by a magnificent bay horse of irish breed, short-tailed, and plump, which was driven by the same man whom we have already heard addressed by the name of weber. the horse had become so impatient with waiting, that it was with some difficulty that weber kept him stationary. when he saw the ladies, he said, "madame, i intended to bring scipio, who is gentle and easy to manage, but unluckily he received an injury last evening, and i was forced to bring bélus, and he is rather unmanageable." "oh, weber, i do not mind in the least," said the lady; "i am well used to driving, and not at all timid." "i know how well madame drives, but the roads are so bad. where are we to go?" "to versailles." "by the boulevards then, madame?" "no, weber; it freezes hard, and the boulevards will be dreadful; the streets will be better." he held the horse for the ladies to get in, then jumped up behind, and they set off at a rapid pace. "well, andrée, what do you think of the countess?" asked the elder lady. "i think, madame," she replied, "that madame de la motte is poor and unfortunate." "she has good manners, has she not?" "yes, doubtless." "you are somewhat cold about her, andrée." "i must confess, there is a look of cunning in her face that does not please me." "oh, you are always difficult to please, andrée; to please you, one must have every good quality. now, i find the little countess interesting and simple, both in her pride and in her humility." "it is fortunate for her, madame, that she has succeeded in pleasing you." "take care!" cried the lady, at the same time endeavoring to check her horse, which nearly ran over a street-porter at the corner of the rue st. antoine. "gare!" shouted weber, in the voice of the stentor. they heard the man growling and swearing, in which he was joined by several people near, but bélus soon carried them away from the sound, and they quickly reached the place baudoyer. from thence the skilful conductress continued her rapid course down the rue de la tisseranderie, a narrow unaristocratic street, always crowded. thus, in spite of the reiterated warnings of herself and weber, the numbers began to increase around them, many of whom cried fiercely, "oh! the cabriolet! down with the cabriolet!" bélus, however, guided by the steady hand which held the reins, kept on his rapid course, and not the smallest accident had yet occurred. but in spite of this skilful progress, the people seemed discontented at the rapid course of the cabriolet, which certainly required some care on their part to avoid, and the lady, perhaps half frightened at the murmurs, and knowing the present excited state of the people, only urged on her horse the faster to escape from them. thus they proceeded until they reached the rue du coq st. honoré, and here had been raised one of the most beautiful of those monuments in snow of which we have spoken. round this a great crowd had collected, and they were obliged to stop until the people would make an opening for them to pass, which they did at last, but with great grumbling and discontent. the next obstacle was at the gates of the palais royal, where, in a courtyard, which had been thrown open, were a host of beggars crowding round fires which had been lighted there, and receiving soup, which the servants of m. le duc d'orleans were distributing to them in earthen basins; and as in paris a crowd collects to see everything, the number of the spectators of this scene far exceeded that of the actors. here, then, they were again obliged to stop, and to their dismay, began to hear distinctly from behind loud cries of "down with the cabriolet! down with those that crush the poor!" "can it be that those cries are addressed to us?" said the elder lady to her companion. "indeed, madame, i fear so," she replied. "have we, do you think, run over any one?" "i am sure you have not." but still the cries seemed to increase. a crowd soon gathered round them, and some even seized bélus by the reins, who thereupon began to stamp and foam most furiously. "to the magistrate! to the magistrate!" cried several voices. the two ladies looked at each other in terror. curious heads began to peep under the apron of the cabriolet. "oh, they are women," cried some; "opera girls, doubtless," said others, "who think they have a right to crush the poor because they receive ten thousand francs a month." a general shout hailed these words, and they began again to cry, "to the magistrate!" the younger lady shrank back trembling with fear; the other looked around her with wonderful resolution, though with frowning brows and compressed lips. "oh, madame," cried her companione, "for heaven's sake, take care!" "courage, andrée, courage!" she replied. "but they will recognize you, madame." "look through the windows, if weber is still behind the cabriolet." "he is trying to get down, but the mob surrounds him. ah! here he comes." "weber," said the lady in german, "we will get out." the man vigorously pushed aside those nearest the carriage, and opened the door. the ladies jumped out, and the crowd instantly seized on the horse and cabriolet, which would evidently soon be in pieces. "what in heaven's name does it all mean? do you understand it, weber?" said the lady, still in german. "ma foi, no, madame," he replied, struggling to free a passage for them to pass. "but they are not men, they are wild beasts," continued the lady; "with what do they possibly reproach me?" she was answered by a voice, whose polite and gentlemanly tone contrasted strangely with the savage murmurs of the people, and which said in excellent german, "they reproach you, madame, with having braved the police order, which appeared this morning, and which prohibited all cabriolets, which are always dangerous, and fifty times more so in this frost, when people can hardly escape fast enough, from driving through the streets until the spring." the lady turned, and saw she was addressed by a young officer, whose distinguished and pleasing air, and fine figure, could not but make a favorable impression. "oh, mon dieu, monsieur," she said, "i was perfectly ignorant of this order." "you are a foreigner, madame?" inquired the young officer. "yes, sir; but tell me what i must do? they are destroying my cabriolet." "you must let them destroy it, and take advantage of that time to escape. the people are furious just now against all the rich, and on the pretext of your breaking this regulation would conduct you before the magistrate." "oh, never!" cried andrée. "then," said the officer, laughing, "profit by the space which i shall make in the crowd, and vanish." the ladies gathered from his manner that he shared the opinion of the people as to their station, but it was no time for explanations. "give us your arm to a cab-stand," said the elder lady, in a voice full of authority. "i was going to make your horse rear, and thereby clear you a passage," said the young man, who did not much wish to take the charge of escorting them through the crowd; "the people will become yet more enraged, if they hear us speaking in a language unknown to them." "weber," cried the lady, in a firm voice, "make bélus rear to disperse the crowd." "and then, madame?" "remain till we are gone." "but they will destroy the carriage." "let them; what does that matter? save bélus if you can, but yourself above all." "yes, madame;" and a slight touch to the horse soon produced the desired effect of dispersing the nearest part of the crowd, and throwing down those who held by his reins. "your arm, sir!" again said the lady to the officer; "come on, petite," turning to andrée. "let us go then, courageous woman," said the young man, giving his arm, with real admiration, to her who asked for it. in a few minutes he had conducted them to a cab-stand, but the men were all asleep on their seats. chapter v. the road to versailles. the ladies were free from the crowd for the present, but there was some danger that they might be followed and recognized, when the same tumult would doubtless be renewed and escape a second time be more difficult. the young officer knew this, and therefore hastened to awaken one of the half-frozen and sleepy men. so stupefied, however, did they seem, that he had great difficulty in rousing one of them. at last he took him by the collar and shook him roughly. "gently, gently!" cried the man, sitting up. "where do you wish to go, ladies?" asked the officer. "to versailles," said the elder lady, still speaking german. "oh, to versailles!" repeated the coachman; "four miles and a half over this ice. no, i would rather not." "we will pay well," said the lady. this was repeated to the coachman in french by the young officer. "but how much?" said the coachman; "you see it is not only going, i must come back again." "a louis; is that enough?" asked the lady of the officer, who, turning to the coachman, said,-- "these ladies offer you a louis." "well, that will do, though i risk breaking my horses' legs." "why, you rascal, you know that if you were paid all the way there and back, it would be but twelve francs, and we offer you twenty-four." "oh, do not stay to bargain," cried the lady; "he shall have twenty louis if he will only set off at once." "one is enough, madame." "come down, sir, and open the door." "i will be paid first," said the man. "you will!" said the officer fiercely. "oh! let us pay," said the lady, putting her hand in her pocket. she turned pale. "oh! mon dieu, i have lost my purse! feel for yours, andrée." "oh! madame, it is gone too." they looked at each other in dismay, while the young officer watched their proceedings, and the coachman sat grinning, and priding himself on his caution. the lady was about to offer her gold chain as a pledge, when the young officer drew out a louis, and offered it to the man, who thereupon got down and opened the door. the ladies thanked him warmly and got in. "and now, sir, drive these ladies carefully and honestly." the ladies looked at each other in terror; they could not bear to see their protector leave them. "oh! madame," said andrée, "do not let him go away." "but why not? we will ask for his address, and return him his louis to-morrow, with a little note of thanks, which you shall write." "but, madame, suppose the coachman should not keep faith with us, and should turn us out half way, what would become of us?" "oh! we will take his number." "yes, madame, i do not deny that you could have him punished afterwards; but meanwhile, you would not reach versailles, and what would they think?" "true," replied her companion. the officer advanced to take leave. "monsieur," said andrée, "one word more, if you please." "at your orders, madame," he said politely, but somewhat stiffly. "monsieur, you cannot refuse us one more favor, after serving us so much?" "what is it, madame?" "we are afraid of the coachman, who seems so unwilling to go." "you need not fear," replied he; "i have his number, and if he does not behave well, apply to me." "to you, sir?" said andrée in french, forgetting herself; "we do not even know your name." "you speak french," exclaimed the young man, "and you have been condemning me all this time to blunder on in german!" "excuse us, sir," said the elder lady, coming to andrée's rescue, "but you must see, that though not perhaps foreigners, we are strangers in paris, and above all, out of our places in a hackney coach. you are sufficiently a man of the world to see that we are placed in an awkward position. i feel assured you are generous enough to believe the best of us, and to complete the service you have rendered, and above all, to ask us no questions." "madame," replied the officer, charmed with her noble, yet pleasing manner, "dispose of me as you will." "then, sir, have the kindness to get in, and accompany us to versailles." the officer instantly placed himself opposite to them, and directed the man to drive on. after proceeding in silence for some little time, he began to feel himself surrounded with delicate and delicious perfumes, and gradually began to think better of the ladies' position. "they are," thought he, "ladies who have been detained late at some rendezvous, and are now anxious to regain versailles, much frightened, and a little ashamed; still, two ladies, driving themselves in a cabriolet! however," recollected he, "there was a servant behind; but then again, no money on either of them, but probably the footman carried the purse; and the carriage was certainly a very elegant one, and the horse could not have been worth less than one hundred and fifty louis; therefore they must be rich, so that the accidental want of money proves nothing. but why speak a foreign language when they must be french? however, that at least shows a good education, and they speak both languages with perfect purity; besides, there is an air of distinction about them. the supplication of the younger one was touching, and the request of the other was noble and imposing; indeed, i begin to feel it dangerous to pass two or three hours in a carriage with two such pretty women, pretty and discreet also; for they do not speak, but wait for me to begin." on their parts, the ladies were doubtless thinking of him, for just as he had arrived at these conclusions, the elder lady said to her companion, but this time in english: "really, this coachman crawls along; we shall never reach versailles; i fear our poor companion must be terribly ennuyé." "particularly," answered andrée, smiling, "as our conversation has not been very amusing." "do you not think he has a most distinguished air?" "yes, certainly." "besides, he wears the uniform of a naval officer, and all naval officers are of good family. he looks well in it, too, for he is very handsome." here the young man interrupted them. "your pardon, ladies," said he, in excellent english, "but i must tell you that i understand english perfectly; i do not, however, know spanish; therefore, if you can and like to speak in that language, you are safe from my understanding you." "oh, monsieur," replied the lady, laughing, "we had no harm to say of you, as you must have heard; therefore we will content ourselves with french for the remainder of the time." "thanks, madame, but if my presence be irksome to you----" "you cannot suppose that, sir, as it was we who begged you to accompany us." "exacted it, even," said andrée. "oh, madame, you overwhelm me; pray pardon me my momentary hesitation; but paris is so full of snares and deceptions." "you then took us for----" "monsieur took us for snares, that is all." "oh! ladies," said the young man, quite humiliated, "i assure you, i did not." "but what is the matter? the coach stops." "i will see, madame." "oh! i think we are overturning; pray take care, sir." and andrée, in her terror, laid her hand on the young man's shoulder. he, yielding to an impulse, attempted to seize her little hand; but she had in a moment thrown herself back again in the carriage. he therefore got out, and found the coachman engaged in raising one of his horses, which had fallen on the ice. the horse, with his aid, was soon on its legs again, and they pursued their way. it seemed, however, that this little interruption had destroyed the intimacy which had begun to spring up, for after the ladies had asked and been told the cause of their detention, all relapsed into silence. the young man, however, who had derived some pleasure from the touch of that little hand, thought he would at least have a foot in exchange; he therefore stretched out his, and endeavored to touch hers, which, was, however, quickly withdrawn; and when he did just touch that of the elder lady, she said, with great sang-froid,---- "i fear, sir, i am dreadfully in your way." he colored up to the ears, and felt thankful to the darkness, which prevented it from being seen. after this, he desisted, and remained perfectly still, fearing even to renew the conversation, lest he should seem impertinent to these ladies, to whom, at first, he had thought himself rather condescending in his politeness. still, in spite of himself, he felt more and more strongly attracted towards them, and an increasing interest in them. from time to time he heard them speak softly to each other, and he caught these words: "so late an hour! what excuse for being out?" at last the coach stopped again, but this time it was no accident, but simply that they had arrived at versailles. the young man thought the time had passed with marvelous quickness. "we are at versailles," said the coachman. "where must he stop, ladies?" asked the officer. "at the place d'armes." "at the place d'armes, coachman," said the officer; "go on.--i must say something to them," thought he, "or they will now think me a stupid, as they must before have thought me impertinent." "mesdames," said he, "you are at length arrived." "thanks to your generous assistance." "what trouble we have given you," added andrée. "oh, madame, do not speak of it!" "well, sir, we shall not forget; will you tell us your name?" "my name?" "certainly, sir; you do not wish to make us a present of a louis, i hope." "oh, madame, if that is it," said the young man, rather piqued, "i yield; i am the comte de charney, and as madame has already remarked, a naval officer." "charney," repeated the elder lady, "i shall not forget." "yes, madame, georges de charney." "and you live----?" "hôtel des princes, rue de richelieu." the coach stopped. the elder lady opened the door and jumped out quickly, holding out a hand to her companion. "but pray, ladies," said he, preparing to follow them, "take my arm; you are not yet at your own home." "oh, sir, do not move." "not move?" "no; pray remain in the coach." "you cannot walk alone at this time of night; it is impossible." "now, you see," said the elder lady, gaily, "after almost refusing to oblige us, you wish to be too obliging." "but, madame----" "sir, remain to the end a loyal and gallant cavalier; we thank you, m. de charney, with all our hearts, and will not even ask your word----" "to do what, madame?" "to shut the door, and order the man to drive back to paris, without even looking where we go, which you will do, will you not?" "i will obey you, madame; coachman, back again." and he put a second louis into the man's hand, who joyfully set off on his return. the young man sighed, as he took his place on the cushions which the unknown ladies had just occupied. they remained motionless till the coach was out of sight, and then took their way towards the castle. chapter vi. laurent. at this moment our heroines heard the clock strike from the church of st. louis. "oh, mon dieu! a quarter to twelve," they cried, in terror. "see, all the doors are shut," said andrée. "oh, that is nothing; for, if they were open, we would not go in here. let us go round by the reservoirs." and they turned to the right, where there was a private entrance. when they arrived there, "the door is shut, andrée," said the elder lady, rather uneasily. "let us knock, madame." "no, we will call; laurent must be waiting for me, for i told him perhaps i should return late." "i will call," said andrée, approaching the door. "who is there?" said a voice from inside. "oh, it is not laurent!" said she, terrified. "is it not?" and the other lady advanced, and called softly, "laurent." no answer. "laurent?" again she called, louder. "there is no laurent here," replied the voice, rudely. "but," said andrée, "whether he be here or not, open the door." "i cannot open it." "but laurent would have opened it immediately." "i have my orders," was all the reply. "who are you, then?" "rather, who are you?" rude as the question was, it was no time to find fault, so they answered, "we are ladies of her majesty's suite, we lodge in the castle, and we wish to get home." "well, i, mesdames, am a suisse of the salischamade company, and i shall do just the contrary of laurent, for i shall leave you at the door." "oh!" murmured the ladies, in terror and anger. then, making an effort over herself, the elder lady said, "my friend, i understand that you are obeying orders, and i do not quarrel with you for that--it is a soldier's duty; only do me the favor to call laurent--he cannot be far distant." "i cannot quit my post." "then send some one." "i have no one to send." "for pity's sake!" "oh, mon dieu, sleep in the town, that is no great thing; if i were shut out of the barracks, i would soon find a bed." "listen," said the lady again; "you shall have twenty louis, if you open this door." "and twelve years at the galleys: no, thank you. forty-eight francs a year is not sufficient pay for that." "i will get you made a sergeant." "yes, and he who gave me the order will have me shot." "and who did give you the order?" "the king." "the king!" cried they; "oh, we are lost!" "is there no other door?" "oh! madame, if this one is closed, be sure all the others will be so also," said andrée. "you are right, andrée. 'tis a horrible trick of the king," she said, with a contempt almost menacing. there was a sort of bank outside the door, which they sank down upon in despair. they could see the light under the door, and could hear the steps of the sentinel as he paced to and fro. within this little door was salvation; without, shame and scandal. "oh! to-morrow, to-morrow, when they will find out," murmured the elder lady. "you will tell the truth, madame." "but shall i be believed?" "oh! we can prove it; besides, the soldier will not stay all night; he will be relieved, and perhaps his successor will be more complacent." "yes, but the patrol will pass directly, and will find me here, waiting outside. it is infamous; i am suffocated with rage." "oh, take courage, madame! you, who are always so brave." "it is a plot, andrée, in order to ruin me. this door is never closed. oh, i shall die!" at this moment they heard a step approaching, and then the voice of a young man, singing gaily as he went along. "that voice," cried the lady, "i know it, i am sure." "oh, yes, madame, he will save us." a young man, wrapped up in a fur riding-coat, came quickly up, and without noticing them, knocked at the door, and called, "laurent." "brother," said the elder lady, touching him on the shoulder. "the queen," cried he, taking off his hat. "hush," said she. "you are not alone?" "no, i am with mademoiselle andrée de taverney." "oh, good evening, mademoiselle." "good evening, monseigneur." "are you going out, madame?" asked he. "no." "then you are going in." "we wished to do so." "have you not called laurent?" "yes, we have, but----" "but what?" "you call laurent, and you will see." the young man, whom the reader has, perhaps, already recognized as the comte d'artois, approached and again called "laurent." "i warn you," answered from within the voice of the suisse, "that if you torment me any more i will go and fetch my commanding officer." "who is this?" asked the count, turning round in astonishment to the queen. "a swiss who has been substituted for laurent." "by whom?" "by the king." "the king?" "yes, he told us so himself." "and with orders?" "most strict, apparently." "diable! we must capitulate." "what do you mean?" she asked. "offer him money." "i have already done so, and he has refused it." "offer him promotion." "i have offered that also, but he would not listen." "then there is but one way." "what?" "to make a noise." "my dear charles, you will compromise us." "not the least in the world; you keep in the background, i will knock like thunder, and shout like a madman; they will open at last, and you can slide in with me." "try, then." the young prince began calling laurent, knocking at the door and striking with his sword, till at last the swiss said, "ah, well! i will call my officer." "go and call him, that is just what i want." they soon heard other steps approaching. the queen and andrée kept close, ready to slip in if the door should open; then they heard the swiss say, "it is a gentleman, lieutenant, who insists on coming in." "well, i suppose that is not astonishing, as we belong to the castle," said the count. "it is no doubt a natural wish, but a forbidden one," replied the officer. "forbidden--by whom? morbleu!" "by the king." "but the king would not wish an officer of the castle to sleep outside." "sir, i am not the judge of that; i have only to obey orders." "come, lieutenant, open the door; we cannot talk through this oak." "sir, i repeat to you that my orders are to keep it shut; and if you are an officer, as you say, you know that i must obey." "lieutenant, you speak to the colonel of a regiment." "excuse me, then, colonel, but my orders are positive." "but they cannot concern a prince. come, sir, a prince cannot be kept out." "my prince, i am in despair, but the king has ordered----" "the king has ordered you to turn away his brother like a beggar or a robber? i am the comte d'artois, sir. mordieu! you keep me here freezing at the door." "monseigneur, god is my witness that i would shed my blood for your royal highness. but the king gave me his orders in person, and confiding to me the charge of this door, ordered me not to open to any one, should it be even himself, after eleven o'clock. therefore, monseigneur, i ask your pardon humbly for disobeying you, but i am a soldier, and were it her majesty the queen who asked admittance, i should be forced most unwillingly to refuse." having said this, the officer turned away and left the place. "we are lost," said the queen. "do they know that you are out?" asked the count. "alas, i know not!" "perhaps, then, this order is leveled against me; the king knows i often go out at night, and stay late. madame la comtesse d'artois must have heard something, and complained to him, and hence this tyrannical order." "ah, no, brother, i thank you for trying to reassure me, but i feel that it is against me these precautions are taken." "impossible, sister! the king has too much esteem----" "meanwhile, i am left at the door, and to-morrow a frightful scandal will be the result. i know well i have an enemy near the king." "it is possible; however, i have an idea." "what? only be quick. if you can but save us from the ridicule of this position, it is all i care for." "oh, i will save you; i am not more foolish than he, for all his learning." "than whom?" "ah, pardieu, the comte de provence." "ah, then, you also know my enemy." "is he not the enemy of all that are young and beautiful, of all who are better than himself?" "count, i believe you know something about this order." "perhaps, but do not let us stop here. come with me, dear sister." "where?" "you shall see, somewhere where at least you will be warm, and en route i will tell you all i know about this. take my arm, sister, and you the other, madlle. de taverney, and let us turn to the right." "well, but now go on," said the queen. "this evening after the king's supper, he came to his cabinet. he had been talking all day to count haga, you had not been seen----" "no, at two o'clock i left to go to paris." "i know it. the king, allow me to tell you, dear sister, was thinking no more about you than about haroun-al-raschid, or his vizier giaffar, and was talking geography. i listened with some impatience, for i also wanted to go out; probably not with the same object as you." "where are we going?" interrupted the queen. "oh, close by; take care, there is a snow-heap. madlle. de taverney, if you leave my arm you will certainly fall. but to return to the king: he was thinking of nothing but latitude and longitude, when m. de provence said to him, 'i should like to pay my respects to the queen.' "'the queen sups at home,' replied the king. "'oh, i believed her at paris.' "'no, she is at home,' said the king, quietly. "'i have just come from there, and been denied to her,' said m. de provence. "then i saw the king frown. he dismissed us, and doubtless went to make inquiries. louis is jealous by fits, you know; he must have asked to see you, and being refused, become suspicious." "yes, madame de misery had orders to do so." "then, to know whether you were out or not, he has given these strict orders." "oh, it is shameful treatment. confess, is it not?" "indeed, i think so; but here we are." "this house?" "does it displease you?" "no, i do not say that--it is charming. but your servants?" "well!" "if they see me." "come in, sister, and i will guarantee that no one sees you, not even whoever opens the door." "impossible!" "we will try," said he, laughing; and laying his hand on one of the panels, the door flew open. "enter, i pray you," said he, "there is no one near." the queen looked at andrée, then, making up her mind, went in, and the door shut behind them. she found herself in a vestibule, small, but ornamented in perfect taste. the floor was mosaic work, representing bouquets of flowers, while numerous rose-trees on marble brackets scented the air with a perfume equally delicious as rare at that time of the year. it looked all so charming, that the ladies began to forget their fears and scruples. "so far well," said the queen; "we have a shelter, at all events, and seemingly a very charming one; but you had better see to one thing--that is, to keep off your servants." "oh, nothing more easy;" and the prince, seizing a little bell which hung on one of the pillars, rang one clear stroke. "oh!" cried the queen, frightened, "is that the way to keep them off? i should have thought it would bring them." "if i had rung again, it would have done so, but when i only ring once, they know they are not wanted." "oh, you are a man of precaution!" said the queen laughing. "now, dear sister, take the trouble to go up-stairs." "let us obey," said the queen, "the genius of this place appears not disagreeable;" and they went up, their steps making no sound on the thick aubusson carpet. at the top, the prince rang another bell, which gave them a fresh start of surprise, and their astonishment increased when they saw the doors open of themselves. "really, andrée," said the queen, "i begin to tremble, do not you?" "oh, madame, i shall follow fearlessly wherever your majesty goes." "enter," said the prince, "for here is your apartment;" and he ushered them into a charming little room, furnished 'en buhl,' with a painted ceiling and walls, and a rosewood floor. it opened into a boudoir, fitted up with white cashmere, beautifully embroidered with groups of flowers, and hung with tapestry of exquisite workmanship. beyond the boudoir was a bedroom, painted blue, hung with curtains of silk and lace, and with a sumptuous bed in an alcove. a fire burned on the hearth, and a dozen perfumed wax-lights in candelabra. such were the marvels which presented themselves to the eyes of the wondering ladies. no living being was to be seen; fire and lights seemed to have come without hands. the queen stopped on the threshold of the bedroom, looking half afraid to enter. "sister," said the count, "these are my bachelor apartments; here i come alone." "always?" asked the queen. "doubtless," answered he. "i understand now," said the queen, "why madame la comtesse is sometimes unquiet." "confess, however, that if she is unquiet to-night, it will be without reason." "to-night, i do not say, but other nights." then, sitting down; "i am dreadfully tired," she said; "are not you, andrée?" "i can scarcely stand, and if your majesty permits----" "indeed you look ill, mademoiselle," said the count. "you must go to bed," said the queen. "m. le comte gives us up this room; do you not, charles?" "entirely, madame." "one moment, count. if you go away, how can we recall you?" "you will not need me; you are mistress of this house." "but there are other rooms." "certainly, there is a dining-room, which i advise you to visit." "with a table ready spread, no doubt." "oh, yes, and mademoiselle de taverney, who seems to me to need it much, will find there jellies or chicken, and wine, and you, sister, plenty of those fruits you are so fond of." "and no servants?" "none." "we will see; but how to return?" "you must not think of returning to-night. at six o'clock the gates will be opened, go out a quarter before, you will find in these drawers mantles of all colors and all shapes, if you wish to disguise yourselves. go therefore to the château, regain your rooms, go to bed, and all will be right." "but you, what will you do?" "oh, i am going away." "we turn you out, my poor brother!" "it is better for me not to remain in the same house with you." "but you must sleep somewhere." "do not fear; i have three other houses like this." the queen laughed. "and he pretends madame la comtesse has no cause to be anxious; oh, i will tell her!" "you dare not." "it is true, we are dependent upon you. then, to go away to-morrow morning without seeing any one?" "you must ring once, as i did below, and the door will open." "by itself?" "by itself." "then good night, brother." "good night, sister." he bowed and disappeared. chapter vii. the queen's bed-chamber. the next day, or rather the same morning, for our last chapter brought us to two o'clock, the king louis xvi., in a violet-colored morning dress, in some disorder, and with no powder in his hair, knocked at the door of the queen's ante-chamber. it was opened by one of her women. "the queen?" asked louis, in a brusque manner. "her majesty is asleep, sire." the king made a movement, as though to pass in but the woman did not move. "do you not see," he said, "that i wish to come in." "but the queen is asleep, sire," again she said timidly. "i told you to let me pass," answered the king, going in as he spoke. when he reached the door of the bedroom, the king saw madame de misery, the first lady-in-waiting, who was sitting reading from her mass book. she rose on seeing him. "sire," she said, in a low voice, and with a profound reverence, "her majesty has not yet called for me." "really?" said the king, in an ironical tone. "but, sire, it is only half-past six, and her majesty never rings before seven." "and you are sure that her majesty is asleep in bed?" "i cannot affirm that she is asleep, sire, but i can that she is in bed." the king could contain himself no longer, but went straight to the door, which he opened with some noise. the room was in complete darkness, the shutters closed, and the curtains drawn. a night lamp burned on a bracket, but it only gave a dim and feeble light. the king walked rapidly towards the bed. "oh, madame de misery," said the queen, "how noisy you are--you have disturbed me!" the king remained stupefied. "it is not madame de misery," he murmured. "what, is it you, sire?" said marie antoinette, raising herself up. "good morning, madame," said the king, in a surly tone. "what good wind blows you here, sire? madame de misery, come and open the shutters." she came in instantly, as usual, opened all the doors and windows, to let in light and fresh air. "you sleep well, madame," said the king, seating himself, and casting scrutinizing glances round the room. "yes, sire, i read late, and had your majesty not disturbed me, might have slept for some time longer." "how was it that you did not receive visitors yesterday?" asked the king. "whom do you mean?--m. de provence," said the queen, with great presence of mind. "yes, exactly; he wished to pay his respects to you, and was refused." "well!" "they said you were out." "did they say that?" asked the queen carelessly. "madame de misery----" the lady appeared, bringing in with her a number of letters on a gold salver. "did your majesty call?" she asked. "yes. did they tell m. de provence yesterday that i was out? will you tell the king, for really i forget." "sire," said madame de misery, while the queen took her letters and began to read, "i told monseigneur le comte de provence that her majesty did not receive." "and by whose orders?" "by the queen's, sire." meanwhile, the queen had opened one of the letters, and read these lines: "you returned from paris yesterday, and entered the château at eight o'clock in the evening; laurent saw you." madame de misery left the room. "pardon, sire," said the queen, "but will you answer me one question?" "what, madame?" "am i, or am i not, at liberty to see m. de provence only when it pleases me?" "oh, perfectly at liberty, madame, but----" "well, his conversation wearies me; besides, he does not love me, and i like him no better. i expected his visit, and went to bed at eight o'clock to avoid it. but you look disturbed, sire." "i believed you to be in paris yesterday." "at what time?" "at the time at which you pretend to have gone to bed." "doubtless, i went to paris; but what of that?" "all, madame, depends on what time you returned." "oh, you wish to know at what time exactly i returned?" "yes." "it is easy. madame de misery----" the lady reappeared. "what time was it when i returned from paris yesterday?" "about eight o'clock, your majesty." "i do not believe it," said the king, "you make a mistake, madame de misery." the lady walked to the door, and called, "madame dural!" "yes, madame," replied a voice. "at what time did her majesty return from paris yesterday?" "about eight o'clock, madame," replied the other. "the king thinks we are mistaken." madame dural put her head out of the window, and cried, "laurent!" "who is laurent?" asked the king. "the porter at the gate where her majesty entered," said madame de misery. "laurent," said madame dural, "what time was it when her majesty came home last evening?" "about eight o'clock," answered laurent. madame de misery then left the room, and the king and queen remained alone. he felt ashamed of his suspicions. the queen, however, only said coldly, "well, sire, is there anything else you wish to know?" "oh, nothing!" cried he, taking her hands in his; "forgive me; i do not know what came into my head--my joy is as great as my repentance. you will not be angry, will you? i am in despair at having annoyed you." the queen withdrew her hand, and said; "sire, a queen of france must not tell a falsehood." "what do you mean?" "i mean that i did not return at eight o'clock last evening." the king drew back in surprise. "i mean," continued the queen in the same cold manner, "that i only returned at six o'clock this morning." "madame!" "and that, but for the kindness of m. le comte d'artois, who gave me an asylum, and lodged me out of pity in one of his houses, i should have been left all night at the door of the château like a beggar." "ah! you had not then returned?" said the king, gloomily; "then i was right." "sire, you have not behaved towards me as a gentleman should." "in what, madame?" "in this--that if you wish to know whether i return late or early, you have no need to close the gates, with orders not to open them, but simply to come to me and ask, 'madame, at what time did you return?' you have no more reason to doubt, sire. your spies have been deceived, your precautions nullified, and your suspicions dissipated. i saw you ashamed of the part you had played, and i might have continued to triumph in my victory, but i think your proceedings shameful for a king, and unworthy of a gentleman; and i would not refuse myself the satisfaction of telling you so. "it is useless, sire," she continued, seeing the king about to speak; "nothing can excuse your conduct towards me." "on the contrary, madame," replied he, "nothing is more easy. not a single person in the château suspected that you had not already returned; therefore no one could think that my orders referred to you. probably they were attributed to the dissipations of m. le comte d'artois--for that i care nothing. therefore, madame, appearances were saved, as far as you were concerned. i wished simply to give you a secret lesson, from which the amount of irritation you show leads me to hope you will profit. therefore, i still think i was in the right, and do not repent what i have done." the queen listened, and seemed to calm herself, by an effort, to prepare for the approaching contest. "then, sire," she said, "you think you need no excuse for keeping at the door of your castle the daughter of maria theresa, your wife, and the mother of your children? no! it is in your eyes a pleasantry worthy of a king, and of which the morality doubles the value. it is nothing to you, to have forced the queen of france to pass the night in this 'petite maison,' where the comte d'artois receives the ladies of the opera and the 'femmes galantes' of your court. oh no! that is nothing. a philosopher king is above all such considerations. only, on this occasion, i have reason to thank heaven that my brother-in-law is a dissipated man, as his dissipation has saved me from disgrace, and his vices have sheltered my honor." the king colored, and moved uneasily on his chair. "oh yes!" continued the queen, with a bitter laugh, "i know that you are a moral king, but your morality produces strange effects. you say that no one knew that i was out. will you tell me that m. de provence, your instigator, did not know it; or m. le comte d'artois--or my women? who, by my orders, told you falsehoods this morning; or laurent--bought by m. d'artois and by me? let us continue this habit, sire; you, to set spies and swiss guards; and i, to buy them over and cheat you; and in a month we will calculate together how much the dignity of the throne and our marriage has gained by it." it was evident that her words had made a great impression on him to whom they were addressed. "you know," said he, in an altered voice, "that i am always sincere, and willing to acknowledge if i have been wrong. will you prove to me that you were right to go into paris in sledges, accompanied by a gay party, which, in the present unhappy state of things, is likely to give offense? will you prove to me, that you were right to disappear in paris, like maskers at a ball, and only to reappear scandalously late at night, when every one else was asleep? you have spoken of the dignity of the throne, and of marriage; think you that it befits a queen, a wife, and a mother, to act thus?" "i will reply in a few words, sire; for it seems to me, that such accusations merit nothing but contempt. i left versailles in a sledge, because it is the quickest way of getting to paris at present. i went with madlle. de taverney, whose reputation is certainly one of the purest in our court. i went to paris, i repeat, to verify the fact that the king of france, the great upholder of morality--he who takes care of poor strangers, warms the beggars, and earns the gratitude of the people by his charities, leaves dying of hunger, exposed to every attack of vice and misery, one of his own family--one who is as much as himself a descendant of the kings who have reigned in france." "what!" cried the king in surprise. "i mounted," continued the queen, "into a garret, and there saw, without fire, almost without light, and without money, the granddaughter of a great prince, and i gave one hundred louis to this victim of royal forgetfulness and neglect. then, as i was detained late there, and as the frost was severe, and horses go slowly over ice, particularly hackney-coach horses----" "hackney-coach horses!" cried the king. "you returned in a hackney-coach?" "yes, sire--no. ." "oh, oh!" said the king, with every sign of vexation. "yes, and only too happy to get it," said the queen. "madame!" interrupted he, "you are full of noble feelings; but this impetuous generosity becomes a fault. remember," continued he, "that i never suspected you of anything that was not perfectly pure and honest: it is only your mode of acting and adventurous spirit that displease me. you have, as usual, been doing good, but the way you set about it makes it injurious to yourself. this is what i reproach you with. you say that i have faults to repair--that i have failed in my duty to a member of my own family. tell me who the unfortunate is, and he shall no longer have reason to complain." "the name of valois, sire, is sufficiently illustrious not to have escaped your memory." "ah!" cried louis, with a shout of laughter, "i know now whom you mean. la petite valois, is it not?--a countess of something or other." "de la motte, sire." "precisely, de la motte; her husband is a gendarme." "yes, sire." "and his wife is an intrigante. oh! you need not trouble yourself about her: she is moving heaven and earth; she worries my ministers, she teases my aunts, and overwhelms me with supplications, memorials, and genealogies." "and all this uselessly, sire." "i must confess it." "is she, or is she not, a valois?" "i believe she is." "well, then, i ask an honorable pension for her and a regiment for her husband. in fact, a decent position for this branch of the royal family." "an honorable pension? mon dieu! how you run on, madame. do you know what a terrible hole this winter has made in my funds? a regiment for this little gendarme, who speculated in marrying a valois? why, i have no regiments to give, even to those who deserve them, or who can pay for them. an income befitting a valois for these people? when we, monarch as we are, have not one befitting a rich gentleman. why, m. d'orleans has sent his horses and mules to england for sale, and has cut off a third of his establishment. i have put down my wolf-hounds, and given up many other things. we are all on the privation list, great and small." "but these valois must not die of hunger." "have you not just given them one hundred louis?" "and what is that?" "a royal gift." "then give such another." "yours will do for us both." "no, i want a pension for them." "no, i will not bind myself to anything fixed; they will not let me forget them, and i will give when i have money to spare. i do not think much of this little valois." saying these words, louis held out his hand to the queen, who, however, turned from him and said, "no, you are not good to me, and i am angry." "you bear malice," said the king "and i----" "oh, you shut the gates against me; you come at half-past six to my room, and force open the door in a passion." "i was not in a passion," said the king. "you are not now, you mean." "what will you give me if i prove that i was not, even when i came in?" "let me see the proof." "oh, it is very easy; i have it in my pocket." "bah!" said the queen; but adding, with curiosity, "you have brought something to give me, but i warn you i shall not believe you, unless you show it me at once." then, with a smile full of kindness, the king began searching in his pockets, with that slowness which makes the child doubly impatient for his toy, the animal for his food, and the woman for her present: at last he drew out a box of red morocco leather, artistically ornamented in gold. "a jewel box!" cried the queen. the king laid it on the bed. she opened it impatiently, and then called out, "oh, mon dieu! how beautiful!" the king smiled with delight. "do you think so?" said he. the queen could not answer--she was breathless with admiration. then she drew out of the box a necklace of diamonds, so large, so pure, so glittering, and so even, that, with sparkling eyes, she cried again, "oh! it is magnificent." "then you are content?" said the king. "enchanted, sire; you make me too happy." "really?" "see this first row; the diamonds are as large as filberts, and so even, you could not tell one from the other; then how beautifully the gradation of the rows is managed; the jeweler who made this necklace is an artist." "they are two." "then i wager it is boehmer and bossange." "you have guessed right." "indeed, no one but they would risk making such a thing." "madame, take care," said the king; "you will have to pay too dear for this necklace." "oh, sire!" cried the queen, all the delight fading from her countenance. "you must pay the price of letting me be the first to put it on:" and he approached her, holding in his hands the two ends of the magnificent necklace, of which the clasp was one great diamond. she stopped him, saying, "but, sire, is it very dear?" "have i not told you the price?" "ah, louis, we must not jest. put the necklace back again." "you refuse to allow me to put it on?" "oh no, sire, if i were going to wear it." "what?" said the king, surprised. "no," she said; "no one shall see a necklace of this price round my neck." "you will not wear it?" "never." "you refuse me." "i refuse to wear a million or a million and a half of francs round my neck, for this necklace must cost that." "i do not deny it," said the king. "then i do refuse to wear such a necklace while the king's coffers are empty, when he is forced to stint his charities, and to say to the poor, 'god help you, for i have no more to give.'" "are you serious in saying this?" "listen, sire; m. de sartines told me a short time since that with that sum we could build a ship of the line; and in truth, sire, the king has more need of a ship than the queen of a necklace." "oh!" cried the king, joyfully, and with his eyes full of tears, "what you do is sublime. thanks, antoinette; you are a good wife!" and he threw his arms round her neck and kissed her. "oh! how france will bless you," continued he; "and it shall hear what you have done." the queen sighed. "you regret," said he: "it is not too late." "no, sire; shut this case, and return it to the jewelers." "but listen, first; i have arranged the terms of payment, and i have the money." "no, i have decided. i will not have the necklace; but i want something else." "diable! then my , , francs are gone, after all." "what! it would have cost that?" "indeed it would." "reassure yourself; what i ask is much cheaper." "what do you wish for?" "to go to paris once more." "oh! that is easy enough, and not dear." "but wait----" "diable!" "to the place vendôme, to see m. mesmer." "diable!" again said the king; but added: "well, as you have denied yourself the necklace, i suppose i must let you go; but, on one condition." "what?" "you must be accompanied by a princess of the blood." "shall it be madame de lamballe?" "yes, if you like." "i promise." "then i consent." "thanks, sire." "and, now," said the king, "i shall order my ship of the line, and call it the 'queen's necklace.' you shall stand godmother, and then i will send it out to la pérouse;" and, kissing his wife's hand, he went away quite joyful. chapter viii. the queen's petite levee. no sooner was the king gone than the queen rose, and went to the window. the morning was lovely, and had the charming feeling of the commencement of spring, while the sun seemed almost warm. the wind had gone round to the west, and if it remained in that quarter this terrible winter was probably at an end. the snow was beginning to drip from the trees, under the influence of this genial morning. "if we wish to profit by the ice," cried the queen, "i believe we must make haste; for look, madame de misery, the spring seems to have begun. i much wish to make up a party on the swiss lake, and will go to-day, for to-morrow it may be too late." "then at what hour will your majesty wish to dress?" "immediately; i will breakfast and then go." "are there any other orders, madame?" "see if madlle. de taverney has risen, and tell her i wish to speak to her." "she is already waiting for you in the boudoir, madame." "already?" said the queen, who knew at what time she had gone to bed. "she has been there for twenty minutes, madame." "ask her to come in." andrée soon entered, dressed with her usual care, and smiling, though rather unquiet. the queen's answering smile quite reassured her. "go, my good misery, and send me leonard." when she was gone, "the king has been charming," said the queen to andrée; "he has laughed, and is quite disarmed." "but does he know, madame?" "you understand, andrée, that a woman does not tell falsehoods when she has done no wrong and is the queen of france." "certainly, madame." "still, my dear andrée, it seems we have been wrong----" "doubtless, madame, but how?" "why, in pitying madame de la motte; the king dislikes her, but i confess she pleased me." "here is leonard," said madame de misery, returning. the queen seated herself before her silver-gilt toilet-table, and the celebrated hair-dresser commenced his operations. she had the most beautiful hair in the world, and was fond of looking at it; leonard knew this, and therefore with her was always tardy in his movements, that she might have time to admire it. marie antoinette was looking beautiful that morning: she was pleased and happy. her hair finished, she turned again to andrée. "you have not been scolded," she said; "you are free: besides, they say every one is afraid of you, because, like minerva, you are too wise." "i, madame?" "yes, you; but, oh, mon dieu! how happy you are to be unmarried, and, above all, to be content to be so." andrée blushed, and tried to smile. "it is a vow that i have made," said she. "and which you will keep, beautiful vestal?" "i hope so." "apropos," said the queen, "i remember, that although unmarried, you have a master since yesterday morning." "a master, madame?" "yes, your dear brother; what do you call him?--philippe, is it not?" "yes, madame." "has he arrived?" "he came yesterday." "and you have not yet seen him? i took you away to paris, selfish that i was; it was unpardonable." "oh, madame! i pardon you willingly, and philippe also." "are you sure?" "i answer for both of us." "how is he?" "as usual, beautiful and good, madame." "how old is he now?" "thirty-two." "poor philippe! do you know that it is fourteen years since i first met him! but i have not seen him now for nine or ten." "whenever your majesty pleases to receive him he will be but too happy to assure you that this long absence has not altered the sentiment of respectful devotion which he has ever felt for his queen." "i will see him at once." "in a quarter of an hour he will be at your majesty's feet." scarcely was andrée gone, when the queen saw reflected in the glass an arch and laughing face. "my brother d'artois," cried the queen; "how you frightened me!" "good morning, your majesty," said the young prince; "how did your majesty pass the night?" "very badly, brother." "and the morning?" "very well." "that is the most important; i guessed that all had gone right, for i have just met the king, and he was smiling most graciously." the queen laughed, and he echoed it. the queen had just cast off her dressing-gown of india muslin, and put on her morning dress, when the door opened and andrée entered, leading by the hand a handsome man with a brown complexion, noble black eyes, profoundly imbued with melancholy, and a soldier-like carriage. he looked like one of coypel's or gainsborough's beautiful portraits. he was dressed in a dark gray coat, embroidered in silver, a white cravat, and a dark waistcoat; and this rather somber style of dress seemed to suit the manly character of his beauty. "your majesty," said andrée, "here is my brother." philippe bowed gravely. the queen, who had until now been looking at his figure reflected in her mirror, turned round and saluted him. she was beautiful, with that royal beauty which made all around her not only partisans of the throne, but adorers of the woman. she possessed the power of beauty; and, if we may make use of the inversion, the beauty of power. philippe, seeing her smile, and feeling those limpid eyes, at once soft and proud, fixed upon him, turned pale, and could hardly restrain his emotion. "it appears, m. de taverney," said she, "that you pay me your first visit; i thank you for it." "your majesty deigns to forget that it is i who should give thanks." "how many years have passed since we last met, monsieur? alas! the most beautiful part of our lives." "for me, madame, but not for your majesty, to whom all days are alike charming." "you were then pleased with america, m. de taverney, as you remained there so long?" "madame," answered philippe, "m. de la fayette, when he left the new world, had need of an officer in whom he could place confidence to take the command of the french auxiliaries. he proposed me, therefore, to general washington, who accepted me." "it seems," said the queen, "that this new country sends us home many heroes." "your majesty does not mean that for me?" asked philippe, laughing. "why not?" then turning to the comte d'artois, "see, brother," she said; "has not m. de taverney the look of a hero?" philippe, seeing himself thus introduced to the young prince, bowed low. he returned it, and said, "i am most happy to make the acquaintance of such a gentleman. what are your intentions in returning to france, sir?" "monseigneur," answered philippe, "my sister is my first consideration; whatever she wishes, i shall do." "but she has a father, i believe," said the count. "never mind him," said the queen, quickly, "i prefer andrée under her brother's protection, and he under yours, count. you will take charge of m. de taverney, will you not?" the count bowed an assent. "for, do you know," continued she, "that a very strong link binds me to m. de taverney?" "what do you mean, sister?" "that he was the first frenchman who presented himself to my eyes when i arrived in this country; and i had taken a very sincere vow to promote the happiness of the first frenchman i should meet." philippe felt the blood rush to his face, and andrée looked at him rather sadly. the queen observed these looks of the brother and sister, and fancied she divined the cause. "why," she thought, "should not monsieur de taverney have partaken the epidemic passion which pervaded all france for the dauphiness in ?" marie antoinette therefore attributed these looks to some confidence of this kind which the brother had made to the sister; and in consequence, she smiled still more upon him, and redoubled her kindness towards andrée. the queen was a true woman, and gloried in being loved. it was an innocent coquetry, and the most generous souls have the most strongly these aspirations for the love of all who surround them. alas! a time is coming for thee, poor queen, when those smiles towards those who love thee, with which thou hast been reproached, thou shalt vainly bestow on those that love thee not! the comte d'artois approached philippe while the queen was talking to andrée, and said, "do you think washington so very great a general?" "certainly a great man, monseigneur." "and what effect did our french produce out there?" "as much good as the english did harm." "ah, you are a partisan of the new ideas, my dear m. philippe de taverney; but have you reflected on one thing?" "what, monseigneur? i assure you that out there, encamped in the fields, and in the savannahs on the borders of the great lakes, i had plenty of time for reflection." "on this, that in making war out there, it was neither on the indians nor on the english, but on us." "ah, monseigneur, i do not deny that that is possible." "therefore i do not admire so much these victories of m. de la fayette and washington. it is egotism, perhaps, but it is not egotism for myself alone." "oh, monseigneur!" "but do you know why i will still support you with all my power?" "whatever be the reason, i shall be truly grateful." "it is, because you are not one of those whose names have been blazoned forth. you have done your duty bravely, but you have not thrust yourself forward; you are not known in paris." the young prince then kissed the queen's hand, and bowing to andrée, left the room. then the queen turned again to philippe, saying, "have you seen your father, sir?" "no, madame." "why did you not go to see him first?" "i had sent home my valet, and my luggage, but my father sent the servant back again, with orders to present myself first to you, or the king." "it is a lovely morning," said the queen; "to-morrow the ice will begin to melt. madame de misery, order my sledge and send my chocolate in here." "will not your majesty take something to eat? you had no supper last night." "you mistake, my good misery, we had supper. had we not, andrée?" "a very good one, madame." "so i will only have my chocolate. quick, madame de misery; this fine weather tempts me, and the swiss lake will be full of company." "your majesty is going to skate?" asked philippe. "ah, you will laugh at us, m. l'américain; you, who have traversed lakes where there are more miles than we have feet here." "madame," replied philippe, "here you amuse yourself with the cold, but there they die of it." "ah, here is my chocolate; andrée, take a cup with me." andrée bowed, coloring with pleasure. "you see, m. de taverney, i am always the same, hating all etiquette, as in old times. do you remember those old days? are you changed since then, m. philippe?" "no, madame," replied the young man, "i am not changed--at least, not in heart." "well, i am glad to hear that, for it was a good one. a cup for m. de taverney, madame de misery." "oh, madame!" cried philippe, "you cannot mean it; such an honor for a poor obscure soldier like me." "an old friend," said the queen; "this day seems to remind me of my youth; i seem again happy, free, proud and yet foolish. this day recalls to me that happy time at my dear trianon, and all our frolics there, andrée and i together. this day brings back to my memory my roses, my strawberries, and my birds, that i was so fond of, all, even to my good gardeners, whose happy faces often announced to me a new flower or a delicious fruit; and m. de jussieu and that original old rousseau, who is since dead. but come," continued she, herself pouring the chocolate into his cup, "you are a soldier, and accustomed to fire, so burn yourself gloriously with this chocolate, for i am in a hurry." she laughed, but philippe, taking it seriously, drank it off most heroically. the queen saw him, and laughing still more, said, "you are indeed a perfect hero, m. de taverney." she then rose, and her woman brought her bonnet, ermine mantle, and gloves. philippe took his hat under his arm, and followed her and andrée out. "m. de taverney, i do not mean you to leave me," said the queen. "come round to my right." they went down the great staircase; the drums were beating, the clarions of the body-guard were playing, and this whole scene, and the enthusiasm everywhere shown towards that beautiful queen by whose side he was walking, completed the intoxication of the young man. the change was too sudden, after so many years of exile and regret, to such great joy and honor. chapter ix. the swiss lake. every one knows this piece of water, which still goes by the same name. an avenue of linden trees skirts each bank, and these avenues were on this day thronged with pedestrians, of all ranks and ages, who had come to enjoy the sight of the sledges and the skating. the toilets of the ladies presented a brilliant spectacle of luxury and gaiety, their high coiffures, gay bonnets with the veils half down, fur mantles, and brilliant silks with deep flounces, were mingled with the orange or blue coats of the gentlemen. gay lackeys also, in blue and red, passed among the crowd, looking like poppies and cornflowers blown about by the wind. now and then a cry of admiration burst from the crowd, as st. george, the celebrated skater, executed some circle so perfect, that a mathematician could scarcely have found a fault in it. while the banks of the lake were thus crowded, the ice itself presented a scene not less gay, and still more animated: sledges flew about in all directions. several dogs, clothed in embroidered velvet, and with plumes of feathers on their heads, looking like fabulous animals, drew a sledge in which sat m. de lauzun, who was wrapped up in a tiger skin. here you might see a lady masked, doubtless on account of the cold, in some sledge of a quieter character, while a handsome skater, in a velvet riding-coat, hangs over the back, to assist and direct her progress; whatever they may be saying to each other is quite inaudible, amidst this busy hum of voices; but who can blame a rendezvous which takes place in the open air, and under the eyes of all versailles? and whatever they may be saying matters to no one else: it is evident that in the midst of this crowd their life is an isolated one; they think only of each other. all at once a general movement in the crowd announces that they have recognized the queen, who is approaching the lake. a general cry of "vive la reine!" is heard, and all endeavor to approach as nearly as possible to the place where she has stationed herself. one person alone does not appear to share this feeling, for on her approach he disappears with all his suite as fast as possible in the opposite direction. "do you see," said the comte d'artois to the queen, whom he had hastened to join, "how my brother provence flies from you?" "he fears that i should reproach him." "oh, no; it is not that that makes him fly." "it is his conscience, then." "not even that, sister." "what then?" "i will tell you. he had just heard that m. de suffren, our glorious commander, will arrive this evening; and as the news is important, he wishes to leave you in ignorance of it." "but is the minister of marine ignorant of this arrival?" "ah, mon dieu, sister, have you not learned enough of ministers, during the fourteen years you have passed here, as dauphiness and queen, to know that they are always ignorant of precisely what they ought to know? however, i have told him about this, and he is deeply grateful." "i should think so," said the queen. "yes, and i have need of his gratitude, for i want a loan." "oh," cried the queen, laughing, "how disinterested you are." "sister," said he, "you must want money; i offer you half of what i am going to receive." "oh no, brother, keep it for yourself; i thank you, but i want nothing just now." "diable! do not wait too long to claim my promise, because if you do, i may not be in a condition to fulfil it." "in that case i must endeavor to find out some state secret for myself." "sister, you begin to look cold." "well, here is m. de taverney returning with my sledge." "then you do not want me any longer?" "no." "then send me away, i beg." "why? do you imagine you will be in my way?" "no; it is i who want my liberty." "adieu, then." "au revoir, dear sister." "till when?" "till this evening." "is there anything to take place to-night, then?" "yes; this evening the minister will bring m. de suffren to the jeu du roi." "very well, then, till this evening." and the young prince, bowing with his habitual elegance, disappeared among the crowd. old taverney, who was one of the nearest spectators of all this, had been watching his son eagerly, and felt almost chagrined at this conversation between the queen and her brother-in-law, as it interrupted the familiar intercourse which his son had before been enjoying; therefore, when the young man returned with the queen's sledge, and, seeing his father, whom he had not met for ten years, advanced towards him, he motioned him away, saying, "we will talk afterwards, when you have left the queen." philippe, therefore, returned to the queen, who was getting into the sledge with andrée. two attendants approached to push it, but she said, "no; i do not wish to go like that; you skate, m. de taverney? does he not, andrée?" "philippe used to skate remarkably well," replied she. "and now i dare say he rivals st. george," said the queen. "i will do my best to justify your majesty's opinion," said he; and putting on his skates, he placed himself behind her sledge, and they commenced their course. st. george, seeing the queen on the ice, began to execute his most skilful maneuvers, and finished off by going in circles round her sledge, making the most elegant bows each time he passed her. then philippe, moved to emulation, began to push along the sledge with such wonderful rapidity that st. george found no little difficulty in keeping pace with it. several people, however, seeing the queen move at this marvelous rate, uttered cries of terror. "if your majesty desires," said philippe, "i will stop, or go slower." "oh no!" said she, with that enthusiasm which she carried into everything; "oh no! i am not at all afraid; quicker still, chevalier, if you can." "oh yes, madame, and you are quite safe; you may trust to me;" and his vigorous arm propelled them at a still increased pace. he emulated the circles of st. george, and flew round as fast with the sledge as could even that experienced skater without it. then, leaving these evolutions, he pushed the sledge straight before him, and with such force that he himself remained behind. st. george, seeing this, made a tremendous effort to gain the sledge before him, but was distanced by philippe, who once more seized it, turned it, and flew in a new direction. the air now rang with such acclamations, that philippe began to feel ashamed. then the queen, who had joined the applause with her hands, turned round and said to him, "and now, m. de taverney, that you have gained the victory, stop, i beg, or you will kill me." chapter x. the tempter. philippe, at this request of the queen, made a strong effort, and stopped the sledge abruptly. "and now, rest yourself," said she, coming out of it all trembling. "indeed, i never could have believed the delight of going so fast, but you have made me quite tremble;" and she took philippe's arm to support herself, until a general murmur reminded her that she was once more committing a breach of etiquette. as for philippe, overwhelmed by this great honor, he felt more ashamed than if his sovereign had insulted him publicly; he lowered his eyes, and his heart beat as though it would burst. the queen, however, withdrew her arm almost immediately, and asked for a seat. they brought her one. "thanks, m. de taverney," said she; then, in a lower tone, "mon dieu, how disagreeable it is to be always surrounded by spying fools!" a number of ladies and gentlemen soon crowded round her, and all looked with no little curiosity at philippe, who, to hide his confusion, stooped to take off his skates, and then fell into the background. after a short time, however, the queen said, "i shall take cold if i sit here, i must take another turn;" and she remounted her sledge. philippe waited, but in vain, for another order. twenty gentlemen soon presented themselves, but she said, "no, i thank you, i have my attendants;" and she moved slowly off, while philippe remained alone. he looked about for st. george, to console him for his defeat by some compliment, but he had received a message from his patron, the duke d'orleans, and had left the place. philippe, therefore, rather tired, and half frightened at all that had passed, remained stationary, following with his eyes the queen's sledge, which was now at some distance, when he felt some one touch him; he turned round and saw his father. the little old man, more shrunk than ever, enveloped in furs like a laplander, had touched his son with his elbow, that he might not be obliged to take his hands out of the muff that hung from his neck. "you do not embrace me, my son," said he. "my dear father, i do it with all my heart." "and now," said the old man, "go quickly;" and he pushed him away. "where do you wish me to go, sir?" "why, morbleu, over there." "where?" "to the queen." "no, i thank you, father." "how? no, i thank you! are you mad? you will not go after the queen?" "my dear father, it is impossible!" "impossible to join the queen, who is expecting you?" "who is expecting me!" "yes, who wishes for you." "wishes for me? indeed, father," added he, coldly, "i think you forget yourself." "it is astonishing!" said the old man, stamping his foot. "where on earth do you spring from?" "monsieur," said his son, sadly, "you will make me conclude one of two things." "what?" "either that you are laughing at me, or else, excuse me, that you are losing your senses." the old man seized his son by the arm so energetically that he made him start. "listen, m. philippe," said he; "america is, i know, a country a long way from this, and where there is neither king nor queen." "nor subjects." "nor subjects, m. philosopher; i do not deny it; that point does not interest me; but what does so is that i fear also to have to come to a conclusion----" "what, father?" "that you are a simpleton, my son; just trouble yourself to look over there." "well, sir!" "well, the queen looks back, and it is the third time she has done so; there! she turns again, and who do you think she is looking for but for you, m. puritan?" "well, sir," said the young man; "if it were true, which it probably is not, that the queen was looking for----" "oh!" interrupted the old man, angrily, "this fellow is not of my blood; he cannot be a taverney. sir, i repeat to you that the queen is looking for you." "you have good sight, sir," said his son, dryly. "come," said the old man, more gently, and trying to moderate his impatience, "trust my experience: are you, or are you not, a man?" philippe made no reply. his father ground his teeth with anger, to see himself opposed by this steadfast will; but making one more effort, "philippe, my son," said he, still more gently, "listen to me." "it seems to me, sir, that i have been doing nothing else for the last quarter of an hour." "oh," thought the old man, "i will draw you down from your stilts. i will find out your weak side." then aloud, "you have overlooked one thing, philippe." "what, sir?" "when you left for america, there was a king, but no queen, if it were not the dubarry; hardly a respectable sovereign. you come back and see a queen, and you think you must be very respectful." "doubtless." "poor child!" said his father, laughing. "how, sir? you blame me for respecting the monarchy--you, a taverney maison-rouge, one of the best names in france." "i do not speak of the monarchy, but only of the queen." "and you make a difference?" "pardieu, i should think so. what is royalty? a crown that is unapproachable. but what is a queen? a woman, and she, on the contrary, is very approachable." philippe made a gesture of disgust. "you do not believe me," continued the old man, almost fiercely; "well, ask m. de coigny, ask m. de lauzun, or m. de vaudreuil." "silence, father!" cried philippe; "or for these three blasphemies, not being able to strike you three blows with my sword, i shall strike them on myself." the old man stepped back, murmuring, "mon dieu, what a stupid animal! good evening, son; you rejoice me; i thought i was the father, the old man, but now i think it is i who must be the young apollo, and you the old man;" and he turned away. philippe stopped him: "you did not speak seriously, did you, father? it is impossible that a gentleman of good blood like you should give ear to these calumnies, spread by the enemies, not only of the queen, but of the throne." "he will not believe, the double mule!" said the old man. "you speak to me as you would speak before god?" "yes, truly." "before god, whom you approach every day?" "it seems to me, my son," replied he, "that i am a gentleman, and that you may believe my word." "it is, then, your opinion that the queen has had lovers?" "certainly." "those whom you have named?" "and others, for what i know. ask all the town and the court. one must be just returned from america to be ignorant of all they say." "and who say this, sir? some vile pamphleteers!" "oh! do you, then, take me for an editor?" "no, and there is the mischief, when men like you repeat such calumnies, which, without that, would melt away like the unwholesome vapors which sometimes obscure the most brilliant sunshine; but people like you, repeating them, give them a terrible stability. oh! monsieur, for mercy's sake do not repeat such things." "i do repeat them, however." "and why do you repeat them?" cried philippe, fiercely. "oh!" said the old man with his satanic laugh, "to prove to you that i was not wrong when i said, 'philippe, the queen looks back; she is looking for you. philippe, the queen wishes for you; run to her.'" "oh! father, hold your tongue, or you will drive me mad." "really, philippe, i do not understand you. is it a crime to love? it shows that one has a heart; and in the eyes of this woman, in her voice, in everything, can you not read her heart? she loves; is it you? or is it another? i know not, but believe in my own experience: at this moment she loves, or is beginning to love, some one. but you are a philosopher, a puritan, a quaker, an american; you do not love; well, then, let her look; let her turn again and again; despise her, philippe, i should say joseph de taverney." the old man hurried away, satisfied with the effect he had produced, and fled like the serpent who was the first tempter into crime. philippe remained alone, his heart swelling and his blood boiling. he remained fixed in his place for about half an hour, when the queen, having finished her tour, returned to where he stood, and called out to him: "you must be rested now, m. de taverney; come, then, for there is no one like you to guide a queen royally." philippe ran to her, giddy, and hardly knowing what he did. he placed his hand on the back of the sledge, but started as though he had burned his fingers; the queen had thrown herself negligently back in the sledge, and the fingers of the young man touched the locks of marie antoinette. chapter xi. m. de suffren. contrary to the usual habits of a court, the secret had been faithfully confined to louis xvi. and the comte d'artois. no one knew at what time or hour m. de suffren would arrive. the king had announced his jeu du roi for the evening; and at seven o'clock he entered, with ten princes and princesses of his family. the queen came holding the princess royal, now about seven years old, by the hand. the assembly was numerous and brilliant. the comte d'artois approached the queen, and said, "look around you, madame." "well?" "what do you see?" the queen looked all around, and then said, "i see nothing but happy and friendly faces." "rather, then, whom do you not see?" "oh! i understand; i wonder if he is always going to run away from me." "oh no! only this is a good joke; m. de provence has gone to wait at the barrier for m. de suffren." "well, i do not see why you laugh at that; he has been the most cunning, after all, and will be the first to receive and pay his compliments to this gentleman." "come, dear sister," replied the young prince, laughing, "you have a very mean opinion of our diplomacy. m. de provence has gone to meet him at fontainebleau; but we have sent some one to meet him at villejuif, so that my brother will wait by himself at fontainebleau, while our messenger will conduct m. de suffren straight to versailles, without passing through paris at all." "that is excellently imagined." "it is not bad, i flatter myself; but it is your turn to play." the king had noticed that m. d'artois was making the queen laugh, and guessing what it was about, gave them a significant glance, to show that he shared their amusement. the saloon where they played was full of persons of the highest rank--m. de condé, m. de penthièvre, m. de tremouille, etc. the news of the arrival of m. de suffren had, as we have said, been kept quiet, but there had been a kind of vague rumor that some one was expected, and all were somewhat preoccupied and watchful. even the king, who was in the habit of playing six-franc pieces in order to moderate the play of the court, played gold without thinking of it. the queen, however, to all appearances entered, as usual, eagerly into the game. philippe, who, with his sister, was admitted to the party, in vain endeavored to shake from his mind his father's words. he asked himself if indeed this old man, who had seen so much of courts, was not right; and if his own ideas were indeed those of a puritan, and belonging to another land. this queen, so charming, so beautiful, and so friendly towards him, was she indeed only a terrible coquette, anxious to add one lover more to her list, as the entomologist transfixes a new insect or butterfly, without thinking of the tortures of the poor creature whose heart he is piercing? "coigny, vaudreuil," repeated he to himself, "they loved the queen, and were loved by her. oh, why does this calumny haunt me so, or why will not some ray of light discover to me the heart of this woman?" then philippe turned his eyes to the other end of the table, where, by a strange chance, these gentlemen were sitting side by side, and both seemingly equally forgetful of, and insensible to, the queen; and he thought that it was impossible that these men could have loved and be so calm, or that they could have been loved and seem so forgetful. from them he turned to look at marie antoinette herself and interrogated that pure forehead, that haughty mouth, and beautiful face; and the answer they all seemed to give him was: calumnies, all calumnies, these rumors, originating only in the hates and jealousies of a court. while he was coming to these conclusions the clock struck a quarter to eight, and at that moment a great noise of footsteps and the sound of many voices were heard on the staircase. the king, hearing it, signed to the queen, and they both rose and broke up the game. she then passed into the great reception-hall, and the king followed her. an aide-de-camp of m. de castries, minister of marine, approached the king and said something in a low tone, when m. de castries himself entered, and said aloud, "will your majesty receive m. de suffren, who has arrived from toulon?" at this name a general movement took place in the assembly. "yes, sir," said the king, "with great pleasure;" and m. de castries left the room. to explain this interest for m. de suffren, and why king, queen, princes, and ministers contended who should be the first to receive him, a few words will suffice. suffren is a name essentially french, like turenne or jean bart. since the last war with england, m. de suffren had fought seven great naval battles without sustaining a defeat. he had taken trincomalee and gondeleur, scoured the seas, and taught the nabob hyder ali that france was the first power in europe. he had carried into his profession all the skill of an able diplomatist, all the bravery and all the tactics of a soldier, and all the prudence of a wise ruler. hardy, indefatigable, and proud when the honor of the french nation was in question, he had harassed the english, by land and by sea, till even these fierce islanders were afraid of him. but after the battle, in which he risked his life like the meanest sailor, he ever showed himself humane, generous, and compassionate. he was now about fifty-six years of age, stout and short, but with an eye of fire and a noble carriage, and, like a man accustomed to surmount all difficulties, he had dressed in his traveling-carriage. he wore a blue coat embroidered with gold, a red waistcoat, and blue trousers. all the guards through whom he had passed, when he was named to them by m. de castries, had saluted him as they would have done a king. "m. de suffren," said the king when he entered, "welcome to versailles; you bring glory with you." m. de suffren bent his knee to the king, who, however, raised him and embraced him cordially; then, turning to the queen, "madame," said he, "here is m. de suffren, the victor of trincomalee and gondeleur, and the terror of the english." "monsieur," said the queen, "i wish you to know that you have not fired a shot for the glory of france but my heart has beaten with admiration and gratitude." when she ceased, the comte d'artois approached with his son, the duc d'angoulême. "my son," said he, "you see a hero; look at him well, for it is a rare sight." "monseigneur," replied the young prince, "i have read about the great men in plutarch, but i could not see them; i thank you for showing me m. de suffren." the king now took the arm of m. de suffren, in order to lead him to his study, and talk to him of his travels; but he made a respectful resistance. "sire," said he, "will your majesty permit me----" "oh! whatever you wish, sir." "then, sire, one of my officers has committed so grave a fault against discipline, that i thought your majesty ought to be sole judge of the offense." "oh, m. de suffren, i had hoped your first request would have been a favor, and not a punishment." "your majesty, as i have had the honor to say, shall judge what ought to be done. in the last battle the officer of whom i speak was on board _la sévère_." "oh, the ship that struck her flag!" cried the king, frowning. "yes, sire. the captain of _la sévère_ had indeed struck his flag, and already sir hugh, the english admiral, had despatched a boat to take possession of his prize, when the lieutenant in command of the guns of the middle deck, perceiving that the firing above had ceased, and having received orders to stop his own fire, went on deck, saw the flag lowered, and the captain ready to surrender. at this sight, sir, all his french blood revolted, he took the flag which lay there, and, seizing a hammer, ordered the men to recommence the fire, while he nailed it to the mast. it was by this action, sire, that _la sévère_ was preserved to your majesty." "a splendid action!" cried the king and queen simultaneously. "yes, sire--yes, madame, but a grave fault against discipline. the order had been given by the captain, and the lieutenant ought to have obeyed. i, however, ask for the pardon of the officer, and the more so as he is my own nephew." "your nephew!" cried the king; "and you have never mentioned him!" "not to you, sire; but i made my report to the ministers, begging them to say nothing about it until i had obtained his pardon from your majesty." "it is granted," said the king. "i promise beforehand my protection to all who may violate discipline in such a cause. you must present this officer to me, m. de suffren." m. de suffren turned. "approach, m. de charny," he said. the queen started at the sound of this name, which she had so recently heard. a young officer advanced from the crowd, and presented himself before the king. the queen and andrée looked anxiously at each other; but m. de charny bowed before the king almost without raising his eyes, and, after kissing his hand, retired again, without seeming to have observed the queen. "come now, m. de suffren," said the king, "and let us converse; i am impatient to hear all your adventures." but before leaving the room he turned to the queen and said. "apropos, madame, i am going to have built, as you know, a ship of one hundred guns, and i think of changing the name we had destined for it, and of calling it instead----" "oh yes!" cried marie antoinette, catching his thought, "we will call it _le suffren_, and i will still stand sponsor." "vive le roi! vive la reine!" cried all. "and vive m. de suffren!" added the king, and then left the room with him. chapter xii. m. de charny. m. de suffren had requested his nephew to wait his return, and he therefore remained in the group as before. the queen, speaking low to andrée, and glancing towards him, said: "it is he, there is no doubt." "mon dieu! yes, madame, it is he indeed." at this moment the door opened, and a gentleman dressed in the robes of a cardinal, and followed by a long train of officers and prelates, entered the room. the queen immediately recognized m. de rohan, and turned away her head, without taking the trouble to hide the frown which overspread her face. he crossed the room without stopping to speak to any one, and, coming straight up to her, bowed to her more as a man of the world bows to a lady than as a subject to a queen, and then addressed some rather high-flown compliments to her; but she scarcely looked at him, and, after murmuring a few cold words in reply, began to talk to madame de lamballe. the cardinal did not seem to notice this chilling reception, but bowed again, and retired without appearing in the least disconcerted. he then turned to the king's aunts, from whom he met with a reception as cordial as the queen's had been the reverse. the cardinal louis de rohan was a man in the prime of life, and of an imposing figure and noble bearing; his eyes shone with intelligence, his mouth was well cut and handsome, and his hands were beautiful. a premature baldness indicated either a man of pleasure or a studious one--and he was both. he was a man no little sought after by the ladies, and was noted for his magnificent style of living; indeed, he had found the way to feel himself poor with an income of , , francs. the king liked him for his learning, but the queen hated him. the reasons for this hate were twofold: first, when ambassador to vienna, he had written to louis xv. letters so full of sarcasm on maria theresa, that her daughter had never forgiven him; and he had also written letters opposing her marriage, which had been read aloud by louis xv. at a supper at madame dubarry's. the embassy at vienna had been taken from m. de breteuil and given to m. de rohan; the former gentleman, not strong enough to revenge himself alone, had procured copies of these letters, which he had laid before the dauphiness, thus making her the eternal enemy of m. de rohan. this hatred rendered the cardinal's position at court not a little uncomfortable. every time he presented himself before the queen, he met with the same discouraging reception. in spite of this, he neglected no occasion of being near her, for which he had frequent opportunities, as he was chaplain to the court; and he never complained of the treatment he received. a circle of friends, among whom the baron de planta was the most intimate, helped to console him for these royal rebuffs; not to speak of the ladies of the court, who by no means imitated the severity of the queen towards him. when he was gone, marie antoinette recovered her serenity, and said to madame de lamballe: "do you not think that this action of the nephew of m. de suffren is one of the most remarkable of the war? what is his name, by the bye?" "m. de charny, i believe," replied the princess. "was it not?" she said, turning to andrée. "yes, your highness." "m. de charny shall describe it to us himself," said the queen. "is he still here? let him be sought for." an officer who stood near hastened to obey her, and immediately returned with m. de charny, and the circle round the queen made way for him to approach. he was a young man, about eight-and-twenty, tall and well made; his face, animated and yet sweet, took a character of singular energy when he spoke, and dilated his large blue eyes; and he was, strange to say, for one who had been fighting in india, as fair as philippe was dark. when he had approached the place where the queen sat, with madlle. de taverney standing near her, he did not betray his surprise in any way, although it must have been great, in recognizing the ladies of the evening before. he did not look up until she addressed him, saying: "m. de charny, these ladies experience the natural desire, which i share with them, to hear from yourself all the details of this action of your ship." "madame," replied the young officer, "i beg your majesty to spare me the recital, not from modesty, but from humanity. what i did as lieutenant, a dozen other officers doubtless wished to do, only i was the first to put it in execution; and it is not worthy being made the subject of a narration to your majesty. besides, the captain of _la sévère_ is a brave officer, who on that day lost his presence of mind. alas, madame, we all know that the most courageous are not always equally brave. he wanted but ten minutes to recover himself; my determination not to surrender gave him the breathing time, his natural courage returned to him, and he showed himself the bravest of us all. therefore i beg your majesty not to exaggerate the merit of my action, and thereby crush this deserving officer, who deplores incessantly the failing of a few moments." "right!" said the queen, touched by these generous words; "you are a true gentleman, m. de charny, and such i already know you to be." the young man colored crimson, and looked almost frightened at andrée, fearing what the queen's rash generosity might lead her to say. "for," continued the intrepid queen, "i must tell you all, that this is not the first time i have heard of m. de charny, who deserves to be known and admired by all ladies; and to show you that he is as indulgent to our sex as he is merciless to his enemies, i will relate a little history of him which does him the greatest honor." "oh, madame!" stammered the young man, who felt as if he would have given a year of his life to be back in the west indies. "this, then, is it," continued the queen, to her eager listeners: "two ladies, whom i know, were detained out late and became embarrassed in a crowd; they ran a great risk, a real danger awaited them; m. de charny happily passed by at the moment: he dispersed the crowd, and, although they were unknown to him, and it was impossible to recognize their rank, took them under his protection, and escorted them a long way, ten miles from paris, i believe." "oh! your majesty exaggerates," said m. de charny, laughing, and now quite reassured. "well, we will call it five," said the count d'artois, suddenly joining in the conversation. "let it be five, then, brother," said the queen; "but the most admirable part of the story is, that m. de charny did not seek even to know the names of these ladies whom he had served, but left them at the place where they wished to stop, and went away without even looking back, so that they escaped from his protection without even a moment's disquietude." all expressed their admiration. "a knight of the round table could not have acted better," her majesty went on; "and so, m. de charny, as the king will doubtless take upon himself to reward m. de suffren, i, for my part, wish to do something for the nephew of this great man." as she spoke, she held out her hand to him, and charny, pale with joy, pressed his lips to this beautiful hand, while philippe looked on from an obscure corner, pale with an opposite emotion. the voice of m. d'artois interrupted this scene, saying loudly, "ah, provence! you come too late! you have missed a fine sight, the reception of m. de suffren. really, it was one that a frenchman can never forget. how the devil did it happen that you were not here--you who are generally the punctual man par excellence?" m. de provence bit his lips with vexation, and whispered to m. de favras, his captain of the guards, "how does it come to pass that he is here?" "ah! monseigneur, i have been asking myself that question for the last hour, and have not yet found an answer." chapter xiii. the one hundred louis of the queen. now we have introduced the principal characters of this history to our readers, and have taken them both into the "petite maison" of the comte d'artois and into the king's palace at versailles, we will return to that house in the rue st. claude where we saw the queen enter incognito with mademoiselle andrée de taverney. we left madame de la motte counting over and delighted with her fifty double louis; next to the pleasure of having them, she knew no greater than that of displaying them, and having no one else, she called dame clotilde, who was still in the ante-chamber. when she entered, "come and look here!" said her mistress. "oh, madame!" cried the old woman, clasping her hands in astonishment. "you were uneasy about your wages," said the countess. "oh, madame! i never said that; i only asked madame if she could pay me, as i had received nothing for three months." "do you think there is enough there to pay you?" "oh! madame, if i had all that, i should be rich for the rest of my life. but in what will madame spend all that?" "in everything." "the first thing, i think, madame, will be to furnish the kitchen, for you will have good dinners cooked now." "listen!" said madame de la motte; "someone knocks." "i did not hear it," said the old woman. "but i tell you that i did; so go at once." she hastily gathered up her money, and put it into a drawer, murmuring, "oh! if providence will but send me another such a visitor." then she heard the steps of a man below, but could not distinguish what he said. soon however, the door opened, and clotilde came in with a letter. the countess examined it attentively, and asked, "was this brought by a servant?" "yes, madame." "in livery?" "no, madame." "i know these arms, surely," said jeanne to herself. "who can it be from? but the letter will soon show for itself;" and opening it, she read: "madame, the person to whom you wrote will see you to-morrow evening, if it be agreeable to you to remain at home for that purpose;" and that was all. "i have written to so many people," thought the countess. "is this a man or a woman? the writing is no guide, nor is the style; it might come from either. who is it that uses these arms? oh! i remember now--the arms of the rohans. yes, i wrote to m. de guémenée, and to m. de rohan; it is one of them: but the shield is not quartered--it is therefore the cardinal. ah! monsieur de rohan, the man of gallantry, the fine gentleman, and the ambitious one; he will come to see jeanne de la motte, if it be agreeable to her. oh, yes! m. de rohan, it is very agreeable. a charitable lady who gives a hundred louis may be received in a garret, freeze in my cold room, and suffer on my hard chair; but a clerical prince, a lady's man, that is quite another thing. we must have luxury to greet him." then, turning to clotilde, who was getting her bed ready, she said: "be sure to call me early to-morrow morning;" and when she did retire to rest, so absorbed was she in her expectations and plans, that it was nearly three o'clock before she fell asleep; nevertheless, she was quite ready when dame clotilde called her according to her directions early in the morning, and had finished her toilet by eight o'clock, although this day it consisted of an elegant silk dress, and her hair was elaborately dressed. she sent clotilde for a coach, and ordered the man to drive to the place royale, where, under one of the arcades, was the shop of m. fingret, an upholsterer and decorator, and who had furniture always ready for sale or hire. she entered his immense show-rooms, of which the walls were hung with different tapestries, and the ceiling completely hidden by the number of chandeliers and lamps that hung from it. on the ground were furniture, carpets, and cornices of every fashion and description. chapter xiv. m. fingret. madame de la motte, looking at all this, began to perceive how much she wanted. she wanted a drawing-room to hold sofas and lounging-chairs; a dining-room for tables and sideboards; and a boudoir for persian curtains, screens, and knick-knacks; above all, she wanted the money to buy all these things. but in paris, whatever you cannot afford to buy, you can hire; and madame de la motte set her heart on a set of furniture covered in yellow silk, with gilt nails, which she thought would be very becoming to her dark complexion. but this furniture she felt sure would never go into her rooms on the fifth story; it would be necessary to hire the third, which was composed of an ante-chamber, a dining-room, small drawing-room, and bedroom, so that she might, she thought, receive on this third story the visits of the cardinal, and on the fifth those of ladies of charity--that is to say, receive in luxury those who give from ostentation, and in poverty those who only desire to give when it is needed. the countess, having made all these reflections, turned to where m. fingret himself stood, with his hat in his hand, waiting for her commands. "madame?" said he in a tone of interrogation, advancing towards her. "madame la comtesse de la motte valois," said jeanne. at this high-sounding name m. fingret bowed low, and said: "but there is nothing in this room worthy madame la comtesse's inspection. if madame will take the trouble to step into the next one, she will see what is new and beautiful." jeanne colored. all this had seemed so splendid to her, too splendid even to hope to possess it; and this high opinion of m. fingret's concerning her perplexed her not a little. she regretted that she had not announced herself as a simple bourgeoise; but it was necessary to speak, so she said, "i do not wish for new furniture." "madame has doubtless some friend's apartments to furnish?" "just so," she replied. "will madame, then, choose?" said m. fingret, who did not care whether he sold new or old, as he gained equally by both. "this set," said jeanne, pointing to the yellow silk one. "that is such a small set, madame." "oh, the rooms are small." "it is nearly new, as madame may see." "but the price?" "eight hundred francs." the price made the countess tremble; and how was she to confess that a countess was content with second-hand things, and then could not afford to pay eight hundred francs for them? she therefore thought the best thing was to appear angry, and said: "who thinks of buying, sir? who do you think would buy such old things? i only want to hire." fingret made a grimace; his customer began gradually to lose her value in his eyes. she did not want to buy new things, only to hire old ones, "you wish it for a year?" he asked. "no, only for a month. it is for some one coming from the country." "it will be one hundred francs a month." "you jest, surely, monsieur; why, in eight months i should have paid the full price of it." "granted, madame la comtesse." "well, is not that too bad?" "i shall have the expense of doing it up again when you return it." madame de la motte reflected. "one hundred francs a month is very dear, certainly; but either i can return it at the end of that time and say it is too dear, or i shall then perhaps be in a situation to buy." "i will take it," she said, "with curtains to match." "yes, madame." "and carpets." "here they are." "what can you give me for another room?" "these oak chairs, this table with twisted legs, and green damask curtains." "and for a bedroom?" "a large and handsome bed, a counterpane of velvet embroidered in rose-color and silver, an excellent couch, and blue curtains." "and for my dressing-room?" "a toilet-table hung with mechlin lace; chest of drawers with marqueterie; sofa and chairs of tapestry. the whole came from the bedroom of madame de pompadour at choisy." "all this for what price?" "for a month?" "yes." "four hundred francs." "come, monsieur fingret, do not take me for a grisette who is dazzled by your fine descriptions. please to reflect that you are asking at the rate of four thousand eight hundred francs a year, and for that i can take a whole furnished house. you disgust me with the place royale." "i am very sorry, madame." "prove it, then; i will only give half that price." jeanne pronounced these words with so much authority that the merchant began again to think she might be worth conciliating. "so be it, then, madame." "and on one condition, m. fingret." "what, madame?" "that everything be arranged in its proper place by three o'clock." "but consider, madame, it is now ten." "can you do it or not?" "where must they go to?" "rue st. claude." "close by?" "precisely." the upholsterer opened a door, and called, "sylvain! landry! rémy!" three men answered to the call. "the carts and the trucks instantly. rémy, you shall take this yellow furniture; sylvain, you take that for the dining-room; and you, landry, that for the bedroom. here is the bill, madame; shall i receipt it?" "here are six double louis," she said, "and you can give the change to these men if the order is completed in time;" and, having given her address, she reentered her coach. on her return she engaged the third floor, and in a few hours all was in order. the lodgings thus transformed, the windows cleaned, and the fires lighted, jeanne went again to her toilet, which she made as recherché as possible, and then took a last look at all the delights around her. nothing had been forgotten: there were gilded branches from the walls for wax-lights, and glass lusters on each side of the mirror; jeanne had also added flowers, to complete the embellishment of the paradise in which she intended to receive his eminence. she took care even to leave the door of the bedroom a little open, through which the light of a bright fire gave a glimpse of the luxuries within. all these preparations completed, she seated herself in a chair by the fire, with a book in her hand, listening eagerly to the sound of every carriage that passed; but nine, ten, and eleven o'clock struck, and no one came. still she did not despair; it was not too late for a gallant prelate, who had probably been first to some supper, and would come to her from there. but at last twelve struck; no one appeared, the lights were burning low, and the old servant, after many lamentations over her new cap, had fallen asleep in her chair. at half-past twelve jeanne rose furious from her chair, looked out of window for the hundredth time, and, seeing no one near, undressed herself and went to bed, refusing supper, or to answer any of the remarks made to her by clotilde; and on her sumptuous bed, under her beautiful curtains, she experienced no better rest than she had on the previous night. at last, however, her anger began a little to abate, and she commenced framing excuses for the cardinal. he had so much to occupy him, he must have been detained, and, most potent of all, he had not yet seen her. she would not have been so easily consoled if he had broken the promise of a second visit. chapter xv. the cardinal de rohan. the next evening jeanne, not discouraged, renewed all her preparations of the night before; and on this occasion she had no time to grow impatient, for at seven o'clock a carriage drove up to the door, from which a gentleman got out. at the sound of the door-bell jeanne's heart beat so loud that you might almost have heard it; however, she composed herself as well as she could, and in a few minutes clotilde opened the door, and announced the person who had written the day before yesterday. "let him come in," said jeanne; and a gentleman dressed in silk and velvet, and with a lofty carriage, entered the room. jeanne made a step forward, and said: "to whom have i the honor of speaking?" "i am the cardinal de rohan," he replied; at which madame de la motte, feigning to be overwhelmed with the honor, courtesied, as though he were a king. then she advanced an armchair for him, and placed herself in another. the cardinal laid his hat on the table, and, looking at jeanne, began: "it is, then, true, mademoiselle----" "madame," interrupted jeanne. "pardon me; i forgot." "my husband is called de la motte, monseigneur." "oh, yes; a gendarme, is he not?" "yes, sir." "and you, madame, are a valois?" "i am, monseigneur." "a great name," said the cardinal, "but rare--believed extinct." "not extinct, sir, since i bear it, and as i have a brother, baron de valois." "recognized?" "that has nothing to do with it. recognized or unrecognized, rich or poor, he is still baron de valois." "madame, explain to me this descent; it interests me; i love heraldry." jeanne repeated all that the reader already knows. the cardinal listened and looked. he did not believe either her story or her merit; but she was poor and pretty. "so that," he said carelessly, when she had finished, "you have really been unfortunate." "i do not complain, monseigneur." "indeed, i had heard a most exaggerated account of the difficulties of your position; this lodging is commodious and well furnished." "for a grisette, no doubt," replied jeanne. "what! do you call these rooms fit for a grisette?" "i do not think you can call them fit for a princess," replied jeanne. "and you are a princess?" said he, in an ironical tone. "i was born a valois, monseigneur, as you were a rohan," said jeanne, with so much dignity that he felt a little touched by it. "madame," said he, "i forgot that my first words should have been an apology. i wrote to you that i would come yesterday, but i had to go to versailles to assist at the reception of m. de suffren." "monseigneur does me too much honor in remembering me to-day; and my husband will more than ever regret the exile to which poverty compels him, since it prevents him from sharing this favor with me." "you live alone, madame?" asked the cardinal. "absolutely alone. i should be out of place in all society but that from which my poverty debars me." "the genealogists do not contest your claim?" "no; but what good does it do me?" "madame," continued the cardinal, "i shall be glad to know in what i can serve you." "in nothing, monseigneur," she said. "how! in nothing? pray be frank." "i cannot be more frank than i am." "you were complaining just now." "certainly, i complain." "well, then?" "well, then, monseigneur, i see that you wish to bestow charity on me." "oh, madame!" "yes, sir, i have taken charity, but i will do so no more. i have borne great humiliation." "madame, you are wrong, there is no humiliation in misfortune." "not even with the name i bear? would you beg, m. de rohan?" "i do not speak of myself," said he, with an embarrassment mingled with hauteur. "monseigneur, i only know two ways of begging: in a carriage, or at a church door in velvet or in rags. well, just now, i did not expect the honor of this visit; i thought you had forgotten me." "oh, you knew, then, that it was i who wrote?" "were not your arms on the seal?" "however, you feigned not to know me." "because you did not do me the honor to announce yourself." "this pride pleases me," said the cardinal. "i had then," continued jeanne, "despairing of seeing you, taken the resolution of throwing off all this flimsy parade, which covers my real poverty, and of going in rags, like other mendicants, to beg my bread from the passers-by." "you are not at the end of your resources, i trust, madame?" jeanne did not reply. "you have some property, even if it be mortgaged? some family jewels? this, for example," and he pointed to a box, with which the delicate fingers of the lady had been playing. "a singular box, upon my word! will you permit me to look? oh, a portrait!" he continued, with a look of great surprise. "do you know the original of this portrait?" asked jeanne. "it is that of maria theresa." "of maria theresa?" "yes, the empress of austria." "really!" cried jeanne. "are you sure, monseigneur?" "where did you get it?" he asked. "from a lady who came the day before yesterday." "to see you?" "yes." the cardinal examined the box with minute attention. "there were two ladies," continued jeanne. "and one of them gave you this box?" said he, with evident suspicion. "no; she dropped it here." the cardinal remained thoughtful for some time, and then said, "what was the name of this lady? i beg pardon for being inquisitive." "indeed, it is a somewhat strange question." "indiscreet, perhaps, but not strange." "yes, very strange; for if i had known her name, i should have returned it long before this." "then, you know not who she is?" "i only know she is the head of some charitable house." "in paris?" "no; in versailles." "from versailles; the head of a charitable house!" "monseigneur, i accept charity from ladies; that does not so much humiliate a poor woman; and this lady, who had heard of my wants, left a hundred louis on my table when she went away." "a hundred louis!" said the cardinal in surprise; then, fearing to offend, he added, "i am not astonished, madame, that they should give you such a sum. you merit, on the contrary, all the solicitude of charitable people, and your name makes it a duty to help you. it is only the title of the sister of charity that surprised me, they are not in the habit of giving such donations. could you describe this lady to me?" "not easily, sir." "how so, since she came here?" "yes, but she probably did not wish to be recognized, for she hid her face as much as possible in her hood, and was besides, enveloped in furs." "well, but you saw something?" "my impressions were, that she had blue eyes, and a small mouth, though the lips were rather thick." "tall or short?" "of middle height." "her hands?" "perfect." "her throat?" "long and slender." "her expression?" "severe and noble. but you, perhaps, know this lady, monseigneur?" "why should you think so, madame?" "from the manner in which you question me; besides, there is a sympathy between the doers of good works." "no, madame, i do not know her." "but, sir, if you had some suspicion." "how should i?" "oh, from this portrait, perhaps." "yes, certainly, the portrait," said the cardinal, rather uneasily. "well, sir, this portrait you still believe to be that of maria theresa?" "i believe so, certainly." "then you think----?" "that you have received a visit from some german lady who has founded one of these houses!" but it was evident that the cardinal doubted, and he was pondering how this box, which he had seen a hundred times in the hands of the queen, came into the possession of this woman. had the queen really been to see her? if she had been, was she indeed unknown to jeanne? or, if not, why did she try to hide the knowledge from him. if the queen had really been there, it was no longer a poor woman he had to deal with, but a princess succored by a queen, who bestowed her gifts in person. jeanne saw that the cardinal was thoughtful, and even suspicious of her. she felt uneasy, and knew not what to say. at last, however, he broke the silence by saying, "and the other lady?" "oh, i could see her perfectly; she is tall and beautiful, with a determined expression, and a brilliant complexion." "and the other lady did not name her?" "yes, once; but by her christian name." "what was it?" "andrée." "andrée!" repeated the cardinal, with a start. this name put an end to all his doubts. it was known that the queen had gone to paris on that day with mademoiselle de taverney. it was evident, also, that jeanne had no intention of deceiving him; she was telling all she knew. still, he would try one more proof. "countess," he said, "one thing astonishes me, that you have not addressed yourself to the king." "but, sir, i have sent him twenty petitions." "without result?" "yes." "well, then, the princes of the blood; m. le duc d'orleans is charitable, and often likes to do what the king refuses." "i have tried him, equally fruitlessly." "that astonishes me." "oh, when one is poor, and not supported by any one----" "there is still the comte d'artois; sometimes dissipated men do more generous actions than charitable ones." "it is the same story with him." "but the princesses, the aunts of the king, madame elizabeth particularly, would refuse assistance to no one." "it is true, monseigneur, her royal highness, to whom i wrote, promised to receive me; but, i know not why, after having received my husband, i could never get any more notice from her." "it is strange, certainly," said the cardinal; then, as if the thought had just struck him, he cried, "ah! mon dieu! but we are forgetting the person to whom you should have addressed yourself first of all." "whom do you mean?" "to the dispenser of all favors, she who never refuses help where it is deserved--to the queen. have you seen her?" "no," answered jeanne. "you have never presented your petition to the queen?" "never." "you have not tried to obtain an audience of her?" "i have tried, but failed." "have you tried to throw yourself in her way, that she might remark you?" "no, monseigneur." "but that is very strange." "i have only been twice to versailles, and then saw but two persons there; one was doctor louis, who had attended my poor father at the hôtel dieu, and the other was m. le baron de taverney, to whom i had an introduction." "what did m. de taverney say to you? he might have brought you to the queen." "he told me that i was very foolish to bring forward as a claim to the benevolence of the king a relationship which would be sure to displease him, as nobody likes poor relations." "i recognize the egotistical and rude old baron. well," continued he, "i will conduct you myself to versailles, and will open the doors for you." "oh, monseigneur, how good you are," cried jeanne, overwhelmed with joy. the cardinal approached her, and said, "it is impossible but that before long all must interest themselves in you." "alas! monseigneur," said jeanne, with a sigh, "do you think so?" "i am sure of it." "i fear you flatter me," she said, looking earnestly at him, for she could hardly believe in his sudden change of manner, he had been so cold and suspicious at first. this look had no small effect on the cardinal; he began to think he had never met a woman prettier or more attractive. "ah, ma foi!" said he to himself, with the eternally scheming spirit of a man used to diplomacy, "it would be too extraordinary and too fortunate if i have met at once an honest woman with the attractions of a scheming one, and found in this poverty an able coadjutrix to my desires." "monseigneur, the silence you keep every now and then disquiets me." "why so, countess?" "because a man like you only fails in politeness to two kinds of women." "mon dieu! countess, you frighten me. what are you about to say?" and he took her hand. "i repeat it," said she, "with women that you love too much, or with women whom you do not esteem enough to be polite to." "countess, you make me blush. have i, then, failed in politeness towards you?" "rather so, monseigneur; and yet you cannot love me too much, and i have given you no cause to despise me." "oh, countess, you speak as if you were angry with me." "no, monseigneur; you have not yet merited my anger." "and i never will, madame. from this day, in which i have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, my solicitude for you will not cease." "oh, sir, do not speak to me of your protection." "oh, mon dieu! i should humiliate myself, not you, in mentioning such a thing;" and he pressed her hand, which he continued to hold, to his lips. she tried to withdraw it; but he said, "only politeness, madame," and she let it remain. "to know," said she, "that i shall occupy a place, however small, in the mind of a man so eminent and so busy, would console me for a year." "let us hope the consolation will last longer than that, countess." "well, perhaps so, monseigneur; i have confidence in you, because i feel that you are capable of appreciating a mind like mine, adventurous, brave, and pure, in spite of my poverty, and of the enemies which my position has made me. your eminence will, i am sure, discover all the good that is in me, and be indulgent to all the rest." "we, are, then, warm friends, madame;" and he advanced towards her, but his arms were a little more extended than the occasion required. she avoided him, and said, laughing: "it must be a friendship among three, cardinal." "among three?" "doubtless, for there exists an exile, a poor gendarme, who is called m. de la motte." "oh, countess, what a deplorably good memory you have!" "i must speak to you of him, that you may not forget him." "do you know why i do not speak of him, countess?" "no; pray tell me." "because he will speak enough for himself: husbands never let themselves be forgotten. we shall hear that m. le comte de la motte found it good, or found it bad, that the cardinal de rohan came two, three, or four times a week to visit his wife." "ah! but will you come so often, monseigneur?" "without that, where would be our friendship? four times! i should have said six or seven." jeanne laughed, "i should not indeed wonder in that case if people did talk of it." "oh! but we can easily prevent them." "how?" "quite easily. the people know me----" "certainly, monseigneur." "but you they have the misfortune not to know." "well?" "therefore, if you would----" "what, sir?" "come out instead of me." "come to your hotel, monseigneur?" "you would go to see a minister." "oh! a minister is not a man." "you are adorable, countess. but i did not speak of my hotel; i have a house----" "oh! a petite maison?" "no; a house of yours." "a house of mine, cardinal! indeed, i did not know it." "to-morrow, at ten o'clock, you shall have the address." the countess blushed; the cardinal took her hand again, and imprinted another kiss upon it, at once bold, respectful, and tender. they then bowed to each other. "light monseigneur down," said the countess; and he went away. "well," thought she, "i have made a great step in the world." "come," said the cardinal to himself as he drove off, "i think i have killed two birds with one stone; this woman has too much talent not to catch the queen as she has caught me?" chapter xvi. mesmer and st. martin. the fashionable study in paris at this time, and that which engrossed most of those who had no business to attend to, was mesmerism--a mysterious science, badly defined by its discoverers, who did not wish to render it too plain to the eyes of the people. dr. mesmer, who had given to it his own name, was then in paris, as we have already heard from marie antoinette. this doctor mesmer deserves a few words from us, as his name was then in all mouths. he had brought this science from germany, the land of mysteries, in . he had previously made his début there, by a theory on the influence of the planets. he had endeavored to establish that these celestial bodies, through the same power by which they attract each other, exercised an influence over living bodies, and particularly over the nervous system, by means of a subtle fluid with which the air is impregnated. but this first theory was too abstract: one must, to understand it, be initiated into all the sciences of galileo or newton; and it would have been necessary, for this to have become popular, that the nobility should have been transformed into a body of savants. he therefore abandoned this system, and took up that of the loadstone, which was then attracting great attention, people fancying that this wonderful power was efficacious in curing illnesses. unhappily for him, however, he found a rival in this already established in vienna; therefore he once more announced that he abandoned mineral magnetism, and intended to effect his cures through animal magnetism. this, although a new name, was not in reality a new science; it was as old as the greeks and egyptians, and had been preserved in traditions, and revived every now and then by the sorcerers of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, many of whom had paid for their knowledge with their lives. urbain grandier was nothing but an animal magnetizer; and joseph balsamo we have seen practising it. mesmer only condensed this knowledge into a science, and gave it a name. he then communicated his system to the scientific academies of paris, london, and berlin. the two first did not answer him, and the third said that he was mad. he came to france, and took out of the hands of dr. storck, and of the oculist wenzel, a young girl seventeen years old, who had a complaint of the liver and gutta serena, and after three months of his treatment, restored her health and her sight. this cure convinced many people, and among them a doctor called deslon, who, from his enemy, became his pupil. prom this time his reputation gradually increased; the academy declared itself against him, but the court for him. at last the government offered him, in the king's name, an income for life of twenty thousand francs to give lectures in public, and ten thousand more to instruct three persons, who should be chosen by them, in his system. mesmer, however, indignant at the royal parsimony, refused, and set out for the spa waters with one of his patients; but while he was gone, deslon, his pupil, possessor of the secret which he had refused to sell for thirty thousand francs a year, opened a public establishment for the treatment of patients. mesmer was furious, and exhausted himself in complaints and menaces. one of his patients, however, m. de bergasse, conceived the idea of forming a company. they raised a capital of , francs, on the condition that the secret should be revealed to the shareholders. it was a fortunate time: the people, having no great public events to interest them, entered eagerly into every new amusement and occupation; and this mysterious theory possessed no little attraction, professing, as it did, to cure invalids, restore mind to the fools, and amuse the wise. everywhere mesmer was talked of. what had he done? on whom had he performed these miracles? to what great lord had he restored sight? to what lady worn out with dissipation had he renovated the nerves? to what young girl had he shown the future in a magnetic trance? the future! that word of ever-entrancing interest and curiosity. voltaire was dead; there was no one left to make france laugh, except perhaps beaumarchais, who was still more bitter than his master; rousseau was dead, and with him the sect of religious philosophers. war had generally occupied strongly the minds of the french people, but now the only war in which they were engaged was in america, where the people fought for what they called independence, and what the french called liberty; and even this distant war in another land, and affecting another people, was on the point of termination. therefore they felt more interest just now in m. mesmer, who was near, than in washington or lord cornwallis, who were so far off. mesmer's only rival in the public interest was st. martin, the professor of spiritualism, as mesmer was of materialism, and who professed to cure souls, as he did bodies. imagine an atheist with a religion more attractive than religion itself; a republican full of politeness and interest for kings; a gentleman of the privileged classes tender and solicitous for the people, endowed with the most startling eloquence, attacking all the received religions of the earth. imagine epicurus in white powder, embroidered coat, and silk stockings, not content with endeavoring to overturn a religion in which he did not believe, but also attacking all existing governments, and promulgating the theory that all men are equal, or, to use his own words, that all intelligent beings are kings. imagine the effect of all this in society as it then was, without fixed principles or steady guides, and how it was all assisting to light the fire with which france not long after began to consume herself. chapter xvii. the bucket. we have endeavored to give an idea in the last chapter of the interest and enthusiasm which drew such crowds of the people to see m. mesmer perform publicly his wonderful experiments. the king, as we know, had given permission to the queen to go and see what all paris was talking of, accompanied by one of the princesses. it was two days after the visit of m. de rohan to the countess. the weather was fine, and the thaw was complete, and hundreds of sweepers were employed in cleaning away the snow from the streets. the clear blue sky was just beginning to be illumined by its first stars, when madame de la motte, elegantly dressed, and presenting every appearance of opulence, arrived in a coach, which clotilde had carefully chosen as the best looking at the place vendôme, and stopped before a brilliantly-lighted house. it was that of doctor mesmer. numbers of other carriages were waiting at the door, and a crowd of people had collected to see the patients arrive and depart, who seemed to derive much pleasure when they saw some rich invalid, enveloped in furs and satins, carried in by footmen, from the evident proof it afforded that god made men healthy or unhealthy, without reference to their purses or their genealogies. a universal murmur would arise when they recognized some duke paralyzed in an arm or leg; or some marshal whose feet refused their office, less in consequence of military fatigues and marches than from halts made with the ladies of the opera, or of the comédie italienne. sometimes it was a lady carried in by her servants with drooping head and languid eye, who, weakened by late hours and an irregular life, came to demand from doctor mesmer the health she had vainly sought to regain elsewhere. many of these ladies were as well known as the gentlemen, but a great many escaped the public gaze, especially on this evening, by wearing masks; for there was a ball at the opera that night, and many of them intended to drive straight there when they left the doctor's house. through this crowd madame de la motte walked erect and firm, also with a mask on, and elicited only the exclamation, "this one does not look ill, at all events." ever since the cardinal's visit, the attention with which he had examined the box and portrait had been on jeanne's mind; and she could not but feel that all his graciousness commenced after seeing it, and she therefore felt proportionate curiosity to learn more about it. first she had gone to versailles to inquire at all the houses of charity about german ladies; but there were there, perhaps, a hundred and fifty or two hundred, and all jeanne's inquiries about the two ladies who had visited her had proved fruitless. in vain she repeated that one of them was called andrée; no one knew a german lady of that name, which indeed was not german. baffled in this, she determined to try elsewhere, and having heard much of m. mesmer, and the wonderful secrets revealed through him, determined upon going there. many were the stories of this kind in circulation. madame de duras had recovered a child who had been lost; madame de chantoué, an english dog, not much bigger than her fist, for which she would have given all the children in the world; and m. de vaudreuil a lock of hair, which he would have bought back with half his fortune. all these revelations had been made by clairvoyants after the magnetic operations of doctor mesmer. those who came to see him, after traversing the ante-chambers, were admitted into a large room, from which the darkened and hermetically closed windows excluded light and air. in the middle of this room, under a luster which gave but a feeble light, was a vast unornamented tank, filled with water impregnated with sulphur, and to the cover of which was fastened an iron ring; attached to this ring was a long chain, the object of which we shall presently see. all the patients were seated round the room, men and women indiscriminately; then a valet, taking the chain, wound it round the limbs of the patients, so that they might all feel, at the same time, the effects of the electricity contained in the tank; they were then directed to touch each other in some way, either by the shoulder, the elbow, or the feet, and each was to take in his hand a bar of iron, which was also connected with the tank, and to place it to the heart, head, or whatever was the seat of the malady. when they were all ready, a soft and pleasing strain of music, executed by invisible performers, was heard. among the most eager of the crowd, on the evening of which we speak, was a young, distinguished-looking, and beautiful woman, with a graceful figure, and rather showily dressed, who pressed the iron to her heart with wonderful energy, rolling her beautiful eyes, and beginning to show, in the trembling of her hands, the first effects of the electric fluid. as she constantly threw back her head, resting it on the cushions of her chair, all around could see perfectly her pale but beautiful face, and her white throat. many seemed to look at her with great astonishment, and a general whispering commenced among those who surrounded her. madame de la motte was one of the most curious of the party; and of all she saw around her, nothing attracted her attention so much as this young lady, and after gazing earnestly at her for some time, she at last murmured, "oh! it is she, there is no doubt. it is the lady who came to see me the other day." and convinced that she was not mistaken, she advanced towards her, congratulating herself that chance had effected for her what she had so long been vainly trying to accomplish; but at this moment the young lady closed her eyes, contracted her mouth, and began to beat the air feebly with her hands, which hands, however, did not seem to jeanne the white and beautiful ones she had seen in her room a few days before. the patients now began to grow excited under the influence of the fluid. men and women began to utter sighs, and even cries, moving convulsively their heads, arms, and legs. then a man suddenly made his appearance; no one had seen him enter; you might have fancied he came out of the tank. he was dressed in a lilac robe, and held in his hand a long wand, which he several times dipped into the mysterious tank; then he made a sign, the doors opened, and twenty robust servants entered, and seizing such of the patients as began to totter on their seats, carried them into an adjoining room. while this was going on madame de la motte heard a man who had approached near to the young lady before-mentioned, and who was in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, say in a loud voice, "it is surely she!" jeanne was about to ask him who she was, when her attention was drawn to two ladies who were just entering, followed by a man, who, though disguised as a bourgeois, had still the appearance of a servant. the tournure of one of these ladies struck jeanne so forcibly that she made a step towards them, when a cry from the young woman near her startled every one. the same man whom jeanne had heard speak before now called out, "but look, gentlemen, it is the queen." "the queen!" cried many voices, in surprise. "the queen here! the queen in that state! impossible!" "but look," said he again; "do you know the queen, or not?" "indeed," said many, "the resemblance is incredible." "monsieur," said jeanne to the speaker, who was a stout man, with quick observant eyes, "did you say the queen?" "oh! madame, there is no doubt of it." "and where is she?" "why, that young lady that you see there, on the violet cushions, and in such a state that she cannot moderate her transports, is the queen." "but on what do you found such an idea, monsieur?" "simply because it is the queen." and he left jeanne to go and spread his news among the rest. she turned from the almost revolting spectacle, and going near to the door, found herself face to face with the two ladies she had seen enter. scarcely had she seen the elder one than she uttered a cry of surprise. "what is the matter?" asked the lady. jeanne took off her mask, and asked, "do you recognize me, madame?" the lady made, but quickly suppressed, a movement of surprise, and said, "no, madame." "well, madame, i recognize you, and will give you a proof;" and she drew the box from her pocket, saying, "you left this at my house." "but supposing this to be true, what makes you so agitated?" "i am agitated by the danger that your majesty is incurring here." "explain yourself." "not before you have put on this mask;" and she offered hers to the queen, who, however, did not take it. "i beg your majesty; there is not an instant to lose." the queen put on the mask. "and now, pray come away," added jeanne. "but why?" said the queen. "your majesty has not been seen by any one?" "i believe not." "so much the better." the queen mechanically moved to the door, but said again, "will you explain yourself?" "will not your majesty believe your humble servant for the present, that you were running a great risk?" "but what risk?" "i will have the honor to tell your majesty whenever you will grant me an hour's audience; but it would take too long now;" and seeing that the queen looked displeased, "pray, madame," said she, turning to the princess lamballe, "join your petitions to mine that the queen should leave this place immediately." "i think we had better, madame," said the princess. "well, then, i will," answered the queen; then, turning to madame de la motte, "you ask for an audience?" she said. "i beg for that honor, that i may explain this conduct to your majesty." "well, bring this box with you, and you shall be admitted; laurent, the porter, shall have orders to do so." then going into the street, she called in german, "kommen sie da, weber." a carriage immediately drove up, they got in, and were immediately out of sight. when they were gone, madame de la motte said to herself, "i have done right in this--for the rest, i must consider." chapter xviii. mademoiselle oliva. during this time, the man who had pointed out the fictitious queen to the people touched on the shoulder another man who stood near him, in a shabby dress, and said. "for you, who are a journalist, here is a fine subject for an article." "how so?" replied the man. "shall i tell you?" "certainly." "the danger of being governed by a king who is governed by a queen who indulges in such paroxysms as these." the journalist laughed. "but the bastile?" he said. "pooh, nonsense! i do not mean you to write it out plainly. who can interfere with you if you relate the history of prince silou and the princess etteniotna, queen of narfec? what do you say to that?" "it is an admirable idea!" said the journalist. "and i do not doubt that a pamphlet called 'the paroxysms of the princess etteniotna at the house of the fakeer remsem' would have a great success." "i believe it also." "then go and do it." the journalist pressed the hand of the unknown. "shall i send you some copies, sir? i will with pleasure if you will give me your name." "certainly; the idea pleases me. what is the usual circulation of your journal?" "two thousand." "then do me a favor: take these fifty louis, and publish six thousand." "oh, sir, you overwhelm me. may i not know the name of such a generous patron of literature?" "you shall know, when i call for one thousand copies--at two francs each, are they not? will they be ready in a week?" "i will work night and day, monsieur." "let it be amusing." "it shall make all paris die with laughing, except one person." "who will weep over it. apropos, date the publication from london." "sir, i am your humble servant." and the journalist took his leave, with his fifty louis in his pocket, highly delighted. the unknown again turned to look at the young woman, who had now subsided into a state of exhaustion, and looked beautiful as she lay there. "really," he said to himself, "the resemblance is frightful. god had his motives in creating it, and has no doubt condemned her to whom the resemblance is so strong." while he made these reflections, she rose slowly from the midst of the cushions, assisting herself with the arm of an attendant, and began to arrange her somewhat disordered toilet, and then traversed the rooms, confronting boldly the looks of the people. she was somewhat astonished, however, when she found herself saluted with deep and respectful bows by a group which had already been assembled by the indefatigable stranger, who kept whispering, "never mind, gentlemen, never mind, she is still the queen of france; let us salute her." she next entered the courtyard, and looked about for a coach or chair, but, seeing none, was about to set off on foot, when a footman approached and said, "shall i call madame's carriage?" "i have none," she replied. "madame came in a coach?" "yes." "from the rue dauphine?" "yes." "i will take madame home." "do so, then," said she, although somewhat surprised at the offer. the man made a sign, and a carriage drove up. he opened the door for her, and then said to the coachman, "to the rue dauphine." they set off, and the young woman, who much approved of this mode of transit, regretted she had not further to go. they soon stopped, however; the footman handed her out, and immediately drove off again. "really," said she to herself, "this is an agreeable adventure; it is very gallant of m. mesmer. oh, i am very tired, and he must have foreseen that. he is a great doctor." saying these words, she mounted to the second story, and knocked at a door, which was quickly opened by an old woman. "is supper ready, mother?" "yes, and growing cold." "has he come?" "no, not yet, but the gentleman has." "what gentleman?" "he who was to speak to you this evening." "to me?" "yes." this colloquy took place in a kind of ante-chamber opening into her room, which was furnished with old curtains of yellow silk, chairs of green utrecht velvet, not very new, and an old yellow sofa. she opened the door, and, going in, saw a man seated on the sofa whom she did not know in the least, although we do, for it was the same man whom we have seen taking so much interest in her at mesmer's. she had not time to question him, for he began immediately: "i know all that you are going to ask, and will tell you without asking. you are mademoiselle oliva, are you not?" "yes, sir." "a charming person, highly nervous, and much taken by the system of m. mesmer." "i have just left there." "all this, however, your beautiful eyes are saying plainly, does not explain what brings me here." "you are right, sir." "will you not do me the favor to sit down, or i shall be obliged to get up also, and that is an uncomfortable way of talking." "really, sir, you have very extraordinary manners." "mademoiselle, i saw you just now at m. mesmer's, and found you to be all i could wish." "sir!" "do not alarm yourself, mademoiselle. i do not tell you that i found you charming--that would seem like a declaration of love, and i have no such intention. i know that you are accustomed to have yourself called beautiful, but i, who also think so, have other things to talk to you about." "really, sir, the manner in which you speak to me----" "do not get angry before you have heard me. is there any one that can overhear us?" "no, sir, no one. but still----" "then, if no one can hear, we can converse at our ease. what do you say to a little partnership between us?" "really, sir----" "do not misunderstand; i do not say 'liaison'--i say partnership; i am not talking of love, but of business." "what kind of business?" said oliva, with growing curiosity. "what do you do all day?" "why, i do nothing, or, at least, as little as possible." "you have no occupation--so much the better. do you like walking?" "very much." "to see sights, and go to balls?" "excessively." "to live well?" "above all things." "if i gave you twenty-five louis a month, would you refuse me?" "sir!" "my dear mademoiselle oliva, now you are beginning to doubt me again, and it was agreed that you were to listen quietly. i will say fifty louis if you like." "i like fifty louis better than twenty-five, but what i like better than either is to be able to choose my own lover." "morbleu! but i have already told you that i do not desire to be your lover. set your mind at ease about that." "then what am i to do to earn my fifty louis?" "you must receive me at your house, and always be glad to see me. walk out with me whenever i desire it, and come to me whenever i send for you." "but i have a lover, sir." "well, dismiss him." "oh, beausire cannot be sent away like that!" "i will help you." "no; i love him." "oh!" "a little." "that is just a little too much." "i cannot help it." "then he may stop." "you are very obliging." "well--but do my conditions suit you?" "yes, if you have told me all." "i believe i have said all i wish to say now." "on your honor?" "on my honor." "very well." "then that is settled; and here is the first month in advance." he held out the money, and, as she still seemed to hesitate a little, slipped it himself into her pocket. scarcely had he done so, when a knock at the door made oliva run to the window. "good god!" she cried; "escape quickly; here he is!" "who?" "beausire, my lover. be quick, sir!" "nonsense!" "he will half murder you." "bah!" "do you hear how he knocks?" "well, open the door." and he sat down again on the sofa, saying to himself, "i must see this fellow, and judge what he is like." the knocks became louder, and mingled with oaths. "go, mother, and open the door," cried oliva. "as for you, sir, if any harm happens to you, it is your own fault." chapter xix. monsieur beausire. oliva ran to meet a man, who came in swearing furiously, and in a frightful passion. "come, beausire," said she, apparently not at all frightened. "let me alone!" cried he, shaking her off brutally. "ah! i see, it was because there is a man here that the door was not opened!" and as the visitor remained perfectly still, he advanced furiously towards him, saying, "will you answer me, sir?" "what do you want to know, my dear m. beausire?" "what are you doing here, and who are you?" "i am a very quiet man, and i was simply talking to madame." "that was all," said oliva. "will you hold your tongue?" bawled beausire. "now," said the visitor, "do not be so rude to madame, who has done nothing to deserve it; and if you are in a bad temper----" "yes, i am." "he must have lost at cards," murmured oliva. "i am cleaned out, mort de diable!" cried beausire. "but you, sir, will do me the favor to leave this room." "but, m. beausire----" "diable! if you do not go immediately it will be the worse for you." "you did not tell me, mademoiselle, that he was troubled with these fits. good heavens! what ferocity!" beausire, exasperated, drew his sword, and roared, "if you do not move, i will pin you to the sofa!" "really, it is impossible to be more disagreeable," said the visitor, also drawing a small sword, which they had not before seen. oliva uttered piercing shrieks. "oh, mademoiselle, pray be quiet," said he, "or two things will happen: first, you will stun m. beausire, and he will get killed; secondly, the watch will come up and carry you straight off to st. lazare." oliva ceased her cries. the scene that ensued was curious. beausire, furious with rage, was making wild and unskilful passes at his adversary, who, still seated on the sofa, parried them with the utmost ease, laughing immoderately all the time. beausire began to grow tired and also frightened, for he felt that if this man, who was now content to stand on the defensive, were to attack him in his turn, he should be done for in a moment. suddenly, however, by a skilful movement, the stranger sent beausire's sword flying across the room; it went through an open window, and fell into the street. "oh, m. beausire," said he, "you should take more care; if your sword falls on any one, it will kill him." beausire ran down at his utmost speed to fetch his sword, and meanwhile, oliva, seizing the hand of the victor, said: "oh, sir, you are very brave; but as soon as you are gone, beausire will beat me." "then i will remain." "oh, no; when he beats me, i beat him in return, and i always get the best of it, because i am not obliged to take any care; so if you would but go, sir----" "but, my dear, if i go now, i shall meet m. beausire on the stairs; probably the combat will recommence, and as i shall not feel inclined to stand on the staircase, i shall have to kill m. beausire." "mon dieu! it is true." "well, then, to avoid that i will remain here." "no, sir, i entreat; go up to the next story, and as soon as he returns to this room i will lock the door and take the key, and you can walk away while we fight it out." "you are a charming girl. au revoir!" "till when?" "to-night, if you please." "to-night! are you mad?" "not at all; but there is a ball at the opera to-night." "but it is now midnight." "that does not matter." "i should want a domino." "beausire will fetch it when you have beaten him." "you are right," said oliva, laughing. "and here are ten louis to buy it with." "adieu! and thanks." and she pushed him out, saying, "quick! he is coming back." "but if by chance he should beat you, how will you let me know?" she reflected a moment. "you have a servant?" "yes." "send him here, and let him wait under the window till i let a note fall." "i will. adieu!" and he went up-stairs. oliva drowned the sound of his footsteps by calling loudly to beausire, "are you coming back, madman?" for he did not seem in much hurry to reencounter his formidable adversary. at last, however, he came up. oliva was standing outside the door; she pushed him in, locked it, and put the key in her pocket. before the stranger left the house, he heard the noise of the combat begin, and both voices loud and furious. "there is no doubt," said he to himself, "that this woman knows how to take care of herself." his carriage was waiting for him at the corner of the street, but before getting in he spoke to the footman, who thereupon stationed himself within view of mademoiselle oliva's windows. chapter xx. gold. we must now return to the interior of the room. beausire was much surprised to see oliva lock the door, and still more so not to see his adversary. he began to feel triumphant, for if he was hiding from him he must, he thought, be afraid of him. he therefore began to search for him; but oliva talked so loud and fast that he advanced towards her to try and stop her, but was received with a box on the ear, which he returned in kind. oliva replied by throwing a china vase at his head, and his answer was a blow with a cane. she, furious, flew at him and seized him by the throat, and he, trying to free himself, tore her dress. then, with a cry, she pushed him from her with such force that he fell in the middle of the room. he began to get tired of this, so he said, without commencing another attack, "you are a wicked creature; you ruin me." "on the contrary, it is you who ruin me." "oh, i ruin her!--she who has nothing!" "say that i have nothing now, say that you have eaten, and drank, and played away all that i had." "you reproach me with my poverty." "yes, for it comes from your vices." "do not talk of vices; it only remained for you to take a lover." "and what do you call all those wretches who sit by you in the tennis-court, where you play?" "i play to live." "and nicely you succeed; we should die of hunger from your industry." "and you, with yours, are obliged to cry if you get your dress torn, because you have nothing to buy another with." "i do better than you, at all events;" and, putting her hand in her pocket, she drew out some gold and threw it across the room. when beausire saw this, he remained stupefied. "louis!" cried he at last. she took out some more, and threw them in his face. "oh!" cried he, "oliva has become rich!" "this is what my industry brings in," said she, pushing him with her foot as he kneeled down to pick up the gold. "sixteen, seventeen, eighteen," counted he, joyfully. "miserable wretch!" said oliva. "nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two." "coward!" "twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five." "infamous wretch!" he got up. "and so, mademoiselle, you have been saving money when you kept me without necessaries. you let me go about in an old hat, darned stockings, and patched clothes, while you had all this money! where does it come from! from the sale of my things?" "scoundrel!" murmured oliva, looking at him with contempt. "but i pardon your avarice," continued he. "you would have killed me just now," said oliva. "then i should have been right; now i should be wrong to do it." "why, if you please?" "because now you contribute to our ménage." "you are a base wretch.'" "my little oliva!" "give me back my money." "oh, my darling!" "if you do not, i will pass your own sword through your body!" "oliva!" "will you give it?" "oh, you would not take it away?" "ah, coward! you beg, you solicit for the fruits of my bad conduct--that is what they call a man! i have always despised you." "i gave to you when i could, nicole." "do not call me nicole." "pardon, then, oliva. but is it not true?" "fine presents, certainly: some silver buckles, six louis d'or, two silk dresses, and three embroidered handkerchiefs." "it is a great deal for a soldier." "hold your tongue! the buckles you stole from some one else, the louis d'or you borrowed and never returned, the silk dresses----" "oliva! oliva!" "give me back my money." "what shall i give you instead?" "double the quantity." [illustration: the queen's necklace _dumas. vol. eight_] "well," said the rogue, gravely, "i will go to the rue de bussy and play with it, and bring you back, not the double, but the quintuple;" and he made two steps to the door. she caught him by the coat. "there," said he, "you have torn my coat." "never mind; you shall have a new one." "that will be six louis, oliva. luckily, at the rue de bussy they are not particular about dress." oliva seized hold of the other tail, and tore it right off. beausire became furious. "mort de tous les diables!" cried he, "you will make me kill you at last! you are tearing me to bits! now i cannot go out." "on the contrary, you must go out immediately." "without a coat?" "put on your great-coat." "it is all in holes." "then do not put it on; but you must go out." "i will not." she took out of her pocket another handful of gold, and put it into his hands. beausire kneeled at her feet and cried, "order, and i will obey!" "go quickly to the capucin, rue de seine, where they sell dominoes for the bal masque, and buy me one complete, mask and all." "good." "and one for yourself--black, but mine white; and i only give you twenty minutes to do it in." "are we going to the ball?" "yes, if you are obedient." "oh, always." "go, then, and show your zeal." "i run; but the money?" "you have twenty-five louis, that you picked up." "oh, oliva, i thought you meant to give me those." "you shall have more another time, but if i give you them now, you will stop and play." "she is right," said he to himself; "that is just what i intended to do;" and he set off. as soon as he was gone, oliva wrote rapidly these words: "the peace is signed, and the ball decided on; at two o'clock we shall be at the opera. i shall wear a white domino, with a blue ribbon on my left shoulder." then, rolling this round a bit of the broken vase, she went to the window and threw it out. the valet picked it up, and made off immediately. in less than half an hour m. beausire returned, followed by two men, bringing, at the cost of eighteen louis, two beautiful dominoes, such as were only turned out at the capucin, makers to her majesty and the maids of honor. chapter xxi. la petite maison. we left madame de la motte at m. mesmer's door, watching the queen's carriage as it drove off. then she went home; for she also intended to put on a domino, and indulge herself by going to the opera. but a contretemps awaited her: a man was waiting at her door with a note from the cardinal de rohan. she opened it, and read as follows: "madame la comtesse, you have doubtless not forgotten that we have business together; even if you have a short memory, i never forget what has pleased me. i shall have the honor to wait for you where my messenger will conduct you, if you please to come." jeanne, although rather vexed, immediately reentered the coach, and told the footman to get on the box with the coachman. ten minutes sufficed to bring her to the entrance of the faubourg st. antoine, where, in a hollow and completely hidden by great trees, was one of those pretty houses built in the time of louis xv., with all the taste of the sixteenth, with the comfort of the eighteenth, century. "oh, oh! a petite maison!" said she to herself. "it is very natural on the part of m. de rohan, but very humiliating for valois. but, patience." she was led from room to room till she came to a small dining-room, fitted up with exquisite taste. there she found the cardinal waiting for her. he was looking over some pamphlets, but rose immediately on seeing her. "ah, here you are. thanks, madame la comtesse," and he approached to kiss her hand; but she drew back with a reproachful and indignant air. "what is the matter, madame?" he asked. "you are, doubtless, not accustomed, monseigneur, to receive such a greeting from the women whom your eminence is in the habit of summoning here." "oh! madame." "we are in your petite maison, are we not, sir?" continued she, looking disdainfully around her. "but, madame----" "i had hoped that your eminence would have deigned to remember in what rank i was born. i had hoped that you would have been pleased to consider, that if god has made me poor, he has at least left me the pride of my race." "come, come, countess, i took you for a woman of intellect." "you call a woman of intellect, it appears, monseigneur, every one who is indifferent to, and laughs at, everything, even dishonor. to these women, pardon me, your eminence, i have been in the habit of giving a different name." "no, countess, you deceive yourself; i call a woman of intellect one who listens when you speak to her, and does not speak before having listened." "i listen, then." "i had to speak to you of serious matters, countess." "therefore you receive me in a dining-room." "why, would you have preferred my receiving you in a boudoir?" "the distinction is nice," said she. "i think so, countess." "then i am simply to sup with you?" "nothing else." "i trust your eminence is persuaded that i feel the honor as i ought." "you are quizzing, countess." "no, i only laugh; would you rather i were angry? you are difficult to please, monseigneur." "oh; you are charming when you laugh, and i ask nothing better than to see you always doing so; but at this moment you are not laughing; oh, no! there is anger in that smile which shows your beautiful teeth." "not the least in the world, monseigneur." "that is good." "and i hope you will sup well." "i shall sup well, and you?" "oh, i am not hungry." "how, madame, you refuse to sup with me--you send me away?" "i do not understand you, monseigneur." "listen, dear countess; if you were less in a passion, i would tell you that it is useless to behave like this--you are always equally charming; but as at each compliment i fear to be dismissed, i abstain." "you fear to be dismissed? really, i beg pardon of your eminence, but you become unintelligible." "it is, however, quite clear, what i say. the other day, when i came to see you, you complained that you were lodged unsuitably to your rank. i thought, therefore, that to restore you to your proper place would be like restoring air to the bird whom the experimenter has placed under his air-pump. consequently, beautiful countess, that you might receive me with pleasure, and that i, on my part, might visit you without compromising either you or myself----" he stopped and looked at her. "well!" she said. "i hoped that you would deign to accept this small residence; you observe, i do not call it 'petite maison.'" "accept! you give me this house, monseigneur?" said jeanne, her heart beating with eagerness. "a very small gift, countess; but if i had offered you more, you would have refused." "oh, monseigneur, it is impossible for me to accept this." "impossible, why? do not say that word to me, for i do not believe in it. the house belongs to you, the keys are here on this silver plate; do you find out another humiliation in this?" "no, but----" "then accept." "monseigneur, i have told you." "how, madame? you write to the ministers for a pension, you accept a hundred louis from an unknown lady----" "oh, monseigneur, it is different." "come, i have waited for you in your dining-room. i have not yet seen the boudoir, nor the drawing-room, nor the bedrooms, for i suppose there are all these." "oh, monseigneur, forgive me; you force me to confess that you the most delicate of men," and she blushed with the pleasure she had been so long restraining. but checking herself, she sat down and said, "now, will your eminence give me my supper?" the cardinal took off his cloak, and sat down also. supper was served in a few moments. jeanne put on her mask before the servants came in. "it is i who ought to wear a mask," said the cardinal, "for you are at home, among your own people." jeanne laughed, but did not take hers off. in spite of her pleasure and surprise, she made a good supper. the cardinal was a man of much talent, and from his great knowledge of the world and of women, he was a man difficult to contend with, and he thought that this country girl, full of pretension, but who, in spite of her pride, could not conceal her greediness, would be an easy conquest, worth undertaking on account of her beauty, and of a something piquant about her, very pleasing to a man "blasé" like him. he therefore never took pains to be much on his guard with her; and she, more cunning than he thought, saw through his opinion of her, and tried to strengthen it by playing the provincial coquette, and appearing silly, that her adversary might be in reality weak in his over-confidence. the cardinal thought her completely dazzled by the present he had made her--and so, indeed, she was; but he forgot that he himself was below the mark of the ambition of a woman like jeanne. "come," said he, pouring out for her a glass of cyprus wine, "as you have signed your contract with me, you will not be unfriendly any more, countess." "oh no!" "you will receive me here sometimes without repugnance?" "i shall never be so ungrateful as to forget whose house this really is." "not mine." "oh yes, monseigneur." "do not contradict me, i advise you, or i shall begin to impose conditions." "you take care on your part----" "of what?" "why, i am at home here, you know, and if your conditions are unreasonable, i shall call my servants----" the cardinal laughed. "ah, you laugh, sir; you think if i call they will not come." "oh, you quite mistake, countess. i am nothing here, only your guest. apropos," continued he, as if it had just entered his head, "have you heard anything more of the ladies who came to see you?" "the ladies of the portrait?" said jeanne, who, now knowing the queen, saw through the artifice. "yes, the ladies of the portrait." "monseigneur, you know them as well and even better than i do, i feel sure." "oh, countess, you do me wrong. did you not express a wish to learn who they were?" "certainly; it is natural to desire to know your benefactors." "well, if knew, i should have told you." "m. le cardinal, you do know them." "no." "if you repeat that 'no,' i shall have to call you a liar." "i shall know how to avenge that insult." "how?" "with a kiss." "you know the portrait of maria theresa?" "certainly, but what of that?" "that, having recognized this portrait, you must have had some suspicion of the person to whom it belonged." "and why?" "because it was natural to think that the portrait of a mother would only be in the hands of her daughter." "the queen!" cried the cardinal, with so truthful a tone of surprise that it duped even jeanne. "do you really think the queen came to see you?" "and you did not suspect it?" "mon dieu, no! how should i? i, who speak to you, am neither son, daughter, nor even relation of maria theresa, yet i have a portrait of her about me at this moment. look," said he--and he drew out a snuff-box and showed it to her; "therefore you see that if i, who am in no way related to the imperial house, carry about such a portrait, another might do the same, and yet be a stranger." jeanne was silent--she had nothing to answer. "then it is your opinion," he went on, "that you have had a visit from the queen, marie antoinette." "the queen and another lady." "madame de polignac?" "i do not know." "perhaps madame de lamballe?" "a young lady, very beautiful and very serious." "oh, perhaps mademoiselle de taverney." "it is possible; i do not know her." "well, if her majesty has really come to visit you, you are sure of her protection. it is a great step towards your fortune." "i believe it, monseigneur." "and her majesty was generous to you?" "she gave me a hundred louis." "and she is not rich, particularly now." "that doubles my gratitude." "did she show much interest in you?" "very great." "then all goes well," said the prelate; "there only remains one thing now--to penetrate to versailles." the countess smiled. "ah, countess, it is not so easy." she smiled again, more significantly than before. "really, you provincials," said he, "doubt nothing; because you have seen versailles with the doors open, and stairs to go up, you think any one may open these doors and ascend these stairs. have you seen the monsters of brass, of marble, and of lead, which adorn the park and the terraces?" "yes." "griffins, gorgons, ghouls, and other ferocious beasts. well, you will find ten times as many, and more wicked, living animals between you and the favor of sovereigns." "your eminence will aid me to pass through the ranks of these monsters." "i will try, but it will be difficult. and if you pronounce my name, if you discover your talisman, it will lose all its power." "happily, then, i am guarded by the immediate protection of the queen, and i shall enter versailles with a good key." "what key, countess?" "ah, monsieur le cardinal, that is my secret--or rather it is not, for if it were mine, i should feel bound to tell it to my generous protector." "there is, then, an obstacle, countess?" "alas! yes, monseigneur. it is not my secret, and i must keep it. let it suffice you to know that to-morrow i shall go to versailles; that i shall be received, and, i have every reason to hope, well received." the cardinal looked at her with wonder. "ah, countess," said he, laughing, "i shall see if you will get in." "you will push your curiosity so far as to follow me?" "exactly." "very well." "really, countess, you are a living enigma." "one of those monsters who inhabit versailles." "oh, you believe me a man of taste, do you not?" "certainly, monseigneur." "well, here i am at your knees, and i take your hand and kiss it. should i do that if i thought you a monster?" "i beg you, sir, to remember," said jeanne coldly, "that i am neither a grisette nor an opera girl; that i am my own mistress, feeling myself the equal of any man in this kingdom. therefore i shall take freely and spontaneously, when it shall please me, the man who will have gained my affections. therefore, monseigneur, respect me a little, and, in me, the nobility to which we both belong." the cardinal rose. "i see," said he, "you wish me to love you seriously." "i do not say that; but i wish to be able to love you. when that day comes--if it does comes--you will easily find it out, believe me. if you do not, i will let you know it; for i feel young enough and attractive enough not to mind making the first advances, nor to fear a repulse." "countess, if it depends upon me, you shall love me." "we shall see." "you have already a friendship for me, have you not?" "more than that." "oh! then we are at least half way. and you are a woman that i should adore, if----" he stopped and sighed. "well," said she, "if----" "if you would permit it." "perhaps i shall, when i shall be independent of your assistance, and you can no longer suspect that i encourage you from interested motives." "then you forbid me to pay my court now?" "not at all; but there are other ways besides kneeling and kissing hands." "well, countess, let us hear; what will you permit?" "all that is compatible with my tastes and duties." "oh, that is vague indeed." "stop! i was going to add--my caprices." "i am lost!" "you draw back?" "no," said the cardinal, "i do not." "well, then, i want a proof." "speak." "i want to go to the ball at the opera." "well, countess, that only concerns yourself. are you not free as air to go where you wish?" "ah, but you have not heard all. i want you to go with me." "i to the opera, countess!" said he, with a start of horror. "see already how much your desire to please me is worth." "a cardinal cannot go to a ball at the opera, countess. it is as if i proposed to you to go into a public-house." "then a cardinal does not dance, i suppose?" "oh no!" "but i have read that m. le cardinal de richelieu danced a saraband." "yes, before anne of austria." "before a queen," repeated jeanne. "perhaps you would do as much for a queen?" the cardinal could not help blushing, dissembler as he was. "is it not natural," she continued, "that i should feel hurt when, after all your protestations, you will not do as much for me as you would for a queen?--especially when i only ask you to go concealed in a domino and a mask; besides, a man like you, who may do anything with impunity!" the cardinal yielded to her flattery and her blandishments. taking her hand, he said, "for you i will do anything, even the impossible." "thanks, monseigneur; you are really amiable. but now you have consented, i will let you off." "no, no! he who does the work can alone claim the reward. countess, i will attend you, but in a domino." "we shall pass through the rue st. denis, close to the opera," said the countess. "i will go in masked, buy a domino and a mask for you, and you can put them on in the carriage." "that will do delightfully." "oh, monseigneur, you are very good! but, now i think of it, perhaps at the hôtel rohan you might find a domino more to your taste than the one i should buy." "now, countess, that is unpardonable malice. believe me if i go to the opera, i shall be as surprised to find myself there as you were to find yourself supping tête-à-tête with a man not your husband." jeanne had nothing to reply to this. soon a carriage without arms drove up; they both got in, and drove off at a rapid pace. chapter xxii. some words about the opera. the opera, that temple of pleasure at paris, was burned in the month of june, . twenty persons had perished in the ruins; and as it was the second time within eighteen years that this had happened, it created a prejudice against the place where it then stood, in the palais royal, and the king had ordered its removal to a less central spot. the place chosen was la porte st. martin. the king, vexed to see paris deprived for so long of its opera, became as sorrowful as if the arrivals of grain had ceased, or bread had risen to more than seven sous the quartern loaf. it was melancholy to see the nobility, the army, and the citizens without their after-dinner amusement; and to see the promenades thronged with the unemployed divinities, from the chorus-singers to the prima donnas. an architect was then introduced to the king, full of new plans, who promised so perfect a ventilation, that even in case of fire no one could be smothered. he would make eight doors for exit, besides five large windows placed so low that any one could jump out of them. in the place of the beautiful hall of moreau he was to erect a building with ninety-six feet of frontage towards the boulevard, ornamented with eight caryatides on pillars forming three entrance-doors, a bas-relief above the capitals, and a gallery with three windows. the stage was to be thirty-six feet wide, the theater seventy-two feet deep and eighty across, from one wall to the other. he asked only seventy-five days and nights before he opened it to the public. this appeared to all a mere gasconade, and was much laughed at. the king, however, concluded the agreement with him. lenoir set to work, and kept his word. but the public feared that a building so quickly erected could not be safe, and when it opened no one would go. even the few courageous ones who did go to the first representation of "adéle de ponthieu" made their wills first. the architect was in despair. he came to the king to consult him as to what was to be done. it was just after the birth of the dauphin; all paris was full of joy. the king advised him to announce a gratuitous performance in honor of the event, and give a ball after. doubtless plenty would come, and if the theater stood, its safety was established. "thanks, sire," said the architect. "but reflect, first," said the king, "if there be a crowd, are you sure of your building?" "sire, i am sure, and shall go there myself." "i will go to the second representation," said the king. the architect followed this advice. they played "adéle de ponthieu" to three thousand spectators, who afterwards danced. after this there could be no more fear. it was three years afterwards that madame de la motte and the cardinal went to the ball. chapter xxiii. the ball at the opera. the ball was at its height when they glided in quietly, and were soon lost in the crowd. a couple had taken refuge from the pressure under the queen's box; one of them wore a white domino and the other a black one. they were talking with great animation. "i tell you, oliva," said the black domino, "that i am sure you are expecting some one. your head is no longer a head, but a weather cock, and turns round to look after every newcomer." "well, is it astonishing that i should look at the people, when that is what i came here for?" "oh, that is what you came for!" "well, sir, and for what do people generally come?" "a thousand things." "men perhaps, but women only for one--to see and be seen by as many people as possible." "mademoiselle oliva!" "oh, do not speak in that big voice, it does so frighten me; and above all, do not call me by name; it is bad taste to let every one here know who you are." the black domino made an angry gesture; it was interrupted by a blue domino who approached them. "come, monsieur," said he, "let madame amuse herself; it is not every night one comes to a ball at the opera." "meddle with your own affairs," replied beausire, rudely. "monsieur, learn once for all that a little courtesy is never out of place." "i do not know you," he replied, "and do not want to have anything to do with you." "no, you do not know me; but i know you, m. beausire." at hearing his name thus pronounced, beausire visibly trembled. "oh, do not be afraid, m. beausire; i am not what you take me for." "pardieu! sir, do you guess thoughts, as well as names?" "why not?" "then tell me what i thought. i have never seen a sorcerer, and should find it amusing." "oh, what you ask is not difficult enough to entitle me to that name." "never mind--tell." "well, then! you took me for an agent of m. de crosne." "m. de crosne!" he repeated. "yes; the lieutenant of police." "sir!" "softly, m. de beausire, you really look as if you were feeling for your sword." "and so i was, sir." "good heavens! what a warlike disposition; but i think, dear m. beausire, you left your sword at home, and you did well. but to speak of something else, will you relinquish to me madame for a time?" "give you up madame?" "yes, sir; that is not uncommon, i believe, at a ball at the opera." "certainly not, when it suits the gentleman." "it suffices sometimes that it should please the lady." "do you ask it for a long time?" "really, m. beausire, you are too curious. perhaps for ten minutes--perhaps for an hour--perhaps for all the evening." "you are laughing at me, sir." "come, reply; will you or not?" "no, sir." "come, come, do not be ill-tempered, you who were so gentle just now." "just now?" "yes; at the rue dauphine." oliva laughed. "hold your tongue, madame," said beausire. "yes," continued the blue domino, "where you were on the point of killing this poor lady, but stopped at the sight of some louis." "oh, i see; you and she have an understanding together." "how can you say such a thing?" cried oliva. "and if it were so," said the stranger, "it is all for your benefit." "for my benefit! that would be curious." "i will prove to you that your presence here is as hurtful as your absence would be profitable. you are a member of a certain academy, not the académie française, but in the rue du pôt au fer, in the second story, is it not, my dear m. beausire?" "hush!" said beausire. the blue domino drew out his watch, which was studded with diamonds that made beausire's eyes water to look at them. "well!" continued he, "in a quarter of an hour they are going to discuss there a little project, by which, they hope to secure , , francs among the twelve members, of whom you are one, m. beausire." "and you must be another; if you are not----" "pray go on." "a member of the police." "oh, m. beausire, i thought you had more sense. if i were of the police, i should have taken you long ago, for some little affairs less honorable than this speculation." "so, sir, you wish to send me to the rue du pôt au fer: but i know why--that i may be arrested there: i am not such a fool." "now, you are one. if i wanted to arrest you, i had only to do it, and i am rid of you at once; but gentleness and persuasion are my maxims." "oh, i know now," said beausire, "you are the man that was on the sofa two hours ago." "what sofa?" "never mind; you have induced me to go, and if you are sending a gallant man into harm, you will pay for it some day." "be tranquil," said the blue domino, laughing; "by sending you there, i give you , francs at least, for you know the rule of this society is, that whoever is absent loses his share." "well, then, good-by!" said beausire, and vanished. the blue domino took possession of oliva's arm, left at liberty by beausire. "now!" said she, "i have let you manage poor beausire at your ease, but i warn you, you will find me not so easy to talk over; therefore, find something pretty to say to me, or----" "i know nothing prettier than your own history, dear mademoiselle nicole," said he, pressing the pretty round arm of the little woman, who uttered a cry at hearing herself so addressed; but, recovering herself with marvelous quickness, said: "oh, mon dieu! what a name! is it i whom you call nicole? if so, you are wrong, for that is not my name." "at present i know that you call yourself oliva, but we will talk afterwards of oliva; at present i want to speak of nicole. have you forgotten the time when you bore that name? i do not believe it, my dear child, for the name that one bears as a young girl is ever the one enshrined in the heart, although one may have been forced to take another to hide the first. poor oliva, happy nicole!" "why do you say 'poor oliva'? do you not think me happy?" "it would be difficult to be happy with a man like beausire." oliva sighed and said, "indeed i am not." "you love him, however." "a little." "if you do not love him much, leave him." "no." "why not?" "because i should no sooner have done so than i should regret it." "do you think so?" "i am afraid i should." "what could you have to regret in a drunkard; a gambler, a man who beats you, and a black-leg, who will one day come to the gallows?" "you would not understand me if i told you." "try." "i should regret the excitement he keeps me in." "i ought to have guessed it; that comes of passing your youth with such silent people." "you know about my youth?" "perfectly." oliva laughed and shook her head. "you doubt it?" "really i do." "then we will talk a little about it, mademoiselle nicole." "very well; but i warn you, i will tell nothing." "i do not wish it. i do not mean your childhood. i begin from the time when you first perceived that you had a heart capable of love." "love for whom?" "for gilbert." at this name oliva trembled. "ah, mon dieu!" she cried. "how do you know?" then with, a sigh said, "oh, sir! you have pronounced a name indeed fertile in remembrances. you knew gilbert?" "yes; since i speak to you of him." "alas!" "a charming lad, upon my word. you loved him?" "he was handsome. no, perhaps not; but i thought him so; he was full of mind, my equal in birth, but gilbert thought no woman his equal." "not even mademoiselle de ta----" "oh, i know whom you mean, sir. you are well instructed. yes, gilbert loved higher than the poor nicole: you are possessed of terrible secrets, sir; tell me, if you can," she continued, looking earnestly at him, "what has become of him?" "you should know best." "why, in heaven's name?" "because if he followed you from taverney to paris, you followed him from paris to trianon." "yes, that is true, but that is ten years ago; and i wished to know what had passed since the time i ran away, and since he disappeared. when gilbert loved mademoiselle de----" "do not pronounce names aloud," said he. "well, then, when he loved her so much that each tree at trianon was witness to his love----" "you loved him no more." "on the contrary, i loved him more than ever; and this love was my ruin. i am beautiful, proud, and, when i please, insolent; and would lay my head on the scaffold rather than confess myself despised." "you have a heart, nicole?" "i had then," she said, sighing. "this conversation makes you sad." "no, it does me good to speak of my youth. but tell me why gilbert fled from trianon." "do you wish me to confirm a suspicion, or to tell you something you do not know." "something i do not know." "well, i cannot tell you this. have you not heard that he is dead?" "yes, i have, but----" "well, he is dead." "dead!" said nicole, with an air of doubt. then, with a sudden start, "grant me one favor!" she cried. "as many as you like." "i saw you two hours ago; for it was you, was it not?" "certainly." "you did not, then, try to disguise yourself?" "not at all." "but i was stupid; i saw you, but i did not observe you." "i do not understand." "do you know what i want?" "no." "take off your mask." "here! impossible!" "oh, you cannot fear other people seeing you. here, behind this column, you will be quite hidden. you fear that i should recognize you." "you!" "and that i should cry, 'it is you--it is gilbert!'" "what folly!" "take off your mask." "yes, on one condition--that you will take off yours, if i ask it." "agreed." the unknown took off his immediately. oliva looked earnestly at him, then sighed, and said: "alas! no, it is not gilbert." "and who am i?" "oh, i do not care, as you are not he." "and if it had been gilbert?" said he, as he put on his mask again. "ah! if it had been," cried she passionately, "and he had said to me, 'nicole, do you remember taverney maison-rouge?' then there would have been no longer a beausire in the world for me." "but i have told you, my dear child, that gilbert is dead." "ah! perhaps, then, it is for the best," said oliva, with a sigh. "yes; he would never have loved you, beautiful as you are." "do you, then, think he despised me?" "no; he rather feared you." "that is possible." "then you think it better he is dead?" "do not repeat my words; in your mouth they wound me." "but it is better for mademoiselle oliva. you observe, i abandon nicole, and speak to oliva. you have before you a future, happy, rich, and brilliant." "do you think so?" "yes, if you make up your mind to do anything to arrive at this end." "i promise you." "but you must give up sighing, as you were doing just now." "very well. i sighed for gilbert, and as he is dead, and there are not two gilberts in the world, i shall sigh no more. but enough of him." "yes; we will speak of yourself. why did you run away with beausire?" "because i wished to quit trianon, and i was obliged to go with some one; i could no longer remain a 'pis aller,' rejected by gilbert." "you have, then, been faithful for ten years through pride? you have paid dearly for it." oliva laughed. "oh, i know what you are laughing at. to hear a man, who pretends to know everything, accuse you of having been ten years faithful, when you think you have not rendered yourself worthy of such a ridiculous reproach. however, i know all about you. i know that you went to portugal with beausire, where you remained two years; that you then left him, and went to the indies with the captain of a frigate, who hid you in his cabin, and who left you at chandernagor when he returned to europe. i know that you had two millions of rupees to spend in the house of a nabob who kept you shut up; that you escaped through the window on the shoulders of a slave. then, rich--for you had carried away two beautiful pearl bracelets, two diamonds, and three large rubies--you came back to france. when landing at brest, your evil genius made you encounter beausire on the quay, who recognized you immediately, bronzed and altered as you were, while you almost fainted at the sight of him." "oh, mon dieu!" cried oliva, "who are you, then, who know all this?" "i know, further, that beausire carried you off again, persuaded you that he loved you, sold your jewels, and reduced you to poverty. still, you say you love him, and, as love is the root of all happiness, of course you ought to be happy." oliva hung her head, and covered her eyes with her hands, but two large tears might be seen forcing their way through her fingers--liquid pearls, more precious, though not so marketable, as those beausire had sold. "and this woman," at last she said, "whom you describe as so proud and so happy, you have bought to-day for fifty louis." "i am aware it is too little, mademoiselle." "no, sir; on the contrary, i am surprised that a woman like me should be worth so much." "you are worth more than that, as i will show you; but just now i want all your attention." "then i will be silent." "no; talk, on the contrary, of anything, it does not matter what, so that we seem occupied." "you are very odd." "take hold of my arm, and let us walk." they walked on among the various groups. in a minute or two, oliva asked a question. "talk as much as you like, only do not ask questions at present," said her companion, "for i cannot answer now; only, as you speak, disguise your voice, hold your head up, and scratch your neck with your fan." she obeyed. in a minute, they passed a highly perfumed group, in the center of which a very elegant-looking man was talking fast to three companions, who were listening respectfully. "who is that young man in that beautiful gray domino?" asked oliva. "m. le comte d'artois; but pray do not speak just now!" at this moment two other dominoes passed them, and stood in a place near, which was rather free from people. "lean on this pillar, countess," said one of them in a low voice, but which was overheard by the blue domino, who started at its sound. then a yellow domino, passing through the crowd, came up to the blue one, and said, "it is he." "very good," replied the other, and the yellow domino vanished. "now, then," said oliva's companion, turning to her, "we will begin to enjoy ourselves a little." "i hope so, for you have twice made me sad: first by taking away beausire, and then by speaking of gilbert." "i will be both gilbert and beausire to you," said the unknown. "oh!" sighed oliva. "i do not ask you to love me, remember; i only ask you to accept the life i offer you--that is, the accomplishment of all your desires, provided occasionally you give way to mine. just now i have one." "what?" "that black domino that you see there is a german of my acquaintance, who refused to come to the ball with me, saying he was not well; and now he is here, and a lady with him." "who is she?" "i do not know. we will approach them; i will pretend that you are a german, and you must not speak, for fear of being found out. now, pretend to point him out to me with the end of your fan." "like that?" "yes; very well. now whisper to me." oliva obeyed with a docility which charmed her companion. the black domino, who had his back turned to them, did not see all this; but his companion did. "take care, monseigneur," said she; "there are two masks watching us." "oh, do not be afraid, countess; they cannot recognize us. do not mind them; but let me assure you that never form was so enchanting as yours, never eyes so brilliant, never----" "hush! the spies approach." "spies!" said the cardinal, uneasily. "disguise your voice if they make you speak, and i will do the same." oliva and her blue domino indeed approached; he came up to the cardinal, and said, "mask----" "what do you want?" said the cardinal, in a voice as unlike his natural one as he could make it. "the lady who accompanies me desires me to ask you some questions." "ask," said m. de rohan. "are they very indiscreet?" said madame de la motte. "so indiscreet that you shall not hear them;" and he pretended to whisper to oliva, who made a sign in answer. then, in irreproachable german, he said to the cardinal, "monseigneur, are you in love with the lady who accompanies you?" the cardinal trembled. "did you say monseigneur?" he asked. "yes." "you deceive yourself; i am not the person you think." "oh, m. le cardinal, do not deny it; it is useless. if even i did not know you, the lady who accompanies me assures me she knows you perfectly." and he again whispered to oliva, "make a sign for 'yes.' do so each time i press your arm." she did so. "you astonish me!" said the cardinal. "who is this lady?" "oh, monseigneur, i thought you would have known; she soon knew you. it is true that jealousy----" "madame is jealous of me!" cried the cardinal. "we do not say that," replied the unknown, rather haughtily. "what are you talking about?" asked madame de la motte, who did not like this conversation in german. "oh, nothing, nothing!" "madame," said the cardinal to oliva, "one word from you, and i promise to recognize you instantly." oliva, who saw him speaking to her, but did not understand a word, whispered to her companion. all this mystery piqued the cardinal. "one single german word," he said, "could not much compromise madame." the blue domino again pretended to take her orders, and then said: "m. le cardinal, these are the words of madame, 'he whose thoughts are not ever on the alert, he whose imagination does not perpetually suggest the presence of the loved one, does not love, however much he may pretend it.'" the cardinal appeared struck with these words; all his attitude expressed surprise, respect and devotion. "it is impossible!" he murmured in french. "what is impossible?" asked madame de la motte, who seized eagerly on these few words she could understand. "nothing, madame, nothing!" "really, cardinal, you are making me play but a sorry part," said she, withdrawing her arm angrily. he did not even seem to notice it, so great was his preoccupation with the german lady. "madame," said he to her, "these words that your companion has repeated to me in your name are some german lines which i read in a house which is perhaps known to you." the blue domino pressed oliva's arm, who thereupon bowed an assent. "that house," said the cardinal, hesitatingly, "is it not called schoenbrunn?" she again made a gesture of assent. "they were written on a table of cherry-wood, with a gold bodkin, by an august hand." "yes," bowed oliva again. the cardinal stopped, he tottered, and leaned against a pillar for support. madame de la motte stood by, watching this strange scene. then the cardinal, touching the blue domino, said: "this is the conclusion of the quotation--'but he who sees everywhere the loved object, who recognizes her by a flower, by a perfume, through the thickest veils, he can still be silent--his voice is in his heart--and if one other understands him, he is happy.'" "oh, they are speaking german here," said a young voice from an approaching group; "let us listen. do you speak german, marshal?" "no, monseigneur." "you, charny?" "yes, your highness." "here is m. le comte d'artois," said oliva softly to her companion. a crowd followed them, and many were passing round. "take care, gentlemen!" said the blue domino. "monsieur," replied the prince, "the people are pushing us." at this moment some invisible hand pulled oliva's hood from behind, and her mask fell. she replaced it as quickly as possible, with a half-terrified cry, which was echoed by one of affected disquiet from her companion. several others around looked no little bewildered. the cardinal nearly fainted, and madame de la motte supported him. the pressure of the crowd separated the comte d'artois and his party from them. then the blue domino approached the cardinal, and said: "this is indeed an irreparable misfortune; this lady's honor is at your mercy." "oh, monsieur!" murmured the cardinal, who was much agitated. "let us go quickly," said the blue domino to oliva; and they moved away. "now i know," said madame de la motte to herself, "what the cardinal meant was impossible: he took this woman for the queen. but what an effect it has had on him?" "would you like to leave the ball?" asked m. de rohan, in a feeble voice. "as you please, monseigneur," replied jeanne. "i do not find much interest here, do you?" "none at all." they pushed their way through the crowd. the cardinal, who was tall, looked all around him, to try and see again the vision which had disappeared; but blue, white, and gray dominoes were everywhere, and he could distinguish no one. they had been some time in the carriage, and he had not yet spoken to jeanne. chapter xxiv. the examination. at last jeanne said, "where is this carriage taking me to, cardinal?" "back to your own house, countess." "my house--in the faubourg?" "yes, countess. a very small house to contain so many charms." they soon stopped. jeanne alighted, and he was preparing to follow her, but she stopped him, and said, "it is very late, cardinal." "adieu, then," said he; and he drove away, absorbed with the scene at the ball. jeanne entered alone into her new house. six lackeys waited for her in the hall, and she looked at them as calmly as though she had been used to it all her life. "where are my femmes de chambre?" said she. one of the men advanced respectfully. "two women wait for madame in her room." "call them." the valet obeyed. "where do you usually sleep?" said jeanne to them, when they entered. "we have no place as yet," said one of them; "we can sleep wherever madame pleases." "where are the keys?" "here, madame." "well, for this night you shall sleep out of the house." the women looked at her in surprise. "you have some place to go to?" said jeanne. "certainly, madame; but it is late. still, if madame wishes----" "and these men can accompany you," she continued, dismissing the valets also, who seemed rather pleased. "when shall we return?" asked one of them. "to-morrow at noon." they seemed more astonished than ever, but jeanne looked so imperious that they did not speak. "is there any one else here?" she asked. "no one, madame. it is impossible for madame to remain like this; surely you must have some one here." "i want no one." "the house might take fire; madame might be ill." "go, all of you," said jeanne; "and take this," added she, giving them money from her purse. they all thanked her, and disappeared, saying to each other that they had found a strange mistress. jeanne then locked the doors and said triumphantly, "now i am alone here, in my own house." she now commenced an examination, admiring each thing individually. the ground-floor contained a bath-room, dining-room, three drawing-rooms, and two morning-rooms. the furniture of these rooms was handsome, though not new. it pleased jeanne better than if it had been furnished expressly for her. all the rich antiques disdained by fashionable ladies, the marvelous pieces of carved ebony, the glass lusters, the gothic clocks; chefs-d'oeuvre of carving and enamel, the screens with embroidered chinese figures, and the immense vases, threw jeanne into indescribable raptures. here on a chimney-piece two gilded tritons were bearing branches of coral, upon which were hung jeweled fruits. in another place, on a gilded console table, was an enormous elephant, with sapphires hanging from his ears, supporting a tower filled with little bottles of scent. books in gilt bindings were on rosewood shelves. one room was hung with gobelin tapestry, and furnished in gray and gold; another, paneled in paintings by vernet. the small rooms contained pictures. the whole was evidently the collection of years. jeanne examined it all with delight. then, as her domino was inconvenient, she went into her room to put on a dressing-gown of wadded silk; and, secure of meeting no one, she wandered from room to room, continuing her examination, till at last, her light nearly exhausted, she returned to her bedroom, which was hung with embroidered blue satin. she had seen everything, and admired everything: there only remained herself to be admired; and she thought, as she undressed before the long mirror, that she was not the object least worthy of admiration in the place. at last, wearied out with pleasurable excitement, she went to bed, and soon sank to sleep. chapter xxv. the academy of m. beausire. beausire had followed the advice of the blue domino, and repaired to the place of meeting in the rue du pôt au fer. he was frightened by the apparent exclusion which his companions had seemed to meditate, in not communicating their plans to him; and he knew none of them to be particularly scrupulous. he had acquired the reputation among them of a man to be feared; it was not wonderful, as he had been a soldier, and worn a uniform. he knew how to draw his sword, and he had a habit of looking very fierce at the slightest word that displeased him--all things which appear rather terrifying to those of doubtful courage, especially when they have reason to shun the éclat of a duel and the curiosity of the police. beausire counted, therefore, on revenging himself by frightening them a little. it was a long way, but beausire had money in his pocket; so he took a coach, promised the driver an extra franc to go fast, and, to make up for the absence of his sword, he assumed as fierce a look as he could on entering the room. it was a large hall, full of tables, at which were seated about twenty players, drinking beer or syrups, and smiling now and then on some highly rouged women who sat near them. they were playing faro at the principal table, but the stakes were low, and the excitement small in proportion. on the entrance of the domino, all the women smiled on him, half in raillery, and half in coquetry, for m. beausire was a favorite among them. however, he advanced in silence to the table without noticing any one. one of the players, who was a good-humored looking fellow, said to him, "corbleu, chevalier, you come from the ball looking out of sorts." "is your domino uncomfortable?" said another. "no, it is not my domino," replied beausire, gruffly. "oh!" said the banker, "he has been unfaithful to us; he has been playing somewhere else and lost." "it is not i who am unfaithful to my friends; i am incapable of it. i leave that to others." "what do you mean, dear chevalier?" "i know what i mean," replied he; "i thought i had friends here." "certainly," replied several voices. "well, i was deceived." "how?" "you plan things without me." several of the members began to protest it was not true. "i know better," said beausire; "and these false friends shall be punished." he put his hand to his side to feel for his sword, but, as it was not there, he only shook his pocket, and the gold rattled. "oh, oh!" said the banker, "m. beausire has not lost. come, will you not play?" "thanks," said beausire; "i will keep what i have got." "only one louis," said one of the women, caressingly. "i do not play for miserable louis," said he. "we play for millions here to-night--yes, gentlemen, millions." he had worked himself up into a great state of excitement, and was losing sight of all prudence, when a blow from behind made him turn, and he saw by him a great dark figure, stiff and upright, and with two shining black eyes. he met beausire's furious glance with a ceremonious bow. "the portuguese!" said beausire. "the portuguese!" echoed the ladies, who abandoned beausire to crowd round the newcomer, he being their especial pet, as he was in the habit of bringing them sweetmeats, sometimes wrapped up in notes of forty or fifty francs. this man was one of the twelve associates. he was used as a bait at their society. it was agreed that he should lose a hundred louis a week as an inducement to allure strangers to play. he was, therefore, considered a useful man. he was also an agreeable one, and was held in much consideration. beausire became silent on seeing him. the portuguese took his place at the table, and put down twenty louis, which he soon lost, thereby making some of those who had been stripped before forget their losses. all the money received by the banker was dropped into a well under the table, and he was forbidden to wear long sleeves, lest he should conceal any within them, although the other members generally took the liberty of searching both sleeves and pockets before they left. several now put on their great-coats and took leave--some happy enough to escort the ladies. a few, however, after making a feint to go, returned into another room; and here the twelve associates soon found themselves united. "now we will have an explanation," said beausire. "do not speak so loud," said the portuguese in good french. then they examined the doors and windows to make certain that all was secure, drew the curtain close, and seated themselves. "i have a communication to make," said the portuguese; "it was lucky, however, i arrived when i did, for m. beausire was seized this evening with a most imprudent flow of eloquence." beausire tried to speak. "silence," said the portuguese; "let us not waste words: you know my ideas beforehand very well; you are a man of talent, and may have guessed it, but i think 'amour propre' should never overcome self-interest." "i do not understand." "m. beausire hoped to be the first to make this proposition." "what proposition?" cried the rest. "concerning the two million francs," said beausire. "two million francs!" cried they. "first," said the portuguese, "you exaggerate; it is not as much as that." "we do not know what you are talking of," said the banker. "but are not the less all ears," said another. the portuguese drank off a large glass of orgeat, and then began: "the necklace is not worth more than , , francs." "oh, then it concerns a necklace?" said beausire. "yes, did you not mean the same thing?" "perhaps." "now he is going to be discreet after his former folly," said the portuguese; "but time presses, for the ambassador will arrive in eight days." "this matter becomes complicated," said the banker; "a necklace! , , francs! and an ambassador! pray explain." "in a few words," said the portuguese; "mm. boehmer and bossange offered to the queen a necklace worth that sum. she refused it, and now they do not know what to do with it, for none but a royal fortune could buy it. well, i have found the royal personage who will buy this necklace, and obtain the custody of it from mm. boehmer and bossange; and that is my gracious sovereign the queen of portugal." "we understand it less than ever," said the associates. "and i not at all," thought beausire; then he said aloud, "explain yourself clearly, dear m. manoël; our private differences should give place to the public interests. i acknowledge you the author of the idea, and renounce all right to its paternity. therefore speak on." "willingly," said manoël, drinking a second glass of orgeat; "the embassy is vacant just now; the new ambassador, m. de souza, will not arrive for a week. well, he may arrive sooner." they all looked stupefied but beausire, who said, "do you not see some ambassador, whether true or false?" "exactly," said manoël; "and the ambassador who arrives may desire to buy this necklace for the queen of portugal, and treat accordingly with mm. boehmer and bossange; that is all." "but," said the banker, "they would not allow such a necklace to pass into the hands of m. de souza himself without good security." "oh, i have thought of all that; the ambassador's house is vacant, with the exception of the chancellor, who is a frenchman, and speaks bad portuguese, and who is therefore delighted when the portuguese speak french to him, as he does not then betray himself; but who likes to speak portuguese to the french, as it sounds grand. well, we will present ourselves to this chancellor with all the appearances of a new legation." "appearances are something," said beausire: "but the credentials are much more." "we will have them," replied manoël. "no one can deny that don manoël is an invaluable man," said beausire. "well, our appearances, and the credentials having convinced the chancellor of our identity, we will establish ourselves at the house." "that is pretty bold," said beausire. "it is necessary, and quite easy," said manoël; "the chancellor will be convinced, and if he should afterwards become less credulous, we will dismiss him. i believe an ambassador has the right to change his chancellor." "certainly." "then, when we are masters of the hotel, our first operation will be to wait on mm. boehmer and bossange." "but you forget one thing," said beausire; "our first act should be to ask an audience of the king, and then we should break down. the famous riza bey, who was presented to louis xiv. as ambassador from the shah of persia, spoke persian at least, and there were no savants here capable of knowing how well; but we should be found out at once. we should be told directly that our portuguese was remarkably french, and we should be sent to the bastile." "we will escape this danger by remaining quietly at home." "then m. boehmer will not believe in our ambassadorship." "m. boehmer will be told that we are sent merely to buy the necklace. we will show him our order to do this, as we shall before have shown it to the chancellor, only we must try to avoid showing it to the ministers, for they are suspicious, and might find a host of little flaws." "oh yes," cried they all, "let us avoid the ministers." "but if mm. boehmer and bossange require money on account?" asked beausire. "that would complicate the affair, certainly." "for," continued beausire, "it is usual for an ambassador to have letters of credit, at least, if not ready money; and here we should fail." "you find plenty of reasons why it should fail," said manoël, "but nothing to make it succeed." "it is because i wish it to succeed that i speak of the difficulties. but stop--a thought strikes me: in every ambassador's house there is a strong box." "yes; but it may be empty." "well! if it be, we must ask mm. boehmer and bossange who are their correspondents at lisbon, and we will sign and stamp for them letters of credit for the sum demanded." "that will do," said manoël, "i was engrossed with the grand idea, but had not sufficiently considered the details." "now, let us think of arranging the parts," said beausire. "don manoël will be ambassador." "certainly," they all said. "and m. beausire my secretary and interpreter," said manoël. "why so?" said beausire, rather uneasily. "i am m. de souza, and must not speak a word of french; for i know that that gentleman speaks nothing but portuguese, and very little of that. you, on the contrary, m. beausire, who have traveled, and have acquired french habits, who speak portuguese also----" "very badly," said beausire. "quite enough to deceive a parisian; and then, you know, the most useful agents will have the largest shares." "assuredly," said the others. "well! it is agreed; i am secretary and interpreter. then as to the money?" "it shall be divided into twelve parts; but i as ambassador and author of the scheme shall have a share and a half; m. beausire the same, as interpreter, and because he partly shared my idea; and also a share and a half to him who sells the jewels." "so far, then, it is settled! we will arrange the minor details to-morrow, for it is very late," said beausire, who was thinking of oliva, left at the ball with the blue domino, towards whom, in spite of his readiness in giving away louis d'or, he did not feel very friendly. "no, no; we will finish at once," said the others. "what is to be prepared?" "a traveling carriage, with the arms of m. de souza," said beausire. "that would take too long to paint and to dry," said manoël. "then we must say that the ambassador's carriage broke down on the way, and he was forced to use that of the secretary: i must have a carriage, and my arms will do for that. besides, we will have plenty of bruises and injuries on the carriage, and especially round the arms, and no one will think of them." "but the rest of the embassy?" "we will arrive in the evening; it is the best time to make a début, and you shall all follow next day, when we have prepared the way." "very well." "but every ambassador, besides a secretary, must have a valet de chambre. you, captain," said don manoël, addressing one of the gang, "shall take this part." the captain bowed. "and the money for the purchases?" said manoël. "i have nothing." "i have a little," said beausire, "but it belongs to my mistress. what have we in our fund?" "your keys, gentlemen," said the banker. each drew out a key, which opened one of twelve locks in the table; so that none of these honest associates could open it without all the others. they went to look. "one hundred and ninety-eight louis, besides the reserve fund," said the banker. "give them to m. beausire and me. it is not too much," said manoël. "give us two-thirds, and leave the rest," said beausire, with a generosity which won all their hearts. don manoël and beausire received, therefore, one hundred and thirty-two louis and sixty-six remained for the others. they then separated, having fixed a rendezvous for the next day. beausire rolled up his domino under his arm, and hastened to the rue dauphine, where he hoped to find oliva in possession of some new louis d'or. chapter xxvi. the ambassador. on the evening of the next day a traveling-carriage passed through the barrière d'enfer, so covered with dust and scratches that no one could discern the arms. the four horses that drew it went at a rapid pace, until it arrived before an hotel of handsome appearance, in the rue de la jussienne, at the door of which two men, one of whom was in full dress, were waiting. the carriage entered the courtyard of the hotel, and one of the persons waiting approached the door, and commenced speaking in bad portuguese. "who are you?" said a voice from the inside, speaking the language perfectly. "the unworthy chancellor of the embassy, your excellency." "very well. mon dieu! how badly you speak our language, my dear chancellor! but where are we to go?" "this way, monseigneur." "this is a poor reception," said don manoël, as he got out of the carriage, leaning on the arms of his secretary and valet. "your excellency must pardon me," said the chancellor, "but the courier announcing your arrival only reached the hotel at two o'clock to-day. i was absent on some business, and when i returned, found your excellency's letter; i have only had time to have the rooms opened and lighted." "very good." "it gives me great pleasure to see the illustrious person of our ambassador." "we desire to keep as quiet as possible," said don manoël, "until we receive further orders, from lisbon. but pray show me to my room, for i am dying with fatigue; my secretary will give you all necessary directions." the chancellor bowed respectfully to beausire, who returned it, and then said, "we will speak french, sir; i think it will be better for both of us." "yes," murmured the chancellor, "i shall be more at my ease; for i confess that my pronunciation----" "so i hear," interrupted beausire. "i will take the liberty to say to you, sir, as you seem so amiable, that i trust m. de souza will not be annoyed at my speaking such bad portuguese." "oh, not at all, as you speak french." "french!" cried the chancellor; "i was born in the rue st. honoré." "oh, that will do," said beausire. "your name is ducorneau, is it not?" "yes, monsieur; rather a lucky one, as it has a spanish termination. it is very flattering to me that monsieur knew my name." "oh, you are well known; so well that we did not bring a chancellor from lisbon with us." "i am very grateful, monsieur; but i think m. de souza is ringing." "let us go and see." they found manoël attired in a magnificent dressing-gown. several boxes and dressing-cases, of rich appearance, were already unpacked and lying about. "enter," said he to the chancellor. "will his excellency be angry if i answer in french?" said ducorneau, in a low voice, to beausire. "oh, no; i am sure of it." m. ducorneau, therefore, paid the compliments in french. "oh, it is very convenient that you speak french so well, m. ducorno," said the ambassador. "he takes me for a portuguese," thought the chancellor, with joy. "now," said manoël, "can i have supper?" "certainly, your excellency. the palais royal is only two steps from here, and i know an excellent restaurant, from which your excellency can have a good supper in a very short time." "order it in your own name, if you please, m. ducorno." "and if your excellency will permit me, i will add to it some bottles of capital wine." "oh, our chancellor keeps a good cellar, then?" said beausire, jokingly. "it is my only luxury," replied he. and now, by the wax-lights, they could remark his rather red nose and puffed cheeks. "very well, m. ducorno; bring your wine, and sup with us." "such an honor----" "oh, no etiquette to-night; i am only a traveler. i shall not begin to be ambassador till to-morrow; then we will talk of business." "monseigneur will permit me to arrange my toilet." "oh, you are superb already," said beausire. "yes, but this is a reception dress, and not a gala one." "remain as you are, monsieur, and give the time to expediting our supper." ducorneau, delighted, left the room to fulfil his orders. then the three rogues, left together, began to discuss their affairs. "does this chancellor sleep here?" said manoël. "no; the fellow has a good cellar, and, i doubt not, a snug lodging somewhere or other. he is an old bachelor." "there is a suisse." "we must get rid of him; and there are a few valets, whom we must replace to-morrow with our own friends." "who is in the kitchen department?" "no one. the old ambassador did not live here; he had a house in the town." "what about the strong-box?" "oh, on that point we must consult the chancellor; it is a delicate matter." "i charge myself with it," said beausire; "we are already capital friends." "hush! here he comes." ducorneau entered, quite out of breath. he had ordered the supper, and fetched six bottles of wine from his cellar, and was looking quite radiant at the thoughts of the coming repast. "will your excellency descend to the dining-room?" "no, we will sup up here." "here is the wine, then," said ducorneau. "it sparkles like rubies," said beausire, holding it to the light. "sit down, m. ducorneau; my valet will wait upon us. what day did the last despatches arrive?" "immediately after the departure of your excellency's predecessor." "are the affairs of the embassy in good order?" "oh yes, monseigneur." "no money difficulties? no debts?" "not that i know of." "because, if there are, we must begin by paying them." "oh, your excellency will have nothing of that sort to do. all the accounts were paid up three weeks ago; and the day after the departure of the late ambassador one hundred thousand francs arrived here." "one hundred thousand francs?" said beausire. "yes, in gold." "so," said beausire, "the box contains----" " , francs, monsieur." "it is not much," said manoël, coldly; "but, happily, her majesty has placed funds at my disposal. i told you," continued he, turning to beausire, "that i thought we should need it at paris." "your excellency took wise precautions," said beausire, respectfully. from the time of this important communication the hilarity of the party went on increasing. a good supper, consisting of salmon, crabs, and sweets, contributed to their satisfaction. ducorneau, quite at his ease, ate enough for ten, and did not fail, either, in demonstrating that a parisian could do honor to port and sherry. chapter xxvii. messrs. boehmer and bossange. m. ducorneau blessed heaven repeatedly for sending an ambassador who preferred his speaking french to portuguese, and liked portuguese wines better than french ones. at last, manoël expressed a wish to go to bed; ducorneau rose and left the room, although, it must be confessed, he found some difficulty in the operation. it was now the turn of the valet to have supper, which he did with great good-will. the next day the hotel assumed an air of business; all the bureaux were opened, and everything indicated life in the recently deserted place. the report soon spread in the neighborhood that some great personages had arrived from portugal during the night. this, although what was wanted to give them credit, could not but inspire the conspirators with some alarm; for the police had quick ears and argus eyes. still, they thought that by audacity, combined with prudence, they might easily keep them from becoming suspicious, until they had had time to complete their business. two carriages containing the other nine associates arrived, as agreed upon, and they were soon installed in their different departments. beausire induced ducorneau himself to dismiss the porter, on the ground that he did not speak portuguese. they were, therefore, in a good situation to keep off all unwelcome visitors. about noon, don manoël, gaily dressed, got into a carriage, which they had hired for five hundred francs a month, and set out, with his secretary, for the residence of mm. boehmer and bossange. their servant knocked at the door, which was secured with immense locks, and studded with great nails, like that of a prison. a servant opened it. "his excellency the ambassador of portugal desires to speak to mm. boehmer and bossange." they got out, and m. boehmer came to them in a few moments, and received them with a profusion of polite speeches, but, seeing that the ambassador did not deign even a smile in reply, looked somewhat disconcerted. "his excellency does not speak or understand french, sir, and you must communicate to him through me, if you do not speak portuguese," said beausire. "no, monsieur, i do not." manoël then spoke in portuguese to beausire, who, turning to m. boehmer, said: "his excellency m. le comte de souza, ambassador from the queen of portugal, desires me to ask you if you have not in your possession a beautiful diamond necklace?" boehmer looked at him scrutinizingly. "a beautiful diamond necklace!" repeated he. "the one which you offered to the queen of france, and which our gracious queen has heard of." "monsieur," said boehmer, "is an officer of the ambassador's?" "his secretary, monsieur." don manoël was seated with the air of a great man, looking carelessly at the pictures which hung round the room. "m. boehmer," said beausire abruptly, "do you not understand what i am saying to you?" "yes, sir," answered boehmer, rather startled by the manner of the secretary. "because i see his excellency is becoming impatient." "excuse me, sir," said boehmer, coloring, "but i dare not show the necklace, except in my partner's presence." "well, sir, call your partner." don manoël approached beausire, and began again talking to him in portuguese. "his excellency says," interpreted he, "that he has already waited ten minutes, and that he is not accustomed to be kept waiting." boehmer bowed, and rang the bell. a minute afterwards m. bossange entered. boehmer explained the matter to him, who, after looking scrutinizingly at the portuguese, left the room with a key given him by his partner, and soon returned with a case in one hand; the other was hidden under his coat, but they distinctly saw the shining barrel of a pistol. "however well we may look," said manoël gravely, in portuguese, to his companion, "these gentlemen seem to take us for pickpockets rather than ambassadors." m. bossange advanced, and put the case into the hands of manoël. he opened it, and then cried angrily to his secretary: "monsieur, tell these gentlemen that they tire my patience! i ask for a diamond necklace, and they bring me paste. tell them i will complain to the ministers, and will have them thrown into the bastile, impertinent people, who play tricks upon an ambassador." and he threw down the case in such a passion that they did not need an interpretation of his speech, but began explaining most humbly that in france it was usual to show only the models of diamonds, so as not to tempt people to robbery, were they so inclined. manoël, with an indignant gesture, walked towards the door. "his excellency desires me to tell you," said beausire, "that he is sorry that people like mm. boehmer and bossange, jewelers to the queen, should not know better how to distinguish an ambassador from a rogue, and that he will return to his hotel." the jewelers began to utter most respectful protestations, but manoël walked on, and beausire followed him. "to the ambassador's hotel, rue de la jussienne," said beausire to the footman. "a lost business," groaned the valet, as they set off. "on the contrary, a safe one; in an hour these men will follow us." chapter xxviii. the ambassador's hotel. on returning to their hotel, these gentlemen found ducorneau dining quietly in his bureau. beausire desired him, when he had finished, to go up and see the ambassador, and added: "you will see, my dear chancellor, that m. de souza is not an ordinary man." "i see that already." "his excellency," continued beausire, "wishes to take a distinguished position in paris, and this residence will be insupportable to him. he will require a private house." "that will complicate the diplomatic business," said ducorneau; "we shall have to go so often to obtain his signature." "his excellency will give you a carriage, m. ducorneau." "a carriage for me!" "certainly; every chancellor of a great ambassador should have a carriage. but we will talk of that afterwards. his excellency wishes to know where the strong-box is." "up-stairs, close to his own room." "so far from you?" "for greater safety, sir. robbers would find greater difficulty in penetrating there, than here on the ground-floor." "robbers!" said beausire, disdainfully, "for such a little sum?" "one hundred thousand francs!" said ducorneau. "it is easy to see m. de souza is rich, but there is not more kept in any ambassador's house in europe." "shall we examine it now?" said beausire. "i am rather in a hurry to attend to my own business." "immediately, monsieur." they went up and the money was found all right. ducorneau gave his key to beausire, who kept it for some time, pretending to admire its ingenious construction, while he cleverly took the impression of it in wax. then he gave it back, saying, "keep it, m. ducorneau; it is better in your hands than in mine. let us now go to the ambassador." they found don manoël drinking chocolate, and apparently much occupied with a paper covered with ciphers. "do you understand the ciphers used in the late correspondence?" said he to the chancellor. "no, your excellency." "i should wish you to learn it; it will save me a great deal of trouble. what about the box?" said he to beausire. "perfectly correct, like everything else with which m. ducorneau has any connection." "well, sit down, m. ducorneau; i want you to give me some information. do you know any honest jewelers in paris?" "there are mm. boehmer and bossange, jewelers to the queen." "but they are precisely the people i do not wish to employ. i have just quitted them, never to return." "have they had the misfortune to displease your excellency?" "seriously, m. ducorneau." "oh, if i dared speak." "you may." "i would ask how these people, who bear so high a name----" "they are perfect jews, m. ducorneau, and their bad behavior will make them lose a million or two. i was sent by her gracious majesty to make an offer to them for a diamond necklace." "oh! the famous necklace which had been ordered by the late king for madame dubarry?" "you are a valuable man, sir--you know everything. well, now, i shall not buy it." "shall i interfere?" "m. ducorneau!" "oh, only as a diplomatic affair." "if you knew them at all." "bossange is a distant relation of mine." at this moment a valet opened the door, and announced mm. boehmer and bossange. don manoël rose quickly, and said in any angry tone, "send those people away!" the valet made a step forward. "no; you do it," said he to his secretary. "i beg you to allow me," said ducorneau; and he advanced to meet them. "there! this affair is destined to fail," said manoël. "no; ducorneau will arrange it." "i am convinced he will embroil it. you said at the jewelers that i did not understand french, and ducorneau will let out that i do." "i will go," said beausire. "perhaps that is equally dangerous." "oh, no; only leave me to act." beausire went down. ducorneau had found the jewelers much more disposed to politeness and confidence since entering the hotel; also, on seeing an old friend, bossange was delighted. "you here!" said he; and he approached to embrace him. "ah! you are very amiable to-day, my rich cousin," said ducorneau. "oh," said bossange, "if we have been a little separated, forgive, and render me a service." "i came to do it." "thanks. you are, then, attached to the embassy?" "yes." "i want advice." "on what?" "on this embassy." "i am the chancellor." "that is well; but about the ambassador?" "i come to you, on his behalf, to tell you that he begs you to leave his hotel as quickly as possible." the two jewelers looked at each other, disconcerted. "because," continued ducorneau, "it seems you have been uncivil to him." "but listen----" "it is useless," said beausire, who suddenly appeared; "his excellency told you to dismiss them--do it." "but, monsieur----" "i cannot listen," said beausire. the chancellor took his relation by the shoulder, and pushed him out, saying, "you have spoiled your fortune." "mon dieu! how susceptible these foreigners are!" "when one is called souza, and has nine hundred thousand francs a year, one has a right to be anything," said ducorneau. "ah!" sighed bossange, "i told you, boehmer, you were too stiff about it." "well," replied the obstinate german, "at least, if we do not get his money, he will not get our necklace." ducorneau laughed. "you do not understand either a portuguese or an ambassador, bourgeois that you are. i will tell you what they are: one ambassador, m. de potemkin, bought every year for his queen, on the first of january, a basket of cherries which cost one hundred thousand crowns--one thousand francs a cherry. well, m. de souza will buy up the mines of brazil till he finds a diamond as big as all yours put together. if it cost him twenty years of his income, what does he care?--he has no children." and he was going to shut the door, when bossange said: "arrange this affair, and you shall have----" "i am incorruptible," said he, and closed the door. that evening the ambassador received this letter: "monseigneur,--a man who waits for your orders, and desires to present you our respectful excuses, is at the door of your hotel, and at a word from your excellency he will place in the hands of one of your people the necklace of which you did us the honor to speak. deign to receive, monseigneur, the assurances of our most profound respect. "boehmer and bossange." "well," said manoël, on reading this note, "the necklace is ours." "not so," said beausire; "it will only be ours when we have bought it. we must buy it; but remember, your excellency does not know french." "yes, i know; but this chancellor?" "oh, i will send him away on some diplomatic mission." "you are wrong; he will be our security with these men." "but he will say that you know french." "no, he will not; i will tell him not to do so." "very well, then; we will have up the man." the man was introduced: it was boehmer himself, who made many bows and excuses, and offered the necklace for examination. "sit down," said beausire; "his excellency pardons you." "oh, how much trouble to sell!" sighed boehmer. "how much trouble to steal!" thought beausire. chapter xxix. the bargain. then the ambassador consented to examine the necklace in detail. m. boehmer showed each individual beauty. "on the whole," said beausire, interpreting for manoël, "his excellency sees nothing to complain of in the necklace, but there are ten of the diamonds rather spotted." "oh!" said boehmer. "his excellency," interrupted beausire, "understands diamonds perfectly. the portuguese nobility play with the diamonds of brazil, as children do here with glass beads." "whatever it may be, however," said boehmer, "this necklace is the finest collection of diamonds in all europe." "that is true," said manoël. then beausire went on: "well, m. boehmer, her majesty the queen of portugal has heard of this necklace, and has given m. de souza a commission to buy it, if he approved of the diamonds, which he does. now, what is the price?" " , , francs." beausire repeated this to the ambassador. "it is , francs too much," replied manoël. "monseigneur," replied the jeweler, "one cannot fix the exact price of the diamonds on a thing like this. it has been necessary, in making this collection, to undertake voyages, and make searches and inquiries which no one would believe but myself." " , francs too dear," repeated manoël. "and if his excellency says this," said beausire, "it must be his firm conviction, for he never bargains." boehmer was shaken. nothing reassures a suspicious merchant so much as a customer who beats down the price. however, he said, after a minute's thought, "i cannot consent to a deduction which will make all the difference of loss or profit to myself and my partner." don manoël, after hearing this translated, rose, and beausire returned the case to the jeweler. "i will, however, speak to m. bossange about it," contained boehmer. "i am to understand that his excellency offers , , francs for the necklace." "yes, he never draws back from what he has said." "but, monsieur, you understand that i must consult with my partner." "certainly, m. boehmer." "certainly," repeated don manoël, after hearing this translated; "but i must have a speedy answer." "well, monseigneur, if my partner will accept the price, i will." "good." "it then only remains, excepting the consent of m. bossange, to settle the mode of payment." "there will be no difficulty about that," said beausire. "how do you wish to be paid?" "oh," said boehmer, laughing, "if ready money be possible----" "what do you call ready money?" said beausire coldly. "oh, i know no one has a million and a half of francs ready to pay down," said boehmer, sighing. "certainly not." "still, i cannot consent to dispense with some ready money." "that is but reasonable." then, turning to manoël: "how much will your excellency pay down to m. boehmer?" " , francs." beausire repeated this. "and when the remainder?" asked boehmer. "when we shall have had time to send to lisbon." "oh!" said boehmer, "we have a correspondent there, and by writing to him----" "yes," said beausire, laughing ironically, "write to him, and ask if m. de souza is solvent, and if her majesty be good for , , francs." "we cannot, sir, let this necklace leave france forever without informing the queen; and our respect and loyalty demand that we should once more give her the refusal of it." "it is just," said manoël, with dignity. "i should wish a portuguese merchant to act in the same way." "i am very happy that monseigneur approves of my conduct. then all is settled, subject only to the consent of m. bossange, and the reiterated refusal of her majesty. i ask three days to settle these two points." "on one side," said beausire, " , francs down, the necklace to be placed in my hands, who will accompany you to lisbon, to the honor of your correspondents, who are also our bankers. the whole of the money to be paid in three months." "yes, monseigneur," said boehmer, bowing. manoël returned it, and the jeweler took leave. when they were alone, manoël said angrily to beausire, "please to explain what the devil you mean by this journey to portugal? are you mad? why not have the jewels here in exchange for our money?" "you think yourself too really ambassador," replied beausire; "you are not yet quite m. de souza to this jeweler." "if he had not thought so he would not have treated." "agreed; but every man in possession of , , francs holds himself above all the ambassadors in the world; and every one who gives that value in exchange for pieces of paper wishes first to know what the papers are worth." "then you mean to go to portugal--you, who cannot speak portuguese properly? i tell you, you are mad." "not at all; you shall go yourself, if you like." "thank you," said don manoël. "there are reasons why i would rather not return to portugal." "well, i tell you, m. boehmer would never give up the diamonds for mere papers." "papers signed souza?" "i said you thought yourself a real souza." "better say at once that we have failed," said manoël. "not at all. come here, captain," said beausire to the valet; "you know what we are talking of?" "yes." "you have listened to everything?" "certainly." "very well; do you think i have committed a folly?" "i think you perfectly right." "explain why." "m. boehmer would, on the other plan, have been incessantly watching us, and all connected with us. now, with the money and the diamonds both in his hands, he can have no suspicion, but will set out quietly for portugal, which, however, he will never reach. is it not so, m. beausire?" "ah, you are a lad of discernment!" "explain your plan," said manoël. "about fifty leagues from here," said beausire, "this clever fellow here will come and present two pistols at the heads of our postilions, will steal from us all we have, including the diamonds, and will leave m. boehmer half dead with blows." "oh, i did not understand exactly that," said the valet. "i thought you would embark for portugal." "and then----" "m. boehmer, like all germans, will like the sea, and walk on the deck. one day he may slip and fall over, and the necklace will be supposed to have perished with him." "oh, i understand," said manoël. "that is lucky at last." "only," replied manoël, "for stealing diamonds one is simply sent to the bastile, but for murder one is hanged." "but for stealing diamonds one may be taken; for a little push to m. boehmer we should never even be suspected." "well, we will settle all this afterwards," said beausire. "at present let us conduct our business in style, so that they may say, 'if he was not really ambassador, at least he seemed like one.'" chapter xxx. the journalist's house. it was the day after the agreement with m. boehmer, and three days after the ball at the opera. in the rue montorgueil, at the end of a courtyard, was a high and narrow house. the ground floor was a kind of shop, and here lived a tolerably well-known journalist. the other stories were occupied by quiet people, who lived there for cheapness. m. reteau, the journalist, published his paper weekly. it was issued on the day of which we speak; and when m. reteau rose at eight o'clock, his servant brought him a copy, still wet from the press. he hastened to peruse it, with the care which a tender father bestows on the virtues or failings of his offspring. when he had finished it: "aldegonde," said he to the old woman, "this is a capital number; have you read it?" "not yet; my soup is not finished." "it is excellent," repeated the journalist. "yes," said she; "but do you know what they say of it in the printing-office?" "what?" "that you will certainly be sent to the bastile." "aldegonde," replied reteau, calmly, "make me a good soup, and do not meddle with literature." "always the same," said she, "rash and imprudent." "i will buy you some buckles with what i make to-day. have many copies been sold yet?" "no, and i fear my buckles will be but poor. do you remember the number against m. de broglie? we sold one hundred before ten o'clock; therefore this cannot be as good." "do you know the difference, aldegonde? now, instead of attacking an individual, i attack a body; and instead of a soldier, i attack a queen." "the queen! oh, then there is no fear; the numbers will sell, and i shall have my buckles." "some one rings," said reteau. the old woman ran to the shop, and returned a minute after, triumphant. "one thousand copies!" said she, "there is an order!" "in whose name?" asked reteau, quickly. "i do not know." "but i want to know; run and ask." "oh, there is plenty of time; they cannot count a thousand copies in a minute." "yes, but be quick; ask the servant--is it a servant?" "it is a porter." "well, ask him where he is to take them to." aldegonde went, and the man replied that he was to take them to the rue neuve st. gilles, to the house of the count de cagliostro. the journalist jumped with delight, and ran to assist in counting off the numbers. they were not long gone when there was another ring. "perhaps that is for another thousand copies," cried aldegonde. "as it is against the austrian, every one will join in the chorus." "hush, hush, aldegonde! do not speak so loud, but go and see who it is." aldegonde opened the door to a man, who asked if he could speak to the editor of the paper. "what do you want to say to him?" asked aldegonde, rather suspiciously. the man rattled some money in his pocket, and said: "i come to pay for the thousand copies sent for by m. le comte de cagliostro." "oh, come in!" a young and handsome man, who had advanced just behind him, stopped him as he was about to shut the door, and followed him in. aldegonde ran to her master. "come," said she, "here is the money for the thousand copies." he went directly, and the man, taking out a small bag, paid down one hundred six-franc pieces. reteau counted them and gave a receipt, smiling graciously on the man, and said, "tell the count de cagliostro that i shall always be at his orders, and that i can keep a secret." "there is no need," replied the man; "m. de cagliostro is independent. he does not believe in magnetism, and wishes to make people laugh at m. mesmer--that is all." "good!" replied another voice; "we will see if we cannot turn the laugh against m. de cagliostro;" and m. reteau, turning, saw before him the young man we mentioned. his glance was menacing; he had his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and a stick in his right. "what can i do for you, sir?" said reteau, trembling. "you are m. reteau?" asked the young man. "yes, sir." "journalist, and author of this article?" said the visitor, drawing the new number from his pocket. "not exactly the author, but the publisher," said reteau. "very well, that comes to the same thing; for if you had not the audacity to write it, you have had the baseness to give it publicity. i say baseness, for, as i am a gentleman, i wish to keep within bounds even with you. if i expressed all i think, i should say that he who wrote this article is infamous, and that he who published it is a villain!" "monsieur!" said reteau, growing pale. "now listen," continued the young man; "you have received one payment in money, now you shall have another in caning." "oh!" cried reteau, "we will see about that." "yes, we will see," said the young man, advancing towards him; but reteau was used to these sort of affairs, and knew the conveniences of his own house. turning quickly round, he gained a door which shut after him, and which opened into a passage leading to a gate, through which there was an exit into the rue vieux augustins. once there, he was safe; for in this gate the key was always left, and he could lock it behind him. but this day was an unlucky one for the poor journalist, for, just as he was about to turn the key, he saw coming towards him another young man, who, in his agitation, appeared to him like a perfect hercules. he would have retreated, but he was now between two fires, as his first opponent had by this time discovered him, and was advancing upon him. "monsieur, let me pass, if you please," said reteau to the young man who guarded the gate. "monsieur," cried the one who followed him, "stop the fellow, i beg!" "do not be afraid, m. de charny; he shall not pass." "m. de taverney!" cried charny; for it was really he who was the first comer. both these young men, on reading the article that morning, had conceived the same idea, because they were animated with the same sentiments, and, unknown to each other, had hastened to put it in practise. each, however, felt a kind of displeasure at seeing the other, divining a rival in the man who had the same idea as himself. thus it was that with a rather disturbed manner charny had called out, "you, m. de taverney!" "even so," replied the other, in the same way; "but it seems i am come too late, and can only look on, unless you will be kind enough to open the gate." "oh!" cried reteau, "do you want to murder me, gentlemen?" "no," said charny, "we do not want to murder you; but first we will ask a few questions, then we will see the end. you permit me to speak, m. de taverney?" "certainly, sir; you have the precedence, having arrived first." charny bowed; then, turning to reteau, said: "you confess, then, that you have published against the queen the playful little tale, as you call it, which appeared this morning in your paper?" "monsieur, it is not against the queen." "good! it only wanted that." "you are very patient, sir!" cried philippe, who was boiling with rage outside the gate. "oh, be easy, sir," replied charny; "he shall lose nothing by waiting." "yes," murmured philippe; "but i also am waiting." charny turned again to reteau. "etteniotna is antoinette transposed--oh, do not lie, sir, or instead of beating, or simply killing you, i shall burn you alive! but tell me if you are the sole author of this?" "i am not an informer," said reteau. "very well; that means that you have an accomplice; and, first, the man who bought a thousand copies of this infamy, the count de cagliostro; but he shall pay for his share, when you have paid for yours." "monsieur, i do not accuse him," said reteau, who feared that he should encounter the anger of cagliostro after he had done with these two. charny raised his cane. "oh, if i had a sword!" cried reteau. "m. philippe, will you lend your sword to this man?" "no, m. de charny, i cannot lend my sword to a man like that; but i will lend you my cane, if yours does not suffice." "corbleu! a cane!" cried reteau. "do you know that i am a gentleman?" "then lend me your sword, m. de taverney; he shall have mine, and i will never touch it again!" cried charny. philippe unsheathed his sword, and passed it through the railings. "now," said charny, throwing down his sword at the feet of reteau, "you call yourself a gentleman, and you write such infamies against the queen of france; pick up that sword, and let us see what kind of a gentleman you are." but reteau did not stir; he seemed as afraid of the sword at his feet as he had been of the uplifted cane. "morbleu!" cried philippe, "open the gate to me!" "pardon, monsieur," said charny, "but you acknowledged my right to be first." "then be quick, for i am in a hurry to begin." "i wished to try other methods before resorting to this, for i am not much more fond of inflicting a caning than m. reteau is of receiving one; but as he prefers it to fighting, he shall be satisfied;" and a cry from reteau soon announced that charny had begun. the noise soon attracted old aldegonde, who joined her voice to her master's. charny minded one no more than the other; at last, however, he stopped, tired with his work. "now have you finished, sir?" said philippe. "yes." "then pray return me my sword, and let me in." "oh, no, monsieur!" implored reteau, who hoped for a protector in the man who had finished with him. "i cannot leave monsieur outside the door," said charny. "oh, it is a murder!" cried reteau. "kill me right off, and have done with it!" "be easy," said charny; "i do not think monsieur will touch you." "you are right," said philippe; "you have been beaten--let it suffice; but there are the remaining numbers, which must be destroyed." "oh yes!" cried charny. "you see, two heads are better than one; i should have forgotten that. but how did you happen to come to this gate, m. de taverney?" "i made some inquiries in the neighborhood about this fellow, and hearing that he had this mode of escape, i thought by coming in here, and locking the gate after me, i should cut off his retreat, and make sure of him. the same idea of vengeance struck you, only more in a hurry, you came straight to his house without any inquiries, and he would have escaped you if i had not luckily been here." "i am rejoiced that you were, m. de taverney. now, fellow, lead us to your press." "it is not here," said reteau. "a lie!" said charny. "no, no," cried philippe, "we do not want the press; the numbers are all printed and here, except those sold to m. de cagliostro." "then he shall burn them before our eyes!" and they pushed reteau into his shop. chapter xxxi. how two friends became enemies. aldegonde, however, had gone to fetch the guard; but before she returned they had had time to light a fire with the first numbers, and were throwing them in, one after another, as quickly as possible, when the guard appeared, followed by a crowd of ragged men, women, and boys. happily, philippe and charny knew reteau's secret exit, so when they caught sight of the guard they made their escape through it, carrying the key with them. then reteau began crying "murder!" while aldegonde, seeing the flames through the window, cried "fire!" the soldiers arrived, but finding the young men gone, and the house not on fire, went away again, leaving reteau to bathe his bruises. but the crowd lingered about all day, hoping to see a renewal of the fun. when taverney and charny found themselves in the rue vieux augustins, "monsieur," said charny, "now we have finished that business, can i be of any use to you?" "thanks, sir, i was about to ask you the same question." "thank you, but i have private business which will probably keep me in paris all day." "permit me, then, to take leave of you; i am happy to have met you." "and i you, sir;" and the two young men bowed, but it was easy to see that all this courtesy went no further than the lips. philippe went towards the boulevards, while charny turned to the river; each turned two or three times till he thought himself quite out of sight, but after walking for some time charny entered the rue neuve st. gilles, and there once more found himself face to face with philippe. each had again the same idea of demanding satisfaction from the count de cagliostro. they could not now doubt each other's intentions, so philippe said: "i left you the seller, leave me the buyer; i left you the cane, leave me the sword." "sir," replied charny, "you left it to me simply because i came first, and for no other reason." "well," replied taverney, "here we arrive both together, and i will make no concession." "i did not ask you for any, sir; only i will defend my right." "and that, according to you, m. de charny, is to make m. de cagliostro burn his thousand copies." "remember, sir, that it was my idea to burn the others." "then i will have these torn." "monsieur, i am sorry to tell you that i wish to have the first turn with m. de cagliostro." "all that i can agree to, sir, is to take our chance. i will throw up a louis, and whoever guesses right shall be first." "thanks, sir, but i am not generally lucky, and should probably lose," and he stepped towards the door. charny stopped him. "stay, sir, we will soon understand each other." "well, sir?" answered philippe, turning back. "then, before asking satisfaction of m. de cagliostro, suppose we take a turn in the bois de boulogne: it will be out of our way, but perhaps we can settle our dispute there. one of us will probably be left behind, and the other be uninterrupted." "really, monsieur," said philippe, "you echo my own thoughts--where shall we meet?" "well, if my society be not insupportable to you, we need not part. i ordered my carriage to wait for me in the place royale, close by here." "then you will give me a seat?" said philippe. "with the greatest pleasure;" and they walked together to the carriage, and getting in, set off for the champs elysées. first, however, charny wrote a few words on his tablets, and gave them to the footman to take to his hotel. in less than half an hour they reached the bois de boulogne. the weather was lovely, and the air delightful, although the power of the sun was already felt: the fresh leaves were appearing on the trees, and the violets filled the place with their perfume. "it is a fine day for our promenade, is it not, m. de taverney?" said charny. "beautiful, sir." "you may go," said charny to his coachman. "are you not wrong, sir, to send away your carriage?--one of us may need it." "no, sir," replied charny; "in this affair secrecy before everything, and once in the knowledge of a servant, we risk it being talked of all over paris to-morrow." "as you please, but do you think the fellow does not know what he came here for? these people know well what brings two gentlemen to the bois de boulogne, and even if he did not feel sure now, he will perhaps afterwards see one of us wounded, and will have no doubts left then. is it not then better to keep him here to take back either who shall need him, than to be left, or leave me here, wounded and alone?" "you are right, monsieur," replied charny; and, turning to the coachman, he said, "no, stop, dauphin; you shall wait here." dauphin remained accordingly, and as he perfectly guessed what was coming, he arranged his position, so as to see through the still leafless trees all that passed. they walked on a little way, then philippe said, "i think, m. de charny, this is a good place." "excellent, monsieur," said charny, and added: "chevalier, if it were any one but you, i would say one word of courtesy, and we were friends again; but to you, coming from america, where they fight so well, i cannot." "and i, sir, to you, who the other evening gained the admiration of an entire court by a glorious feat of arms, can only say, m. le comte, do me the honor to draw your sword." "monsieur," said charny, "i believe we have neither of us touched on the real cause of quarrel." "i do not understand you, comte." "oh! you understand me perfectly, sir; and you blush while you deny it." "defend yourself," cried philippe; their swords crossed. philippe soon perceived that he was superior to his adversary, and therefore became as calm as though he had been only fencing, and was satisfied with defending himself without attacking. "you spare me, sir," said charny; "may i ask why?" philippe went on as before; charny grew warm, and wished to provoke him from this sang froid, therefore he said: "i told you, sir, that we had not touched on the real cause of the quarrel." philippe did not reply. "the true cause," continued charny, "why you sought a quarrel, for it was you who sought it, was, that you were jealous of me." still philippe remained silent. "what is your intention?" again said charny. "do you wish to tire my arm? that is a calculation unworthy of you. kill me if you can, but do not dally thus." "yes, sir," replied philippe at last, "your reproach is just; the quarrel did begin with me, and i was wrong." "that is not the question now. you have your sword in your hand; use it for something more than mere defense." "monsieur," said philippe, "i have the honor to tell you once more i was wrong, and that i apologize." but charny was by this time too excited to appreciate the generosity of his adversary. "oh!" said he, "i understand; you wish to play the magnanimous with me; that is it, is it not, chevalier? you wish to relate to the ladies this evening how you brought me here, and then spared my life." "count," said philippe, "i fear you are losing your senses." "you wish to kill m. de cagliostro to please the queen; and, for the same reason, you wish to turn me into ridicule." "ah! this is too much," cried philippe, "and proves to me that you have not as generous a heart as i thought." "pierce it then," cried charny, exposing himself as philippe made another pass. the sword glanced along his ribs, and the blood flowed rapidly. "at last," cried charny, "i am wounded. now i may kill you if i can." "decidedly," said philippe, "you are mad. you will not kill me--you will only be disabled without cause, and without profit; for no one will ever know for what you have fought;" and as charny made another pass, he dexterously sent his sword flying from his hand; then, seizing it, he broke it across his foot. "m. de charny," said he, "you did not require to prove to me that you were brave; you must therefore detest me very much when you fight with such fury." charny did not reply, but grew visibly pale, and then tottered. philippe advanced to support him, but he repulsed him, saying, "i can reach my carriage." "at least take this handkerchief to stop the blood." "willingly." "and my arm, sir; at the least obstacle you met you would fall, and give yourself unnecessary pain." "the sword has only penetrated the skin. i hope soon to be well." "so much the better, sir; but i warn you, that you will find it difficult to make me your adversary again." charny tried to reply, but the words died on his lips. he staggered, and philippe had but just time to catch him in his arms, and bear him half fainting to his carriage. dauphin, who had seen what had passed, advanced to meet him, and they put charny in. "drive slowly," said philippe, who then took his way back to paris, murmuring to himself, with a sigh, "she will pity him." chapter xxxii. the house in the rue st. gilles. philippe jumped into the first coach he saw, and told the man to drive to the rue st. gilles, where he stopped at the house of m. de cagliostro. a large carriage, with two good horses, was standing in the courtyard; the coachman was asleep, wrapped in a greatcoat of fox-skins, and two footmen walked up and down before the door. "does the count cagliostro live here?" asked philippe. "he is just going out." "the more reason to be quick, for i wish to speak to him first. announce the chevalier philippe de taverney;" and he followed the men up-stairs. "ask him to walk in," said, from within, a voice at once manly and gentle. "excuse me, sir," said the chevalier to a man whom we have already seen, first at the table of m. de richelieu, then at the exhibition of m. mesmer, in oliva's room, and with her at the opera ball. "for what, sir?" replied he. "because i prevent you from going out." "you would have needed an excuse had you been much later, for i was waiting for you." "for me?" "yes, i was forewarned of your visit." "of my visit?" "yes; two hours ago. it is about that time, is it not, since you were coming here before, when an interruption caused you to postpone the execution of your project?" philippe began to experience the same strange sensation with which this man inspired every one. "sit down, m. de taverney," continued he; "this armchair was placed for you." "a truce to pleasantry, sir," said philippe, in a voice which he vainly tried to render calm. "i do not jest, sir." "then a truce to charlatanism. if you are a sorcerer, i did not come to make trial of your skill; but if you are, so much the better, for you must know what i am come to say to you." "oh, yes, you are come to seek a quarrel." "you know that? perhaps you also know why?" "on account of the queen. now, sir, i am ready to listen;" and these last words were no longer pronounced in the courteous tones of a host, but in the hard and dry ones of an adversary. "sir, there exists a certain publication." "there are many publications," said cagliostro. "well, this publication to-day was written against the queen." cagliostro did not reply. "you know what i refer to, count?" "yes, sir." "you have bought one thousand copies of it?" "i do not deny it." "luckily, they have not reached your hands." "what makes you think so, sir?" "because i met the porter, paid him, and sent him with them to my house; and my servant, instructed by me, will destroy them." "you should always finish yourself the work you commence, sir. are you sure these thousand copies are at your house?" "certainly." "you deceive yourself, sir; they are here. ah, you thought that i, sorcerer that i am, would let myself be foiled in that way. you thought it a brilliant idea to buy off my messenger. well, i have a steward, and you see it is natural for the steward of a sorcerer to be one also. he divined that you would go to the journalist, and that you would meet my messenger, whom he afterwards followed, and threatened to make him give back the gold you had given him, if he did not follow his original instructions, instead of taking them to you. but i see you doubt." "i do." "look, then, and you will believe;" and, opening an oak cabinet, he showed the astonished chevalier the thousand copies lying there. philippe approached the count in a menacing attitude, but he did not stir. "sir," said philippe, "you appear a man of courage; i call upon you to give me immediate satisfaction." "satisfaction for what?" "for the insult to the queen, of which you render yourself an accomplice while you keep one number of this vile paper." "monsieur," said cagliostro, "you are in error; i like novelties, scandalous reports, and other amusing things, and collect them, that i may remember at a later day what i should otherwise forget." "a man of honor, sir, does not collect infamies." "but, if i do not think this an infamy?" "you will allow at least that it is a lie." "you deceive yourself, sir. the queen was at m. mesmer's." "it is false, sir." "you mean to tell me i lie?" "i do." "well, i will reply in a few words--i saw her there." "you saw her!" "as plainly as i now see you." philippe looked full at cagliostro. "i still say, sir, that you lie." cagliostro shrugged his shoulders, as though he were talking to a madman. "do you not hear me, sir?" said philippe. "every word." "and do you not know what giving the lie deserves?" "yes, sir; there is a french proverb which says it merits a box on the ears." "well, sir, i am astonished that your hand has not been already raised to give it, as you are a french gentleman, and know the proverb." "although a french gentleman, i am a man, and love my brother." "then you refuse me satisfaction?" "i only pay what i owe." "then you will compel me to take satisfaction in another manner." "how?" "i exact that you burn the numbers before my eyes, or i will proceed with you as with the journalist." "oh! a beating," said cagliostro, laughing. "neither more nor less, sir. doubtless you can call your servants." "oh, i shall not call my servants; it is my own business. i am stronger than you, and if you approach me with your cane, i shall take you in my arms and throw you across the room, and shall repeat this as often as you repeat your attempt." "well, m. hercules, i accept the challenge," said philippe, throwing himself furiously upon cagliostro, who, seizing him round the neck and waist with a grasp of iron, threw him on a pile of cushions, which lay some way off, and then remained standing as coolly as ever. philippe rose as pale as death. "sir," said he, in a hoarse voice, "you are in fact stronger than i am, but your logic is not as strong as your arm; and you forgot, when you treated me thus, that you gave me the right to say, 'defend yourself, count, or i will kill you.'" cagliostro did not move. "draw your sword, i tell you, sir, or you are a dead man." "you are not yet sufficiently near for me to treat you as before, and i will not expose myself to be killed by you, like poor gilbert." "gilbert!" cried philippe, reeling back. "did you say gilbert?" "happily you have no gun this time, only a sword." "monsieur," cried philippe, "you have pronounced a name----" "which has awakened a terrible echo in your remembrance, has it not? a name that you never thought to hear again, for you were alone with the poor boy, in the grotto of açores, when you assassinated him." "oh!" said philippe, "will you not draw?" "if you knew," said cagliostro, "how easily i could make your sword fly from your hand!" "with your sword?" "yes, with my sword, if i wished." "then try." "no, i have a still surer method." "for the last time, defend yourself," said philippe, advancing towards him. then the count took from his pocket a little bottle, which he uncorked, and threw the contents in philippe's face. scarcely had it touched him, when he reeled, let his sword drop, and fell senseless. cagliostro picked him up, put him on a sofa, waited for his senses to return, and then said, "at your age, chevalier, we should have done with follies; cease, therefore, to act like a foolish boy, and listen to me." philippe made an effort to shake off the torpor which still held possession of him, and murmured, "oh, sir, do you call these the weapons of a gentleman?" cagliostro shrugged his shoulders. "you repeat forever the same word," he said; "when we of the nobility have opened our mouths wide enough to utter the word gentleman, we think we have said everything. what do you call the weapons of a gentleman? is it your sword, which served you so badly against me, or is it your gun, which served you so well against gilbert? what makes some men superior to others? do you think that it is that high-sounding word gentleman? no; it is first reason, then strength, most of all, science. well, i have used all these against you. with my reason i braved your insults, with my strength i conquered yours, and with my science i extinguished at once your moral and physical powers. now i wish to show you that you have committed two faults in coming here with menaces in your mouth. will you listen to me?" "you have overpowered me," replied philippe; "i can scarcely move. you have made yourself master of my muscles and of my mind, and then you ask me if i will listen!" then cagliostro took down from the chimney-piece another little gold phial. "smell this, chevalier," said he. philippe obeyed, and it seemed to him that the cloud which hung over him dispersed. "oh, i revive!" he cried. "and you feel free and strong?" "yes." "with your full powers and memory of the past?" "yes." "then this memory gives me an advantage over you." "no," said philippe, "for i acted in defense of a vital and sacred principle." "what do you mean?" "i defended the monarchy." "you defended the monarchy!--you, who went to america to defend a republic. ah, mon dieu! be frank; it is not the monarchy you defend." philippe colored. "to love those who disdain you," continued cagliostro, "who deceive and forget you, is the attribute of great souls. it is the law of the scriptures to return good for evil. you are a christian, m. de taverney." "monsieur," cried philippe, "not a word more; if i did not defend the monarchy, i defended the queen, that is to say, an innocent woman, and to be respected even if she were not so, for it is a divine law not to attack the weak." "the weak! the queen--you call a feeble being her to whom twenty-eight million human beings bow the knee!" "monsieur, they calumniate her." "how do you know?" "i believe it." "well, i believe the contrary; we have each the right to think as we please." "but you act like an evil genius." "who tells you so?" cried cagliostro, with sparkling eyes. "how, have you the temerity to assume that you are right, and that i am wrong? you defend royalty; well, i defend the people. you say, render to cæsar the things which are cæsar's; and i say, render to god the things that are god's. republican of america, i recall you to the love of the people, to the love of equality. you trample on the people to kiss the hands of a queen; i would throw down a queen to elevate a people. i do not disturb you in your adoration; leave me in peace at my work. you say to me, die, for you have offended the object of my worship; and i say to you, who combat mine, live, for i feel myself so strong in my principles, that neither you nor any one else can retard my progress for an instant." "sir, you frighten me," said philippe; "you show me the danger in which our monarchy is." "then be prudent, and shun the opening gulf." "you know," replied philippe, "that i would sooner entomb myself in it, than see those whom i defend in danger." "well, i have warned you." "and i," said philippe, "i, who am but a feeble individual, will use against you the arms of the weak. i implore you, with tearful eyes and joined hands, to be merciful towards those whom you pursue. i ask you to spare me the remorse of knowing you were acting against this poor queen, and not preventing you. i beg you to destroy this publication, which would make a woman shed tears. i ask you, by the love which you have guessed, or i swear that with this sword, which has proved so powerless against you, i will pierce myself before your eyes!" "ah!" murmured cagliostro, "why are they not all like you? then i would join them, and they should not perish." "monsieur, monsieur, i pray you to reply to me!" "see, then," said cagliostro, "if all the thousand numbers be there, and burn them yourself." philippe ran to the cabinet, took them out, and threw them on the fire. "adieu, monsieur!" then he said; "a hundred thanks for the favor you have granted me." "i owed the brother," said cagliostro, when he had gone, "some compensation for all i made the sister endure." then he called for his carriage. chapter xxxiii. the head of the taverney family. while this was passing in the rue st. gilles, the elder m. taverney was walking in his garden, followed by two footmen, who carried a chair, with which they approached him every five minutes, that he might rest. while doing so, a servant came to announce the chevalier. "my son," said the old man, "come, philippe, you arrive àpropos--my heart is full of happy thoughts; but how solemn you look!" "do i, sir?" "you know already the results of that affair?" "what affair?" the old man looked to see that no one was listening, then said, "i speak of the ball." "i do not understand." "oh, the ball at the opera." philippe colored. "sit down," continued his father; "i want to talk to you. it seems that you, so timid and delicate at first, now compromise her too much." "whom do you mean, sir?" "pardieu! do you think i am ignorant of your escapade, both together at the opera ball? it was pretty." "sir, i protest----" "oh, do not be angry; i only mean to warn you for your good. you are not careful enough; you were seen there with her." "i was seen?" "pardieu! had you, or not, a blue domino?" philippe was about to explain that he had not, and did not know what his father meant, but he thought to himself, "it is of no use to explain to him; he never believes me. besides, i wish to learn more." "you see," continued the old man, triumphantly, "you were recognized. indeed, m. de richelieu, who was at the ball in spite of his eighty-four years, wondered who the blue domino could be with whom the queen was walking, and he could only suspect you, for he knew all the others." "and pray how does he say he recognized the queen?" "not very difficult, when she took her mask off. such audacity as that surpasses all imagination; she must really be mad about you. but take care, chevalier; you have jealous rivals to fear; it is an envied post to be favorite of the queen, when the queen is the real king. pardon my moralizing, but i do not wish that the breath of chance should blow down what you have reared so skilfully." philippe rose; the conversation was hateful to him, but a kind of savage curiosity impelled him to hear everything. "we are already envied," continued the old man; "that is natural, but we have not yet attained the height to which we shall rise. to you will belong the glory of raising our name; and now you are progressing so well, only be prudent, or you will fail after all. soon, however, you must ask for some high post, and obtain for me a lord-lieutenancy not too far from paris. then you can have a peerage, and become a duke and lieutenant-general. in two years, if i am still alive----" "enough, enough!" groaned philippe. "oh, if you are satisfied with that, i am not. you have a whole life before you; i, perhaps, only a few months. however, i do not complain; god gave me two children, and if my daughter has been useless in repairing our fortunes, you will make up for it. i see in you the great taverney, and you inspire me with respect, for your conduct has been admirable; you show no jealousy, but leave the field apparently open to every one, while you really hold it alone." "i do not understand you," replied philippe. "oh, no modesty; it was exactly the conduct of m. potemkin, who astonished the world with his fortunes. he saw that catherine loved variety in her amours; that, if left free, she would fly from flower to flower, returning always to the sweetest and most beautiful; but that, if pursued, she would fly right away. he took his part, therefore; he even introduced new favorites to his sovereign, to weary her out with their number; but through and after the quickly succeeding reigns of the twelve cæsars, as they were ironically called, potemkin in reality was supreme." "what incomprehensible infamies!" murmured poor philippe. but the old man went on: "according to his system, however, you have been still a little wrong. he never abandoned his surveillance, and you are too lax in this." philippe replied only by shrugging his shoulders. he really began to think his father was crazy. "ah! you thought i did not see your game. you are already providing a successor, for you have divined that there is no stability in the queen's amours, and in the event of her changing, you wish not to be quite thrown aside; therefore you make friends with m. de charny, who might otherwise, when his turn comes, exile you, as you now might mm. de coigny, vaudreuil, and others." philippe, with an angry flush, said: "once more, enough; i am ashamed to have listened so long. those who say that the queen of france is a messalina are criminal calumniators." "i tell you," said the old man, "no one can hear, and i approve your plan. m. de charny will repay your kindness some day." "your logic is admirable, sir; and m. de charny is so much my favorite that i have just passed my sword through his ribs." "what!" cried the old man, somewhat frightened at his son's flashing eyes, "you have not been fighting?" "yes, sir; that is my method of conciliating my successors. and he turned to go away. "philippe, you jest." "i do not, sir." the old man rose, and tottered off to the house. "quick," said he to the servant; "let a man on horseback go at once and ask after m. de charny, who has been wounded, and let him be sure to say he comes from me." then he murmured to himself, "mine is still the only head in the family." chapter xxxiv. the stanzas of m. de provence. while these events were passing in paris and in versailles, the king, tranquil as usual, sat in his study, surrounded by maps and plans, and traced new paths for the vessels of la pérouse. a slight knock at his door roused him from his study, and a voice said, "may i come in, brother?" "the comte de provence," growled the king, discontentedly. "enter." a short person came in. "you did not expect me, brother?" he said. "no, indeed." "do i disturb you?" "have you anything particular to say?" "such a strange report----" "oh, some scandal?" "yes, brother." "which has amused you?" "because it is so strange." "something against me?" "should i laugh if it were?" "then against the queen?" "sire, imagine that i was told quite seriously that the queen slept out the other night." "that would be very sad if it were true," replied the king. "but it is not true, is it?" "no." "nor that the queen was seen waiting outside the gate at the reservoirs?" "no." "the day, you know, that you ordered the gates to be shut at eleven o'clock?" "i do not remember." "well, brother, they pretend that the queen was seen arm-in-arm with m. d'artois at half-past twelve that night." "where?" "going to a house which he possesses behind the stables. has not your majesty heard this report?" "yes, you took care of that." "how, sire?--what have i done?" "some verses which were printed in the _mercury_." "some verses!" said the count, growing red. "oh, yes; you are a favorite of the muses." "not i, sire." "oh, do not deny it; i have the manuscript in your writing! now, if you had informed yourself of what the queen really did that day, instead of writing these lines against her, and consequently against me, you would have written an ode in her favor. perhaps the subject does not inspire you; but i should have liked a bad ode better than a good satire." "sire, you overwhelm me; but i trust you will believe i was deceived, and did not mean harm." "perhaps." "besides, i did not say i believed it; and then, a few verses are nothing. now, a pamphlet like one i have just seen----" "a pamphlet?" "yes, sire; and i want an order for the bastile for the author of it." the king rose. "let me see it," he said. "i do not know if i ought." "certainly you ought. have you got it with you?" "yes, sire;" and he drew from his pocket "the history of the queen etteniotna," one of the fatal numbers which had escaped from philippe and charny. the king glanced over it rapidly. "infamous!" he cried. "you see, sire, they pretend the queen went to m. mesmer's." "well, she did go." "she went?" "authorized by me." "oh, sire!" "that is nothing against her; i gave my consent." "did your majesty intend that she should experimentalize on herself?" the king stamped with rage as the count said this; he was reading one of the most insulting passages--the history of her contortions, voluptuous disorder, and the attention she had excited. "impossible!" he cried, growing pale; and he rang the bell. "oh, the police shall deal with this! fetch m. de crosne." "sire, it is his day for coming here, and he is now waiting." "let him come in." "shall i go, brother?" said the count. "no; remain. if the queen be guilty, you are one of the family, and must know it; if innocent, you, who have suspected her, must hear it." m. de crosne entered, and bowed, saying, "the report is ready, sire." "first, sir," said the king, "explain how you allow such infamous publications against the queen." "etteniotna?" asked m. de crosne. "yes." "well, sire, it is a man called reteau." "you know his name, and have not arrested him!" "sire, nothing is more easy. i have an order already prepared in my portfolio." "then why is it not done?" m. de crosne looked at the count. "i see, m. de crosne wishes me to leave," said he. "no," replied the king, "remain. and you, m. de crosne, speak freely." "well, sire, i wished first to consult your majesty whether you would not rather give him some money, and send him away to be hanged elsewhere." "why?" "because, sire, if these men tell lies, the people are glad enough to see them whipped, or even hanged; but if they chance upon a truth----" "a truth! it is true that the queen went to m. mesmer's, but i gave her permission." "oh, sire!" cried m. de crosne. his tone of sincerity struck the king more than anything m. de provence had said; and he answered, "i suppose, sir, that was no harm." "no, sire; but her majesty has compromised herself." "m. de crosne, what have your police told you?" "sire, many things, which, with all possible respect for her majesty, agree in many points with this pamphlet." "let me hear." "that the queen went in a common dress, in the middle of this crowd, and alone." "alone!" cried the king. "yes, sire." "you are deceived, m. de crosne." "i do not think so, sire." "you have bad reporters, sir." "so exact, that i can give your majesty a description of her dress, of all her movements, of her cries----" "her cries!" "even her sighs were observed, sire." "it is impossible she could have so far forgotten what is due to me and to herself." "oh, yes," said the comte de provence; "her majesty is surely incapable----" louis xvi. interrupted him. "sir," said he, to m. de crosne, "you maintain what you have said?" "unhappily, yes, sire." "i will examine into it further," said the king, passing his handkerchief over his forehead, on which the drops hung from anxiety and vexation. "i did permit the queen to go, but i ordered her to take with her a person safe, irreproachable, and even holy." "ah," said m. de crosne, "if she had but done so----" "yes," said the count; "if a lady like madame de lamballe for instance----" "it was precisely she whom the queen promised to take." "unhappily, sire, she did not do so." "well," said the king, with agitation; "if she has disobeyed me so openly i ought to punish, and i will punish; only some doubts still remain on my mind; these doubts you do not share; that is natural; you are not the king, husband, and friend of her whom they accuse. however, i will proceed to clear the affair up." he rang. "let some one see," said he to the person who came, "where madame de lamballe is." "sire, she is walking in the garden with her majesty and another lady." "beg her to come to me. now, gentlemen, in ten minutes we shall know the truth." all were silent. m. de crosne was really sad, and the count put on an affectation of it which might have solemnized momus himself. chapter xxxv. the princess de lamballe. the princesse de lamballe entered beautiful and calm. her hair drawn back from her noble forehead, her dark penciled eyebrows, her clear blue eyes and beautiful lips, and her unrivaled figure, formed a lovely tout ensemble. she seemed always surrounded by an atmosphere of virtue and grace. the king looked at her with a troubled expression, dreading what he was about to hear; then bowing, said, "sit down, princess." "what does your majesty desire?" asked she, in a sweet voice. "some information, princess: what day did you last go with the queen to paris?" "wednesday, sire." "pardon me, cousin," said louis xvi.; "but i wish to know the exact truth." "you will never hear anything else from me, sire." "what did you go there for?" "i went to m. mesmer's, place vendôme." the two witnesses trembled. the king colored with delight. "alone?" asked the king. "no, sire; with the queen." "with the queen?" cried louis, seizing her hand. "yes, sire." m. de provence and m. de crosne looked stupefied. "your majesty had authorized the queen to go; at least, so she told me," continued the princess. "it was true, cousin: gentlemen, i breathe again; madame de lamballe never tells a falsehood." "never, sire." "oh, never, sire," said m. de crosne, with perfect sincerity. "but will you permit me, sire?" "certainly, monsieur; question, search as much as you please; i place the princess at your disposal." madame de lamballe smiled. "i am ready," she said. "madame," said the lieutenant of police, "have the goodness to tell his majesty what you did there, and how the queen was dressed." "she had on a dress of gray taffeta, a mantle of embroidered muslin, an ermine muff, and a rose-colored velvet bonnet, trimmed with black." m. de crosne looked astonished. it was a totally different dress from that which he had had described to him. the comte de provence bit his lips with vexation, and the king rubbed his hands. "what did you do on entering?" asked he. "sire, you are right to say on entering, for we had hardly entered the room----" "together?" "yes, sire; and we could scarcely have been seen, for every one was occupied with the experiments going on, when a lady approached the queen, and, offering her a mask, implored her to turn back." "and you stopped?" "yes, sire." "you never went through the rooms?" asked m. de crosne. "no, monsieur." "and you never quitted the queen?" asked the king. "not for a moment, sire. her majesty never left my arm." "now!" cried the king, "what do you say, m. de crosne? and you, brother?" "it is extraordinary, quite supernatural," said the count, who affected a gaiety which could not conceal his disappointment. "there is nothing supernatural," said m. de crosne, who felt real remorse: "what madame de lamballe says is undoubtedly true; therefore my informants must have been mistaken." "do you speak seriously, sir?" asked the count. "perfectly, monseigneur. her majesty did what madame de lamballe states, and nothing more, i feel convinced; my agents were, somehow or other, deceived. as for this journalist, i will immediately send the order for his imprisonment." madame de lamballe looked from one to the other with an expression of innocent curiosity. "one moment," said the king; "you spoke of a lady who came to stop you; tell us who she was?" "her majesty seemed to know her, sire." "because, cousin, i must speak to this person; then we shall learn the key to this mystery." "that is my opinion also, sire," said m. de crosne. "did the queen tell you that she knew this person?" said the count. "she told me so, monseigneur." "my brother means to say that you probably know her name." "madame de la motte valois." "that intriguer!" cried the king. "diable!" said the count; "she will be difficult to interrogate: she is cunning." "we will be as cunning as she," said m. de crosne. "i do not like such people about the queen," said louis; "she is so good that all the beggars crowd round her." "madame de la motte is a true valois," said the princess. "however that may be, i will not see her here. i prefer depriving myself of the pleasure of hearing the queen's innocence confirmed, to doing that." "but you must see her, sire," said the queen, entering at that moment, pale with anger, beautiful with a noble indignation. "it is not now for you to say, 'i do, or i do not wish to see her.' she is a witness from whom the intelligence of my accusers," said she, looking at her brother-in-law, "and the justice of my judges," turning to the king and m. de crosne, "must draw the truth. i, the accused, demand that she be heard." "madame," said the king, "we will not do madame de la motte the honor of sending for her to give evidence either for or against you. i cannot stake your honor against the veracity of this woman." "you need not send for her, she is here." "here!" cried the king. "sire, you know i went to see her one day; that day of which so many things were said," and she looked again at the comte de provence, who felt ready to sink through the ground; "and i then dropped at her house a box, containing a portrait, which she was to return to me to-day, and she is here." "no, no," said the king; "i am satisfied, and do not wish to see her." "but i am not satisfied, and shall bring her in. besides, why this repugnance? what has she done? if there be anything, tell me; you, m. de crosne? you know everything." "i know nothing against this lady," replied he. "really?" "certainly not; she is poor, and perhaps ambitious, but that is all." "if there be no more than that against her, the king can surely admit her." "i do not know why," said louis; "but i have a presentiment that this woman will be the cause of misfortune to me." "oh! sire, that is superstition; pray fetch her, madame de lamballe." five minutes after, jeanne, with a timid air, although with a distinguished appearance, entered the room. louis xvi., strong in his antipathies, had turned his back towards her, and was leaning his head on his hands, seeming to take no longer a part in the conversation. the comte de provence cast on her a look which, had her modesty been real, would have increased her confusion; but it required much more than that to trouble jeanne. "madame," said the queen, "have the goodness to tell the king exactly what passed the other day at m. mesmer's." jeanne did not speak. "it requires no consideration," continued the queen; "we want nothing but the simple truth." jeanne understood immediately that the queen had need of her, and knew that she could clear her in a moment by speaking the simple truth; but she felt inclined to keep her secret. "sire," said she, "i went to see m. mesmer from curiosity, like the rest of the world. the spectacle appeared to me rather a coarse one; i turned and suddenly saw her majesty entering, whom i had already had the honor of seeing, but without knowing her till her generosity revealed her rank. it seemed to me that her majesty was out of place in this room, where much suffering and many ridiculous exhibitions were going on. i beg pardon for having taken it on myself to judge; it was a woman's instinct, but i humbly beg pardon if i passed the bounds of proper respect." she seemed overcome with emotion as she concluded. every one but the king was pleased. madame de lamballe thought her conduct delicate, and herself timid, intelligent, and good. the queen thanked her by a look. "well," she said, "you have heard, sire." he did not move, but said, "i did not need her testimony." "i was told to speak," said jeanne timidly, "and i obeyed." "it is enough," answered he; "when the queen says a thing she needs no witnesses to confirm her; and when she has my approbation, and she has it, she need care for that of no one else." he cast an overwhelming look on his brother, and kissing the hands of the queen and the princess, and begging pardon of the latter for having disturbed her for nothing, made a very slight bow to jeanne. the ladies then left the room. "brother," said louis to the count, "now i will detain you no longer; i have work to do with m. de crosne. you have heard your sister's complete justification, and it is easy to see you are as pleased as myself. pray sit down, m. de crosne." chapter xxxvi. the queen. the queen, after leaving the king, felt deeply the danger she had been so nearly incurring. she was therefore pleased with jeanne, who had been the means of preventing it, and said to her, with a gracious smile: "it is really fortunate, madame, that you prevented my prolonging my stay at m. mesmer's, for only think, they have taken advantage of my being there to say that i was under the influence of the magnetism." "but," said madame de lamballe, "it is very strange that the police should have been so deceived, and have affirmed that they saw the queen in the inner room." "it is strange," said the queen; "and m. de crosne is an honest man, and would not willingly injure me; but his agents may have been bought. i have enemies, dear lamballe. still there must have been some foundation for this tale. this infamous libel represents me as intoxicated, and overcome to such a degree by the magnetic fluid, that i lost all control over myself, and all womanly reserve. did any such scene take place, madame la comtesse? was there any one who behaved like this?" jeanne colored; the secret once told, she lost all the fatal influence which she could now exercise over the queen's destiny; therefore she again resolved to keep silent on this point. "madame," said she, "there was a woman much agitated who attracted great attention by her contortions and cries." "probably some actress or loose character." "possibly, madame." "countess, you replied very well to the king, and i will not forget you. how have you advanced in your own affairs?" at this moment madame de misery came in, to say that mademoiselle de taverney wished to know if her majesty would receive her. "assuredly," said the queen. "how ceremonious you always are, andrée; why do you stand so much upon etiquette?" "your majesty is too good to me." madame de lamballe now availed herself of andrée's entrance to take leave. "well, andrée," the queen then said, "here is this lady whom we went to see the other day." "i recognize madame," said andrée, bowing. "do you know what they have been saying of me?" "yes, madame; m. de provence has been repeating the story." "oh! no doubt; therefore we will leave that subject. countess, we were speaking of you--who protects you now?" "you, madame," replied jeanne, boldly, "since you permit me to come and kiss your hand. few people," she continued, "dared to protect me when i was in obscurity; now that i have been seen with your majesty, every one will be anxious to do so." "then," said the queen, "no one has been either brave enough or corrupt enough to protect you for yourself?" "i had first madame de boulainvilliers, a brave protector; then her husband, a corrupt one; but since my marriage no one. oh yes, i forget one brave man--a generous prince." "prince, countess! who is it?" "monsieur the cardinal de rohan." "my enemy," said the queen, smiling. "your enemy! oh, madame!" "it seems you are astonished that a queen should have an enemy. it is evident you have not lived at court." "but, madame, he adores you. the devotion of the cardinal equals his respect for you." "oh, doubtless," said the queen, with a hearty laugh; "that is why he is my enemy." jeanne looked surprised. "and you are his protégée," continued the queen; "tell me all about it." "it is very simple; his eminence has assisted me in the most generous, yet the most considerate, manner." "good; prince louis is generous; no one can deny that. but do you not think, andrée, that m. le cardinal also adores this pretty countess a little? come, countess, tell us." and marie antoinette laughed again in her frank, joyous manner. "all this gaiety must be put on," thought jeanne. so she answered, in a grave tone, "madame, i have the honor to affirm to your majesty that m. de rohan----" "well, since you are his friend, ask him what he did with some hair of mine which he bribed a certain hair-dresser to steal; and which trick cost the poor man dear, for he lost my custom." "your majesty surprises me; m. de rohan did that?" "oh, yes; all his adoration, you know. after having hated me at vienna, and having employed every means to try and prevent my marriage, he at last began to perceive that i was a woman, and his queen, and that he had offended me forever. then this dear prince began to fear for his future, and, like all of his profession, who seem most fond of those whom they most fear, and as he knew me young and believed me foolish and vain, he turned--he became a professed admirer, and began with sighs and glances. he adores me, does he not, andrée?" "madame!" "oh! andrée will not compromise herself, but i say what i please; at least i may have that advantage from being a queen. so it is a settled thing that the cardinal adores me, and you may tell him, countess, that he has my permission." jeanne, instead of seeing in all this only the angry disdain of a noble character, which she was incapable of appreciating, thought it all pique against m. de rohan, hiding another feeling for him, and therefore began to defend him with all her eloquence. the queen listened. "good! she listens," thought jeanne, and did not again understand that she listened through generosity, and through pleasure at anything so novel as to hear any person defend one of whom the sovereign chose to speak ill, and felt pleased with her, thinking she saw a heart where none was placed. all at once a joyous voice was heard near, and the queen said, "here is the comte d'artois." when he entered, the queen introduced the countess to him. "pray do not let me send you away, madame la comtesse," said he, as jeanne made a move to depart. the queen also requested her to stay. "you have returned from the wolf-hunt, then?" she said. "yes, sister, and have had good sport; i have killed seven. i am not sure," continued he, laughing, "but they say so. however, do you know i have gained seven hundred francs?" "how?" "why, they pay a hundred francs a head for these beasts. it is dear, but i would give two hundred of them just now for the head of a certain journalist." "ah! you know the story?" "m. de provence told me." "he is indefatigable. but tell me how he related it." "so as to make you whiter than snow, or venus aphroditus. it seems you came out of it gloriously; you are fortunate." "oh, you call that fortunate. do you hear him, andrée?" "yes, for you might have gone alone, without madame de lamballe; and you might not have had madame de la motte there to stop your entrance." "ah! you know that too?" "oh yes; the count told everything. then you might not have had madame de la motte at hand to give her testimony. you will tell me, doubtless, that virtue and innocence are like the violet which does not require to be seen in order to be recognized; but still i say you are fortunate." "badly proved." "i will prove it still better. saved so well from the unlucky scrape of the cabriolet, saved from this affair, and then the ball," whispered he in her ear. "what ball?" "the ball at the opera." "what do you mean?" "i mean the ball at the opera; but i beg pardon, i should not have mentioned it." "really, brother, you puzzle me; i know nothing about the ball at the opera." the words "ball" and "opera" caught jeanne's ear, and she listened intently. "i am dumb," said the prince. "but, count, i insist on knowing what it means." "oh, pray allow me to let it drop." "do you want to disoblige me?" "no, sister; but i have said quite enough for you to understand." "you have told me nothing." "oh, sister, it is needless with me." "but really i am in earnest." "you wish me to speak?" "immediately." "not here," said he, looking at the others. "yes, here; there cannot be too many at such an explanation." "then you mean to say you were not at the last ball?" "i!" cried the queen, "at the ball at the opera?" "hush, i beg." "no, i will not hush; i will speak it aloud. you say i was at the ball?" "certainly i do." "perhaps you saw me?" she said ironically. "yes, i did." "me?" "yes, you." "oh, it is too much! why did you not speak to me?" "ma foi! i was just going to do so, when the crowd separated us." "you are mad!" "i should not have spoken of it. i have been very foolish." the queen rose, and walked up and down the room in great agitation. andrée trembled with fear and disquietude, and jeanne could hardly keep from laughing. then the queen stopped, and said: "my friend, do not jest any more; you see, i am so passionate that i have lost my temper already. tell me at once that you were joking with me." "i will, if you please, sister." "be serious, charles. you have invented all this, have you not?" he winked at the ladies, and said, "oh, yes, of course." "you do not understand me, brother!" cried the queen vehemently. "say yes or no. do not tell falsehoods; i only want the truth!" "well, then, sister," said he, in a low voice, "i have told the truth, but i am sorry i spoke." "you saw me there?" "as plain as i see you now; and you saw me." the queen uttered a cry, and, running up to andrée and jeanne, cried, "ladies, m. le comte d'artois affirms that he saw me at the ball at the opera; let him prove it." "well," said he, "i was with m. de richelieu and others, when your mask fell off." "my mask!" "i was about to say, 'this is too rash, sister,' but the gentleman with you drew you away so quickly." "oh, mon dieu! you will drive me mad! what gentleman?" "the blue domino." the queen passed her hand over her eyes. "what day was this?" she asked. "saturday. the next day i set off to hunt, before you were up." "what time do you say you saw me?" "between two and three." "decidedly one of us is mad!" "oh, it is i. it is all a mistake. do not be so afraid; there is no harm done. at first i thought you were with the king; but the blue domino spoke german, and he does not." "well, brother, on saturday i went to bed at eleven." the count bowed, with an incredulous smile. the queen rang. "madame de misery shall tell you." "why do you not call laurent also?" said he, laughing. "oh!" cried the queen in a rage, "not to be believed!" "my dear sister, if i believed you, others would not." "what others?" "those who saw you as well as myself." "who were they?" "m. philippe de taverney, for instance." "my brother?" cried andrée. "yes; shall we ask him?" "immediately." "mon dieu!" murmured andrée, "my brother a witness!" "yes; i wish it;" and she went to seek him at his father's. he was just leaving, after the scene we have described with his father, when the messenger met him. he came quickly, and marie antoinette turned to him at once. "sir," said she, "are you capable of speaking the truth?" "incapable of anything else, madame." "well, then, say frankly, have you seen me at any public place within the last week?" "yes, madame." all hearts beat so that you might have heard them. "where?" said the queen, in a terrible voice. philippe was silent. "oh, no concealment, sir! my brother says you saw me at the ball of the opera." "i did, madame." the queen sank on a sofa; then, rising furiously, she said: "it is impossible, for i was not there! take care, m. de taverney!" "your majesty," said andrée, pale with anger, "if my brother says he saw you, he did see you." "you also!" cried marie antoinette; "it only remains now for you to have seen me. pardieu! my enemies overwhelm me." "when i saw that the blue domino was not the king," said the comte d'artois, "i believed him to be that nephew of m. de suffren whom you received so well here the other night." the queen colored. "did it not look something like his tournure, m. de taverney?" continued the count. "i did not remark, monseigneur," said he, in a choking voice. "but i soon found out that it was not he; for suddenly i saw him before me, and he was close by you when your mask fell off." "so he saw me too?" "if he were not blind, he did." the queen rang. "what are you about to do?" "send for him also, and ask. i will drain this cup to the dregs!" "i do not think he can come," said philippe. "why?" "because i believe he is not well." "oh, he must come, monsieur! i am not well either, but i would go to the end of the world barefoot to prove----" all at once andrée, who was near the window, uttered an exclamation. "what is it?" cried the queen. "oh, nothing; only here comes m. de charny." the queen, in her excitement, ran to the window, opened it, and cried, "m. de charny!" he, full of astonishment, hastened to enter. chapter xxxvii. an alibi. m. de charny entered, a little pale, but upright, and not apparently suffering. "take care, sister," said the comte d'artois; "what is the use of asking so many people?" "brother, i will ask the whole world, till i meet some one who will tell you you are deceived." charny and philippe bowed courteously to each other, and philippe said in a low voice, "you are surely mad to come out wounded; one would say you wished to die." "one does not die from the scratch of a thorn in the bois de boulogne," replied charny. the queen approached, and put an end to this conversation. "m. de charny," said she, "these gentlemen say that you were at the ball at the opera?" "yes, your majesty." "tell us what you saw there." "does your majesty mean whom i saw there?" "precisely; and no complaisant reserve, m. de charny." "must i say, madame?" the cheeks of the queen assumed once more that deadly paleness, which had many times that morning alternated with a burning red. "did you see me?" she asked. "yes, your majesty, at the moment when your mask unhappily fell off." marie antoinette clasped her hands. "monsieur," said she, almost sobbing, "look at me well; are you sure of what you say?" "madame, your features are engraved in the hearts of your subjects; to see your majesty once is to see you forever." "but, monsieur," said she, "i assure you i was not at the ball at the opera." "oh, madame," said the young man, bowing low, "has not your majesty the right to go where you please?" "i do not ask you to find excuses for me; i only ask you to believe." "i will believe all your majesty wishes me to believe," cried he. "sister, sister, it is too much," murmured the count. "no one believes me!" cried she, throwing herself on the sofa, with tears in her eyes. "sister, pardon me," said the count tenderly, "you are surrounded by devoted friends; this secret, which terrifies you so, we alone know. it is confined to our hearts, and no one shall drag it from us while we have life." "this secret! oh, i want nothing but to prove the truth." "madame," said andrée, "some one approaches." the king was announced. "the king! oh, so much the better. he is my only friend; he would not believe me guilty even if he thought he saw me." the king entered with an air of calmness, in strange contrast to the disturbed countenances of those present. "sire," said the queen, "you come àpropos; there is yet another calumny, another insult to combat." "what is it?" said louis, advancing. "an infamous report. aid me, sire, for now it is no longer my enemies that accuse me, but my friends." "your friends!" "yes, sire; m. le comte d'artois, m. de taverney, and m. de charny affirm that they saw me at the ball at the opera." "at the ball at the opera!" cried the king. a terrible silence ensued. madame de la motte saw the mortal paleness of the queen, the terrible disquietude of the king and of all the others, and with one word she could have put an end to all this, and saved the queen, not only now, but in the future, from much distress. but she said to herself that it was too late; that they would see, if she spoke now, that she had deceived them before when the simple truth would have been of such advantage to the queen, and she should forfeit her newly-acquired favor. so she remained silent. the king repeated, with an air of anguish, "at the ball at the opera! does m. de provence know this?" "but, sire, it is not true. m. le comte d'artois is deceived; m. de taverney is deceived; m. de charny, you are deceived, one may be mistaken." all bowed. "come," continued she, "call all my people, ask every one. you say it was saturday?" "yes, sister." "well, what did i do on saturday? let some one tell me, for i think i am going mad, and shall begin at last to believe that i did go to this infamous ball. but, gentlemen, if i had been there i would have confessed it." at this moment the king approached her, every cloud gone from his brow. "well, marie," said he, "if it was saturday, there is no need to call your women, or only to ask them at what hour i came to your room. i believe it was past eleven." "oh!" cried the queen, joyfully, "you are right, sire." and she threw herself into his arms; then, blushing and confused, she hid her face on his shoulder, while he kissed her tenderly. "well," said the comte d'artois, full of both surprise and joy, "i will certainly buy spectacles. but on my word, i would not have lost this scene for a million of money. would you, gentlemen?" philippe was leaning against the wainscot as pale as death. charny wiped the burning drops from his forehead. "therefore, gentlemen," said the king, turning towards them, "i know it to be impossible that the queen was that night at the ball at the opera. believe it or not, as you please. the queen i am sure is content that i know her to be innocent." "well," said m. d'artois, "provence may say what he pleases, but i defy his wife to prove an alibi in the same way, if she should be accused of passing the night out." "charles!" "pardon, sire, now i will take my leave." "well, i will go with you." and once more kissing the queen's hand, they left the room. "m. de taverney," said the queen severely, when they were gone, "do you not accompany m. d'artois?" philippe started, all the blood rushed to his head, and he had hardly strength to bow and leave the room. andrée was to be pitied also. she knew that philippe would have given the world to have taken m. de charny away with him, but she felt as though she could not follow to comfort him, leaving charny alone with the queen, or only with madame de la motte, who, she instinctively felt, was worse than no one. but why this feeling? she could not love charny; that, she told herself, was impossible. so slight and recent an acquaintance, and she who had vowed to love no one. why then did she suffer so much when charny addressed words of such respectful devotion to the queen? was not this jealousy? "yes," she thought, but only jealousy that this woman should draw all hearts towards her, while the whole world of gallantry and love passed her coldly by. it was no attraction to be a living problem, ever cold and reserved like andrée; they felt it, turned from her beauty and her intellect, and contented themselves with mere politeness. andrée felt this deeply; but on the night when they first met charny, he showed towards her nothing of this coldness or reserve; she was to him as interesting as any other beautiful woman, and she felt cheered and warmed by it. but now the queen absorbed his every look and thought, and left her lonely again; therefore she did not follow her brother, although she suffered in his sufferings, and almost idolized him. she did not, however, attempt to mingle in the conversation, but sat down by the fire almost with her back to the queen and charny, while madame de la motte stood in one of the deep windows, nearly out of sight, although she could observe all that passed. the queen remained silent for some minutes, then she said, almost to herself, "would any one believe that such things pass here?" then, turning to charny, said, "we hear, sir, of the dangers of the sea and of the fury of tempests, but you have doubtless encountered all their assaults, and you are still safe and honored." "madame----" "then the english, our enemies, have attacked you with their guns and their power, but still you are safe; and on account of the enemies you have conquered, the king felicitates and admires you, and the people bless and love you; therefore, blessed are such enemies who menace us only with death. our enemies do not endanger existence, it is true, but they add years to our lives; they make us bow the head, fearing, though innocent, to meet, as i have done, the double attacks of friends and enemies. and then, sir, if you knew how hard it is to be hated!" andrée listened anxiously for his reply, but he only leaned against the wall, and grew pale. the queen looked at him, and said, "it is too hot here; madame de la motte, open the window; monsieur is accustomed to the fresh sea-breezes; he would stifle in our boudoirs." "it is not that, madame; but i am on duty at two o'clock, and unless your majesty wishes me to remain----" "oh! no, monsieur; we know what duty is. you are free," said the queen, in a tone of slight pique. charny bowed, and disappeared like a man in haste; but in a minute they heard from the ante-chamber the sound of a groan, and people hurrying forward. the queen, who was near the door, opened it, and uttered an exclamation; and was going out, when andrée rose quickly, saying, "oh no! madame." then they saw through the open door the guards assisting m. de charny, who had fainted. the queen closed the door, and sat down again, pensive and thoughtful. at last, she said, "it is an odd thing, but i do not believe m. de charny was convinced!" "oh, madame! in spite of the king's word--impossible!" "he may have thought the king said it for his own sake." "my brother was not so incredulous," said andrée. "it would be very wrong," continued the queen, not heeding her; "he could not have as noble a heart as i thought. but, after all, why should he believe? he thought he saw me. they all thought so. there is something in all this; something which i must clear up. andrée, i must find out what it all means." "your majesty is right; you must investigate it." "for," continued the queen, "people said they saw me at m. mesmer's." "but your majesty was there," said madame de la motte. "yes; but i did not do what they insist they saw me do. and they saw me at the opera, and i was not there. oh!" cried she, "at last i guess the truth." "the truth!" stammered the countess. "oh! i hope so," said andrée. "send for m. de crosne," said the queen, joyously. chapter xxxviii. m. de crosne. m. de crosne had felt himself in no slight degree embarrassed since his interview with the king and queen. it was no light matter to have the care of the interests of a crown and of the fame of a queen; and he feared that he was about to encounter all the weight of a woman's anger and a queen's indignation. he knew, however, that he had but done his duty, and he entered, therefore, tranquilly, with a smile on his face. "now, m. de crosne," said the queen, "it is our turn for an explanation." "i am at your majesty's orders." "you ought to know the cause of all that has happened to me, sir." m. de crosne looked round him rather frightened. "never mind these ladies," said the queen; "you know them both; you know every one." "nearly," said the magistrate; "and i know the effects, but not the cause, of what has happened to your majesty." "then i must enlighten you, although it is a disagreeable task. i might tell you in private, but my thoughts and words are always open as the day; all the world may know them. i attribute the attacks that have been made upon me to the misconduct of some one who resembles me, and who goes everywhere; and thus your agents have made these mistakes." "a resemblance!" cried m. de crosne, too much occupied with the idea to observe the unquiet look which jeanne could not for a moment prevent appearing. "well, sir, do you think this impossible; or do you prefer to think that i am deceiving you?" "oh no, madame! but surely, however strong a resemblance may be, there must be some points of difference to prevent people being so deceived." "it seems not, sir; some are deceived." "oh! and i remember," said andrée, "when we lived at taverney maison rouge, we had a servant who very strongly----" "resembled me?" "most wonderfully, your majesty." "and what became of her?" "we did not then know the great generosity of your majesty's mind, and my father feared that this resemblance might be disagreeable to you; and when we were at trianon we kept her out of sight." "you see, m. de crosne. ah! this interests you." "much, madame." "afterwards, dear andrée?" "madame, this girl, who was of an ambitious disposition and troublesome temper, grew tired of this quiet life, and had doubtless made bad acquaintances, for one night when i went to bed i was surprised not to see her; we sought her in vain, she had disappeared." "did she steal anything?" "nothing, madame." "you did not know all this, m. de crosne?" "no, madame." "thus, then, there is a woman whose resemblance to me is striking, and you do not know her. i fear your police is badly organized." "no, madame; a police magistrate is but a man, and though the vulgar may rate his power as something almost superhuman, your majesty is more reasonable." "still, sir, when a man has secured all possible powers for penetrating secrets, when he pays agents and spies, and to such an extent as to know every movement i make, he might prevent this sort of thing." "madame, when your majesty passed the night out, i knew it, the day you went to see madame at the rue st. claude; therefore my police is not bad. when you went to m. mesmer's, my agents saw you. when you went to the opera----" the queen started. "pardon me, madame, if i saw you; but if your own brother-in-law mistook you, surely an agent at a crown a day may be pardoned for having done so. they thought they saw you, and reported accordingly; therefore my police is not bad. they also knew this affair of the journalist, so well punished by m. de charny." "m. de charny!" cried the queen and andrée in a breath. "yes, madame: his blows are yet fresh on the shoulders of the journalist." "m. de charny committed himself with this fellow!" "i know it by my calumniated police, madame; and also, which was more difficult, the duel which followed." "a duel! m. de charny fought?" "with the journalist?" asked andrée. "no, madame; the journalist was too well beaten to give m. de charny the sword-thrust which made him faint here just now." "wounded!" cried the queen; "how and when? he was here just now." "oh!" said andrée, "i saw that he suffered." "what do you say?" cried the queen, almost angrily; "you saw that he suffered, and did not mention it!" andrée did not reply. jeanne, who wished to make a friend of her, came to her aid, saying, "i also, madame, saw that m. de charny had difficulty in standing up while your majesty spoke to him." "monsieur," said the queen again to m. de crosne, "with whom and why did m. de charny fight?" "with a gentleman who---- but really, madame, it is useless now. the two adversaries are friends again, for they spoke just now in your majesty's presence." "in my presence!" "yes, madame; the conqueror left about twenty minutes ago." "m. de taverney!" cried the queen. "my brother!" murmured andrée. "i believe," said m. de crosne, "that it was he with whom m. de charny fought." the queen made an angry gesture. "it is not right," she said; "these are american manners brought to versailles. it is not because one has fought under m. lafayette and washington that my court should be disgraced by such proceedings. andrée, did you know your brother had fought?" "not till this moment, madame." "why did he fight?" "if my brother fought," said andrée, "it was in your majesty's service." "that is to say, that m. de charny fought against me." "your majesty, i spoke only of my brother, and of no one else." the queen tried hard to remain calm. she walked once or twice up and down the room, and then said, "m. de crosne, you have convinced me: i was much disturbed by these rumors and accusations; your police is efficient, but i beg you not to forget to investigate this resemblance of which i have spoken. adieu!" and she held out her hand to him with her own peculiar grace. andrée made a movement to depart. the queen gave her a careless adieu. jeanne also prepared to leave, when madame de misery entered. "madame," said she to the queen, "did your majesty appoint this hour to receive mm. boehmer and bossange?" "oh, yes, it is true; let them come in. remain a little longer, madame de la motte; i want the king to make a full peace with you." perhaps she wished to pique andrée by this favor to a newcomer, but andrée did not seem to heed. "all these taverneys are made of iron," thought the queen. "ah, gentlemen, what do you bring me now? you know i have no money." chapter xxxix. the temptress. madame de la motte remained, therefore, as before. "madame," replied m. boehmer, "we do not come to offer anything to your majesty, we should fear to be indiscreet; but we come to fulfil a duty, and that has emboldened us----" "a duty?" "concerning the necklace which your majesty did not deign to take." "oh! then, the necklace has come again," said marie antoinette, laughing. "it was really beautiful, m. boehmer." "so beautiful," said bossange, "that your majesty alone was worthy to wear it." "my consolation is," said the queen, with a sigh which did not escape jeanne, "that it cost a million and a half. was not that the price, m. boehmer?" "yes, your majesty." "and in these times," continued the queen, "there is no sovereign that can give such a sum for a necklace; so that although i cannot wear it, no one else can: and once broken up, i should care nothing about it." "that is an error of your majesty's; the necklace is sold." "sold!" cried the queen. "to whom?" "ah! madame, that is a state secret." "oh!" said the queen, "i think i am safe. a state secret means that there is nothing to tell." "with your majesty," continued boehmer, as gravely as ever, "we do not act as with others. the necklace is sold, but in the most secret manner, and an ambassador----" "i really think he believes it himself!" interrupted the queen, laughing again. "come, m. boehmer, tell me at least the country he comes from, or, at all events, the first letter of his name." "madame, it is the ambassador from portugal," said boehmer, in a low voice, that madame de la motte might not hear. "the ambassador from portugal!" said the queen. "there is none here, m. boehmer." "he came expressly for this, madame." "do you imagine so?" "yes, madame." "what is his name?" "m. de souza." the queen did not reply for a few minutes, and then said, "well, so much the better for the queen of portugal. let us speak of it no more." "but allow us one moment, madame," said boehmer. "have you ever seen those diamonds?" said the queen to jeanne. "no, madame." "they are beautiful. it is a pity these gentlemen have not brought them." "here they are," said boehmer, opening the case. "come, countess, you are a woman, and these will please you." jeanne uttered a cry of admiration when she saw them, and said, "they are indeed beautiful." " , , francs, which you hold in the palm of your hand," said the queen. "monsieur was right," said jeanne, "when he said that no one was worthy to wear these diamonds but your majesty." "however, my majesty will not wear them." "we could not let them leave france without expressing our regret to your majesty. it is a necklace which is now known all over europe, and we wished to know definitively that your majesty really refused it before we parted with it." "my refusal has been made public," said the queen, "and has been too much applauded for me to repent of it." "oh, madame!" said boehmer, "if the people found it admirable that your majesty preferred a ship of war to a necklace, the nobility at least would not think it surprising if you bought the necklace after all." "do not speak of it any more," said marie antoinette, casting at the same time a longing look at the casket. jeanne sighed, "ah, you sigh, countess; in my place you would act differently." "i do not know, madame." "have you looked enough?" "oh no! i could look forever." "let her look, gentlemen; that takes nothing from the value. unfortunately, they are still worth , , francs." "oh," thought jeanne, "she is regretting it." and she said, "on your neck, madame, they would make all women die with jealousy, were they as beautiful as cleopatra or venus." and, approaching, she clasped it round her neck. "ah, your majesty is beautiful so!" the queen turned to the mirror. it was really splendid; every one must have admired. marie antoinette forgot herself for a time in admiration; then, seized with fear, she tried to take it off. "it has touched your majesty's neck; it ought not to belong to any one else," said boehmer. "impossible!" said the queen, firmly. "gentlemen, i have amused myself with these jewels; to do more would be a fault." "we will return to-morrow," said boehmer. "no; i must pay sooner or later; and, besides, doubtless you want your money. you will get it soon." "yes, your majesty," said the merchant, a man of business again. "take the necklace back," said the queen; "put it away immediately." "your majesty forgets that such a thing is equal to money itself." "and that in a hundred years it will be worth as much as it is now," said jeanne. "give me , , francs," said the queen, "and we shall see." "oh, if i had them!" mm. boehmer and bossange took as long as possible to put back the necklace, but the queen did not speak. at last they said, "your majesty refuses them?" "yes, oh yes!" and they quitted the room. marie antoinette remained sitting, looking rather gloomy, and beating with her foot in an impatient manner; at last she said, "countess, it seems the king will not return; we must defer our supplication till another time." jeanne bowed respectfully. "but i will not forget you," added the queen. "she is regretting and desiring," thought jeanne, as she left; "and yet she is a queen." chapter xl. two ambitions that wish to pass for two loves. when jeanne returned to her pretty little house in the faubourg, it was still early; so she took a pen and wrote a few rapid lines, enclosed them in a perfumed envelope, and rang the bell. "take this letter to monseigneur the cardinal de rohan," said she. in five minutes the man returned. "well," said madame de la motte, impatiently, "why are you not gone?" "just as i left the house, madame, his eminence came to the door. i told him i was about to go to his hotel with a letter from you; he read it, and is now waiting to come in." "let him enter," said the countess. jeanne had been thinking all the way home of the beautiful necklace, and wishing it was hers. it would be a fortune in itself. the cardinal entered. he also was full of desires and ambitions, which he wished to hide under the mask of love. "ah, dear jeanne," said he, "you have really become so necessary to me that i have been gloomy all day knowing you to be so far off. but you have returned from versailles?" "as you see, monseigneur." "and content?" "enchanted." "the queen received you, then?" "i was introduced immediately on my arrival." "you were fortunate. i suppose, from your triumphant air, that she spoke to you." "i passed three hours in her majesty's cabinet." "three hours! you are really an enchantress whom no one can resist. but perhaps you exaggerate. three hours!" he repeated; "how many things a clever woman like you might say in three hours!" "oh, i assure you, monseigneur, that i did not waste my time." "i dare say that in the whole three hours you did not once think of me." "ungrateful man!" "really!" cried the cardinal. "i did more than think of you; i spoke of you." "spoke of me! to whom?" asked the prelate, in a voice from which all his power over himself could not banish some emotion. "to whom should it be but to the queen?" "ah, dear countess, tell me about it. i interest myself so much in all that concerns you, that i should like to hear the most minute details." jeanne smiled. she knew what interested the cardinal as well as he did himself. then she related to him all the circumstances which had so fortunately made her, from a stranger, almost the friend and confidant of the queen. scarcely had she finished, when the servant entered to announce supper. jeanne invited the cardinal to accompany her. he gave her his arm, and they went in together. during supper, the cardinal continued to drink in long draughts of love and hope from the recitals which jeanne kept making to him from time to time. he remarked also, with surprise, that, instead of making herself sought like a woman that knows that you have need of her, she had thrown off all her former pride, and only seemed anxious to please him. she did the honors of her table as if she had all her life mixed in the highest circles; there was neither awkwardness nor embarrassment. "countess," said he at length, "there are two women in you." "how so?" "one of yesterday, and another of to-day." "and which does your excellency prefer?" "i do not know, but at least the one of this evening is a circe--a something irresistible." "and which you will not attempt to resist, i hope, prince as you are." the cardinal imprinted a long kiss on her hand. chapter xli. faces under their masks. two hours had elapsed, and the conversation still continued. the cardinal was now the slave, and jeanne was triumphant. two men often deceive each other as they shake hands, a man and a woman as they kiss; but here, each only deceived the other because they wished to be deceived: each had an end to gain, and for that end intimacy was necessary. the cardinal now did not demonstrate his impatience, but always managed to bring back the conversation to versailles, and to the honors which awaited the queen's new favorite. "she is generous," said he, "and spares nothing towards those she loves. she has the rare talent of giving a little to every one, and a great deal to a few." "you think, then, she is rich?" "she makes resources with a word or a smile; no minister, except perhaps turgot, ever refused her anything." "well," said madame de la motte, "i have seen her poorer than you think." "what do you mean?" "are those rich who are obliged to impose privations on themselves?" "privations! what do you mean, dear countess?" "i will tell you what i saw--i saw the queen suffer. do you know what a woman's desire is, my dear prince?" "no, countess; but i should like you to tell me." "well, the queen has a desire, which she cannot satisfy." "for what?" "for a diamond necklace." "oh, i know what you mean--the diamonds of mm. boehmer and bossange." "precisely." "that is an old story, countess." "old or new, it is a real vexation for a queen not to be able to buy what was intended for a simple favorite. fifteen more days added to the life of louis xv., and jeanne vaubernier would have had what marie antoinette cannot buy." "my dear countess, you mistake; the queen could have had it, and she refused it; the king offered them to her." and he recounted the history of the ship of war. "well," said she, "after all, what does that prove?" "that she did not want them, it seems to me." jeanne shrugged her shoulders. "you know women and courts, and believe that? the queen wanted to do a popular act, and she has done it." "good!" said the cardinal; "that is how you believe in the royal virtues. ah, skeptic, st. thomas was credulous, compared to you!" "skeptic or not, i can assure you of one thing--that the queen had no sooner refused it than she earnestly desired to have it." "you imagine all this, my dear countess; for if the queen has one quality more than another, it is disinterestedness. she does not care for gold or jewels, and likes a simple flower as well as a diamond." "i do not know that; i only know she wishes for this necklace." "prove it, countess." "it is easy. i saw the necklace, and touched it." "where?" "at versailles, when the jewelers brought it for the last time to try and tempt the queen." "and it is beautiful?" "marvelous! i, who am a woman, think that one might lose sleep and appetite in wishing for it." "alas! why have i not a vessel to give the king?" "a vessel!" "yes, for in return he would give me the necklace, and then you could eat and sleep in peace." "you laugh." "no, really." "well, i will tell you something that will astonish you. i would not have the necklace." "so much the better, countess, for i could not give it to you." "neither you nor any one--that is what the queen feels." "but i tell you that the king offered it to her." "and i tell you that women like best those presents that come from people from whom they are not forced to accept them." "i do not understand you." "well, never mind; and, after all, what does it matter to you, since you cannot have it?" "oh, if i were king and you were queen, i would force you to have it." "well, without being king, oblige the queen to have it, and see if she is angry, as you suppose she would be." the cardinal looked at her with wonder. "you are sure," said he, "that you are not deceived, and that the queen wishes for it?" "intensely. listen, dear prince. did you tell me, or where did i hear it, that you would like to be minister?" "you may have heard me say so, countess." "well, i will bet that the queen would make that man a minister who would place the necklace on her toilet within a week." "oh, countess!" "i say what i think. would you rather i kept silent?" "certainly not." "however, it does not concern you, after all. it is absurd to suppose that you would throw away a million and a half on a royal caprice; that would be paying too dearly for the portfolio, which you ought to have for nothing, so think no more of what i have said." the cardinal continued silent and thoughtful. "ah, you despise me now!" continued she; "you think i judge the queen by myself. so i do; i thought she wanted these diamonds because she sighed as she looked at them, and because in her place i should have coveted them." "you are an adorable woman, countess! you have, by a wonderful combination, softness of mind and strength of heart; sometimes you are so little of a woman that i am frightened; at others, so charmingly so, that i bless heaven and you for it. and now we will talk of business no more." "so be it," thought jeanne; "but i believe the bait has taken, nevertheless." indeed, although the cardinal said, "speak of it no more," in a few minutes he asked, "does not boehmer live somewhere on the quai de la ferraille, near the pont neuf?" "yes, you are right; i saw the name on the door as i drove along." jeanne was not mistaken--the fish had taken the hook; and the next morning the cardinal drove to m. boehmer. he intended to preserve his incognito, but they knew him, and called him "monseigneur" directly. "well, gentlemen," said he, "if you know me, keep my secret from others." "monseigneur may rely upon us. what can we do for your eminence?" "i come to buy the necklace which you showed her majesty." "really we are in despair, but it is too late." "how so?" "it is sold." "impossible, as you offered it only yesterday to the queen." "who again refused it, so our other bargain held good." "and with whom was this bargain?" "it is secret, monseigneur." "too many secrets, m. boehmer," said he, rising; "but i should have thought that a french jeweler would prefer selling these beautiful stones in france. you prefer portugal--very well." "monseigneur knows that!" cried the jeweler. "well, is that astonishing?" "no one knew it but the queen." "and if that were so?" said m. de rohan without contradicting a supposition that flattered him. "ah! that would change matters." "why so, sir?" "may i speak freely?" "certainly." "the queen wishes for the necklace." "you think so?" "i am sure of it." "then why did she not buy it?" "because she had already refused the king, and she thought it would look capricious to buy it now." "but the king wished her to have it." "yes, but he thanked her for refusing; therefore i think she wishes to have it without seeming to buy it." "well, you are wrong, sir." "i am sorry for it, monseigneur. it would have been our only excuse for breaking our word to the portuguese ambassador." the cardinal reflected for a moment. "then, sir, let us suppose that the queen wishes for your necklace." "oh! in that case, monseigneur, we would break through anything, that she should have it." "what is the price?" " , , francs." "how do you want payment?" "the portuguese was to give , francs down, and i was to take the necklace myself to lisbon, where the balance was to be paid." "well, the , francs down you shall have; that is reasonable. as for the rest----" "your eminence wishes for time? with such a guarantee, we should not object; only credit implies a loss. the interest of our money must be considered." "well, call it , , francs, and divide the time of payment into three periods, making a year." "that would be a loss to us, sir." "oh! nonsense; if i paid you the whole amount to-morrow, you would hardly know what to do with it." "there are two of us, monseigneur." "well, you will receive , francs every four months. that ought to satisfy you." "monseigneur forgets that these diamonds do not belong to us; if they did, we should be rich enough to wait; they belong to a dozen different creditors. we got some from hamburg, some from naples, one at buenos ayres, and one at moscow. all these people wait for the sale of the necklace to be paid. the profit that we make is all that will be ours; and we have already had it two years on hand." m. de rohan interrupted him. "after all," said he, "i have not seen the necklace." "true, monseigneur; here it is." "it is really superb," cried the cardinal; "it is a bargain?" "yes, monseigneur. i must go to the ambassador and excuse myself." "i did not think there was a portuguese ambassador just now." "m. de souza arrived incognito." "to buy this necklace?" "yes, monseigneur." "oh! poor souza, i know him well," said he, laughing. "with whom am i to conclude the transaction?" asked m. boehmer. "with myself; you will see no one else. to-morrow i will bring the , francs, and will sign the agreement. and as you are a man of secrets, m. boehmer, remember that you now possess an important one." "monseigneur, i feel it, and will merit your confidence and the queen's." m. de rohan went away happy, like all men who ruin themselves in a transport of passion. the next day m. boehmer went to the hotel of the portuguese ambassador. at the moment he knocked at the door, m. beausire was going through some accounts with m. ducorneau, while don manoël was taking over some new plan with the valet, his associate. m. ducorneau was charmed to find an ambassador so free from national prejudice as to have formed his whole establishment of frenchmen. thus his conversation was full of praises of him. "the souzas, you see," replied beausire, "are not of the old school of portuguese. they are great travelers, very rich, who might be kings if they liked." "and do they not?" "why should they? with a certain number of millions, and the name of a prince, one is better than a king." "ah, portugal will soon become great with such men at its head. but when is the presentation to take place? it is most anxiously looked for. the people around begin to talk of it, and to collect about the doors of the hotel, as though they were of glass, and they could see through." "do you mean the people of the neighborhood?" asked beausire. "and others; for, the mission of m. de souza being a secret one, you may be sure the police would soon interest themselves about it; and look," continued ducorneau, leading beausire to the window, "do you see that man in the brown surtout, how he looks at the house?" "yes, he does indeed. who do you take him to be?" "probably a spy of m. de crosne. however, between ourselves, m. de crosne is not equal to m. sartines. did you know him?" "no." "ah! he would have found out all about you long ago, in spite of all your precautions." a bell rang. "his excellency rings!" said beausire, who was beginning to feel embarrassed by the conversation, and opening the door quickly, he nearly knocked down two of the clerks who were listening. chapter xlii. in which m. ducorneau understands nothing of what is passing. don manoël was less yellow than usual, that is to say, he was more red. he had just been having a fierce altercation with his valet, and they were still disputing when beausire entered. "come, m. beausire, and set us right," said the valet. "about what?" "this , francs. it is the property of the association, is it not?" "certainly." "ah, m. beausire agrees with me." "wait," said don manoël. "well, then," continued the valet, "the chest ought not to be kept close to the ambassador's room." "why not?" asked beausire. "m. manoël ought to give us each a key to it." "not so," said manoël; "do you suspect me of wishing to rob the association? i may equally suspect you, when you ask for a key." "but," said the valet, "we have all equal rights." "really, monsieur, if you wish to make us all equal, we ought to have played the ambassador in turn. it would have been less plausible in the eyes of the public, but it would have satisfied you." "and besides," said beausire, "m. manoël has the incontestable privilege of the inventor." "oh," replied the valet, "the thing once started, there are no more privileges. i do not speak for myself only; all our comrades think the same." "they are wrong," said both manoël and beausire. "i was wrong myself to take the opinion of m. beausire; of course the secretary supports the ambassador." "monsieur," replied beausire, "you are a knave, whose ears i would slit, if it had not already been done too often. you insult me by saying that i have an understanding with manoël." "and me also," said manoël. "and i demand satisfaction," added beausire. "oh, i am no fighter." "so i see," said beausire, seizing hold of him. "help! help!" cried the valet, attacked at once by both of them. but just then they heard a bell ring. "leave him, and let him open the door," said manoël. "our comrades shall hear all this," replied the valet. "tell them what you please; we will answer for our conduct." "m. boehmer!" cried the porter from below. "well, we shall have no more contests about the , francs," said manoël; "for they will disappear with m. boehmer." m. boehmer entered, followed by bossange. both looked humble and embarrassed. boehmer began, and explained that political reasons would prevent their fulfilling their contract. manoël cried out angrily; beausire looked fierce. manoël said "that the bargain was completed, and the money ready." boehmer persisted. manoël, always through beausire, replied, "that his government had been apprised of the conclusion of the bargain, and that it was an insult to his queen to break it off." m. boehmer was very sorry, but it was impossible to act otherwise. beausire, in manoël's name, refused to accept the retractation, and abused m. boehmer as a man without faith, and ended by saying, "you have found some one to pay more for it." the jewelers colored. beausire saw that he was right, and feigned to consult his ambassador. "well," said he at length, "if another will give you more for your diamonds, we would do the same, rather than have this affront offered to our queen. will you take , francs more?" boehmer shook his head. " , , or even , ," continued beausire, willing to offer anything rather than lose the booty. the jewelers looked dazzled for a moment, consulted together, and then said, "no, monsieur, it is useless to tempt us. a will more powerful than our own compels us to decline. you understand, no doubt, that it is not we who refuse. we only obey the orders of one greater than any of us." beausire and manoël saw that it was useless to say more, and tried to look and speak indifferently on the matter. meanwhile the valet had been listening attentively, and just then making an unlucky movement, stumbled against the door. beausire ran to the ante-chamber. "what on earth are you about?" cried he. "monsieur, i bring the morning despatches." "good," said beausire, taking them from him, "now go." they were letters from portugal, generally very insignificant, but which, passing through their hands before going to ducorneau, often gave them useful information about the affairs of the embassy. the jewelers, hearing the word despatches, rose to leave like men who had received their congé. "well," said manoël, when they were gone, "we are completely beaten. only , francs, a poor spoil; we shall have but , each." "it is not worth the trouble. but it might be , each." "good," replied manoël, "but the valet will never leave us now he knows the affair has failed." "oh, i know how we will manage him. he will return immediately, and claim his share and that of his comrades, and we shall have the whole house on our hands. well, i will call him first to a secret conference; then leave me to act." "i think i understand," said manoël. neither, however, would leave his friend alone with the chest while he went to call him. manoël said "that his dignity as ambassador prevented him from taking such a step." "you are not ambassador to him," said beausire; "however, i will call through the window." the valet, who was just beginning a conversation with the porter, hearing himself called, came up. beausire said to him, with a smiling air, "i suppose you were telling this business to the porter?" "oh, no." "are you sure?" "i swear!" "for if you were, you were committing a great folly, and have lost a great deal of money." "how so?" "why, at present only we three know the secret, and could divide the , francs between us, as they all now think we have given it to m. boehmer." "morbleu!" cried the valet, "it is true: , francs each." "then you accept?" "i should think so." "i said you were a rogue," said beausire, in a thundering voice; "come, don manoël, help me to seize this man, and give him up to our associates." "pardon! pardon!" cried the unfortunate, "i did but jest." "shut him up until we can devise his punishment." the man began to cry out. "take care," said beausire, "that ducorneau does not hear us." "if you do not leave me alone," said the valet, "i will denounce you all." "and i will strangle you," said don manoël, trying to push him into a neighboring closet. "send away ducorneau somewhere, beausire, while i finish this fellow." when he had locked him up, he returned to the room. beausire was not there; don manoël felt tempted. he was alone, and beausire might be some little time; he could open the chest, take out all the bank-notes, and be off in two minutes. he ran to the room where it was: the door was locked. "ah," thought he, "beausire distrusted me, and locked the door before he went." he forced back the lock with his sword, and then uttered a terrible cry. the chest was opened and empty. beausire had got, as we know, a second key; he had forestalled manoël. manoël ran down like a madman; the porter was singing at the door--he asked if beausire had passed. "yes, some ten minutes ago." manoël became furious, summoned them all, and ran to release the unfortunate valet. but when he told his story, manoël was accused of being an accomplice of beausire, and they all turned against him. m. ducorneau felt ready to faint, when he entered and saw the men preparing to hang m. de souza. "hang m. de souza!" cried he. "it is high treason." at last they threw him into a cellar, fearing his cries would arouse the neighborhood. at that moment loud knocks at the door disturbed them,--they looked at each other in dismay. the knocks were repeated, and some one cried, "open in the name of the portuguese ambassador." on hearing this, each made his escape in terror, as he best could, scrambling over walls and roofs. the true ambassador could only enter by the help of the police. they found and arrested m. ducorneau, who slept that night in the châtelet. thus ended the adventure of the sham embassy from the portugal. chapter xliii. illusions and realities. beausire, on leaving the house, ran as fast as possible down the rue coquillière, then into the rue st. honoré, and took everywhere the most intricate and improbable turnings he could think of, and continued this until he became quite exhausted. then, thinking himself tolerably safe, he sat down in the corn market, on a sack, to recover his breath. "ah!" thought he, "now i have made my fortune; i will be an honest man for the future, and i will make oliva an honest woman. she is beautiful, and she will not mind leading a retired life with me in some province, where we shall live like lords. she is very good; she has but two faults, idleness and pride, and as i shall satisfy her on both these points, she will be perfect." he then began to reflect on what he should do next. they would seek him, of course, and most likely divide into different parties, and some would probably go first to his own house. here lay his great difficulty, for there they would find oliva, and they might ill-treat her. they might even take her as a hostage, speculating on his love for her. what should he do? love carried the day; he ran off again like lightning, took a coach, and drove to the pont neuf. he then looked cautiously down the rue dauphine to reconnoiter, and he saw two men, who seemed also looking anxiously down the street. he thought they were police spies, but that was nothing uncommon in that part of the town; so, bending his back, and walking lamely, for disguise, he went on till he nearly reached his house. suddenly he thought he saw the coat of a gendarme in the courtyard; then he saw one at the window of oliva's room. he felt ready to drop, but he thought his best plan was to walk quietly on; he had that courage, and passed the house. heavens! what a sight! the yard was full of soldiers, and among them a police commissioner. beausire's rapid glance showed him what he thought disappointed faces. he thought that m. de crosne had somehow begun to suspect him, and, sending to take him, had found only oliva. "i cannot help her now," thought he; "i should only lose my money and destroy us both. no, let me place that in safety, and then i will see what can be done." he therefore ran off again, taking his way almost mechanically towards the luxembourg; but as he turned the corner of the rue st. germain, he was almost knocked down by a handsome carriage which was driving towards the rue dauphine, and, raising his head to swear at the coachman, he thought he saw oliva inside, talking with much animation to a handsome man who sat by her. he gave a cry of surprise, and would have run after it, but he could not again encounter the rue dauphine. he felt bewildered, for he had before settled that oliva had been arrested in her own house, and he fancied his brain must be turning when he believed he saw her in the carriage. but he started off again and took refuge in a small cabaret at the luxembourg, where the hostess was an old friend. there he gradually began to recover again his courage and hope. he thought the police would not find him, and that his money was safe. he remembered also that oliva had committed no crime, and that the time was passed when people were kept prisoners for nothing. he also thought that his money would soon obtain her release, even if she were sent to prison, and he would then set off with her for switzerland. such were his dreams and projects as he sat sipping his wine. chapter xliv. oliva begins to ask what they want of her. if m. beausire had trusted to his eyesight, which was excellent, instead of trusting his imagination, he would have spared himself much regret and many mistakes. it was, in fact, oliva who sat in the carriage by the side of a man, whom he would also have recognized if he had looked a little longer. she had gone that morning, as usual, to take a walk in the gardens of the luxembourg, where she had met the strange friend whose acquaintance she had made the day of the ball at the opera. it was just as she was about to return that he appeared before her, and said, "where are you going?" "home, monsieur." "just what the people want who are there waiting for you." "waiting for me? no one is there for me." "oh, yes, a dozen visitors at least." "a whole regiment, perhaps?" said oliva, laughing. "perhaps, had it been possible to send a whole regiment, they would have done so." "you astonish me!" "you would be far more astonished if i let you go." "why?" "because you would be arrested." "i! arrested?" "assuredly. the twelve gentlemen who wait for you are sent by m. de crosne." oliva trembled. some people are always fearful on certain points. but she said: "i have done nothing; why should they arrest me?" "for some intrigue, perhaps." "i have none." "but you have had." "oh, perhaps." "well, perhaps they are wrong to wish to arrest you, but the fact is that they do desire to do so. will you still go home?" "you deceive me," said oliva; "if you know anything, tell me at once. is it not beausire they want?" "perhaps; he may have a conscience less clear than yours." "poor fellow!" "pity him, if you like; but if he is taken, there is no need for you to be taken too." "what interest have you in protecting me?" asked she. "it is not natural for a man like you." "i would not lose time if i were you; they are very likely to seek you here, finding you do not return." "how should they know i am here?" "are you not always here? my carriage is close by, if you will come with me. but i see you doubt still." "yes." "well, we will commit an imprudence to convince you. we will drive past your house, and when you have seen these gentlemen there, i think you will better appreciate my good offices." he led her to the carriage, and drove to the rue dauphine, at the corner of which they passed beausire. had oliva seen him, doubtless she would have abandoned everything to fly with him and share his fate, whatever it might be; but cagliostro, who did see him, took care to engage her attention by showing her the crowd, which was already in sight, and which was waiting to see what the police would do. when oliva could distinguish the soldiers who filled her house, she threw herself into the arms of her protector in despair. "save me! save me!" she cried. he pressed her hand. "i promise you." "but they will find me out anywhere." "not where i shall take you; they will not seek you at my house." "oh!" cried she, frightened, "am i to go home with you?" "you are foolish," said he; "i am not your lover, and do not wish to become so. if you prefer a prison, you are free to choose." "no," replied she, "i trust myself to you, take me where you please." he conducted her to the rue neuve st. gilles, into a small room on the second floor. "how triste!" said she; "here, without liberty, and without even a garden to walk in." "you are right," said he; "besides, my people would see you here at last." "and would betray me, perhaps." "no fear of that. but i will look out for another abode for you; i do not mean you to remain here." oliva was consoled; besides, she found amusing books and easy-chairs. he left her, saying, "if you want me, ring; i will come directly if i am at home." "ah!" cried she, "get me some news of beausire." "before everything." then, as he went down, he said to himself, "it will be a profanation to lodge her in that house in the rue st. claude; but it is important that no one should see her, and there no one will. so i will extinguish the last spark of my old light." chapter xlv. the deserted house. when cagliostro arrived at the deserted house in the rue st. claude, with which our readers are already acquainted, it was getting dark, and but few people were to be seen in the streets. cagliostro drew a key from his pocket, and applied it to the lock; but the door was swollen with the damp, and stiff with age, and it required all his strength to open it. the courtyard was overgrown with moss, the steps crumbling away; all looked desolate and deserted. he entered the hall, and lighted a lamp which he had brought with him. he felt a strange agitation as he approached the door which he had so often entered to visit lorenza. a slight noise made his heart beat quickly; he turned, and saw an adder gliding down the staircase; it disappeared in a hole near the bottom. he entered the room; it was empty, but in the grate still lay some ashes, the remains of the furniture which had adorned it, and which he had burned there. among it several pieces of gold and silver still sparkled. as he turned, he saw something glittering on the floor; he picked it up. it was one of those silver arrows with which the italian women were in the habit of confining their hair. he pressed it to his lips, and a tear stood in his eyes as he murmured, "lorenza!" it was but for a moment; then he opened the window and threw it out, saying to himself, "adieu! this last souvenir, which would soften me. this house is about to be profaned--another woman will ascend the staircase, and perhaps even into this room, where lorenza's last sigh still vibrates; but to serve my end the sacrifice shall be made. i must, however, have some alterations made." he then wrote on his tablets the following words: "to m. lenoir, my architect,--clean out the court and vestibule, restore the coach-house and stable, and demolish the interior of the pavilion. to be done in eight days." "now, let us see," said he to himself, "if we can perfectly distinguish the window of the countess. it is infallible," said he, after looking out; "the women must see each other." the next day fifty workmen had invaded the house and commenced the projected alterations, which were completed within the given time. some of the passers-by saw a large rat hung up by the tail. chapter xlvi. jeanne the protectress. m. le cardinal de rohan received, two days after his visit to m. boehmer, the following note: "his eminence the cardinal de rohan knows, doubtless, where he will sup this evening." "from the little countess," said he; "i will go." among the footmen given to her by the cardinal, jeanne had distinguished one, black-haired and dark-eyed, and, as she thought, active and intelligent. she set this man to watch the cardinal, and learned from him that he had been twice to m. boehmer's. therefore she concluded the necklace was bought, and yet he had not communicated it to her. she frowned at the thought, and wrote the note which we have seen. m. de rohan sent before him a basket of tokay and other rarities, just as if he was going to sup with la guimard or mademoiselle dangeville. jeanne determined not to use any of it at supper. "when they were alone, she said to him: "really, monseigneur, one thing afflicts me." "what, countess?" "to see, not only that you no longer love me, but that you never have loved me." "oh, countess! how can you say so?" "do not make excuses, monseigneur; it would be lost time." "oh, countess!" "do not be uneasy; i am quite indifferent about it now." "whether i love you or not?" "yes, because i do not love you." "that is not flattering." "indeed, we are not exchanging compliments, but facts. we have never loved each other." "oh, as for myself, i cannot allow that; i have a great affection for you, countess." "come, monseigneur, let us esteem each other enough to speak the truth, and that is, that there is between us a much stronger bond than love--that is, interest." "oh, countess, what a shame!" "monseigneur, if you are ashamed, i am not." "well, countess, supposing ourselves interested, how can we serve each other?" "first, monseigneur, i wish to ask you a question. why have you failed in confidence towards me?" "i! how so, pray?" "will you deny that, after skilfully drawing from me the details--which, i confess, i was not unwilling to give you--concerning the desire of a certain great lady for a certain thing, you have taken means to gratify that desire without telling me?" "countess, you are a real enigma, a sphinx." "oh, no enigma, cardinal; i speak of the queen, and of the diamonds which you bought yesterday of mm. boehmer and bossange." "countess!" cried he, growing pale. "oh, do not look so frightened," continued she. "did you not conclude your bargain yesterday?" he did not speak, but looked uncomfortable, and half angry. she took his hand. "pardon, prince," she said, "but i wished to show you your mistake about me; you believe me foolish and spiteful." "oh, countess, now i understand you perfectly. i expected to find you a pretty woman and a clever one, but you are better than this. listen to me: you have, you say, been willing to become my friend without loving me?" "i repeat it," replied she. "then you had some object?" "assuredly. do you wish me to tell it to you?" "no; i understand it. you wished to make my fortune; that once done, you are sure that my first care would be for yours. am i right?" "yes, monseigneur; but i have not pursued my plans with any repugnance--the road has been a pleasant one." "you are an amiable woman, countess, and it is a pleasure to discuss business with you. you have guessed rightly that i have a respectful attachment towards a certain person." "i saw it at the opera ball," she said. "i know well that this affection will never be returned." "oh, a queen is only a woman, and you are surely equal to cardinal mazarin." "he was a very handsome man," said m. de rohan, laughing. "and an excellent minister," said jeanne. "countess, it is superfluous trouble to talk to you; you guess and know everything. yes, i do wish to become prime minister. everything entitles me to it--my birth, my knowledge of business, my standing with foreign courts, and the affection which is felt for me by the french people." "there is but one obstacle," said jeanne. "an antipathy." "yes, of the queen's; and the king always ends by liking what she likes, and hating what she hates." "and she hates me? be frank, countess." "well, monseigneur, she does not love you." "then i am lost! of what use is the necklace?" "you deceive yourself, prince." "it is bought." "at least, it will show the queen that you love her. you know, monseigneur, we have agreed to call things by their right names." "then you say you do not despair of seeing me one day prime minister?" "i am sure of it." "and what are your own ambitions?" "i will tell you, prince, when you are in a position to satisfy them." "we will hope for that day." "now let us sup." "i am not hungry." "then let us talk." "i have nothing more to say." "then go." "how! is that what you call our alliance? do you send me away?" "yes, monseigneur." "well, countess, i will not deceive myself again about you." before leaving, however, he turned, and said, "what must i do now, countess?" "nothing; wait for me to act. i will go to versailles." "when?" "to-morrow." "and when shall i hear from you?" "immediately." "then i abandon myself to your protection; au revoir, countess." chapter xlvii. jeanne protected. mistress of such a secret, rich in such a future, and supported by such a friend, jeanne felt herself strong against the world. to appear at court, no longer as a suppliant, as the poor mendicant, drawn from poverty by madame de boulainvilliers, but as a valois, with an income of , francs; to be called the favorite of the queen, and consequently governing the king and state through her.--such was the panorama that floated before the eyes of jeanne. she went to versailles. she had no audience promised, but she trusted to her good fortune, and as the queen had received her so well before, all the officials were anxious to serve her. therefore, one of the doorkeepers said aloud, as the queen came from chapel, to one of her gentlemen, "monsieur, what am i to do? here is madame la comtesse de la motte valois asking admission, and she has no letter of audience." the queen heard and turned round. "did you say madame de la motte valois was here?" she asked. "your majesty, the doorkeeper says so." "i will receive her; bring her to the bath-room." the man told jeanne what he had done. she drew out her purse; but he said, "will madame la comtesse allow this debt to accumulate? some day she can pay me with interest." "you are right, my friend; i thank you." marie antoinette looked serious when jeanne entered. "she supposes i am come again to beg," thought jeanne. "madame," said the queen, "i have not yet had an opportunity to speak to the king." "oh, your majesty has already done too much for me; i ask nothing more. i came----" she hesitated. "is it something urgent, that you did not wait to ask for an audience?" "urgent! yes, madame; but not for myself." "for me, then?" and the queen conducted her into the bath-room, where her women were waiting for her. once in the bath, she sent them away. "now, countess." "madame," said jeanne, "i am much embarrassed." "why so?" "your majesty knows the kindness i have received from m. de rohan." the queen frowned. "well, madame?" "yesterday his eminence came to see me, and spoke to me as usual of your majesty's goodness and kindness." "what does he want?" "i expressed to him all my sense of your generosity, which constantly empties your purse, and told him that i felt almost guilty in thinking of your majesty's gift to myself, and remembering that were it not for such liberality your majesty need not have been forced to deny yourself the beautiful necklace which became you so well. when i related this circumstance to m. de rohan, i saw him grow pale and the tears came into his eyes. indeed, madame, his fine face, full of admiration for, and emotion caused by, your noble conduct, is ever before my eyes." "well, countess, if he has impressed you so deeply, i advise you not to let him see it. m. de rohan is a worldly prelate, and gathers the sheep as much for himself as for his lord." "oh, madame!" "it is not i who say it: that is his reputation; he almost glories in it; his trophies are numerous, and some of them have made no little scandal." "well, madame, i am sure he thought then of no one but your majesty." the queen laughed. "your majesty's modesty will not allow you to listen to praises." "not from the cardinal--i suspect them all." "it is not my part," replied jeanne, respectfully, "to defend any one who has incurred your majesty's displeasure." "m. de rohan has offended me, but i am a queen and a christian, and do not wish to dwell on offenses." jeanne was silent. "you think differently to me on this subject?" "completely, your majesty." "you would not speak so if you knew what he has done against me; but as you have so great a friendship for him, i will not attack him again before you. you have not, then, forgotten the diamonds?" "oh, madame, i have thought of them night and day. they will look so well on your majesty." "what do you mean? they are sold to the portuguese ambassador." jeanne shook her head. "not sold!" cried the queen. "yes, madame, but to m. de rohan." "oh," said the queen, becoming suddenly cold again. "oh! your majesty," cried jeanne; "do not be ungenerous towards him. it was the impulse of a generous heart that your majesty should understand and sympathize with. when he heard my account he cried,--'what! the queen refuse herself such a thing, and perhaps see it one day worn by one of her subjects!' and when i told him that it was bought for the queen of portugal, he was more indignant than ever. he cried, 'it is no longer a simple question of pleasure for the queen, but of the dignity of the french crown. i know the spirit of foreign courts; they will laugh at our queen because they happen to have more money to spare: and i will never suffer this.' and he left me abruptly. an hour after i heard that he had bought the necklace." "for , , francs?" " , , , madame." "with what intention?" "that at least if your majesty would not have them no one else should." "are you sure it is not for some mistress?" "i am sure he would rather break it to pieces than see it on any other neck than your own." marie antoinette reflected, and her expressive countenance showed clearly every thought that passed through her mind. at last she said: "what m. de rohan has done is a noble trait of a delicate devotion, and you will thank him for me." "oh yes, madame." "you will add, that he has proved to me his friendship, and that i accept it, but not his gift." "but, madame----" "no, but as a loan. he has advanced his money and his credit to please me, and i will repay him. boehmer has asked for money down?" "yes, madame." "how much?" " , francs." "that is my quarter's allowance from the king. i received it this morning; it is in advance, but still i have it." she rang the bell. her woman came and wrapped her in warm sheets, and then she dressed herself. once more alone in her bedroom with jeanne, she said: "open that drawer, and you will see a portfolio." "here it is, madame." "it holds the , francs--count them." jeanne obeyed. "take them to the cardinal with my thanks; each quarter i will pay the same. in this manner i shall have the necklace which pleased me so much, and if it embarrasses me to pay it, at least it will not hurt the king; and i shall have gained the knowledge that i have a friend who has guessed my wishes." then, after a pause, "you will add, countess, that m. de rohan will be welcome at versailles to receive my thanks." jeanne went away full of joy and delight. chapter xlviii. the queen's portfolio. the cardinal was at home when madame de la motte came to his hotel. she had herself announced, and was immediately admitted. "you come from versailles?" said he. "yes." "well?" "well, monseigneur, what do you expect?" "ah, countess, you say that with an air that frightens me." "you wished me to see the queen, and i have seen her; and that i should speak to her of you whom she has always so much disliked." "and you did?" "yes, and her majesty listened." "say no more, countess, i see she will not overcome her repugnance." "oh! as to that, i spoke of the necklace." "and did you dare to say that i wished----" "to buy it for her? yes." "oh, countess, you are sublime; and she listened?" "yes, but she refused." "oh, i am lost." "refused to accept it as a gift, but not as a loan." "i lend to the queen! countess, it is impossible." "it is more than giving, is it not?" "a thousand times." "so i thought." the cardinal rose and came towards her. "do not deceive me," he said. "one does not play with the affections of a man like you, monseigneur." "then it is true?" "the exact truth." "i have a secret with the queen!" and he pressed jeanne's hand. "i like that clasp of the hand," she said, "it is like one man to another." "it is that of a happy man to a protecting angel." "monseigneur, do not exaggerate." "oh, my joy! my gratitude! impossible." "but lending a million and a half to the queen is not all you wish for? buckingham would have asked for more." "buckingham believed what i dare not even dream of." "the queen sends you word that she will see you with pleasure at versailles." the cardinal looked as pale as a youth who gives his first kiss of love. "ah," thought she, "it is still more serious than i imagined. i can get what i please from him, for he acts really not from ambition but from love." he quickly recovered himself, however: "my friend," said he, "how does the queen mean to act about this loan she talks of?" "ah, you think she has no money. but she will pay you as she would have paid boehmer. only if she had paid him all paris must have known it, which she would not have liked, after the credit she has had for her refusal of it. you are a cashier for her, and a solvent one if she becomes embarrassed. she is happy and she pays. ask no more." "she pays?" "yes, she knows you have debts; and when i told her you had advanced , francs----" "you told her?" "yes; why not?" jeanne put her hand in her pocket, and drew out the portfolio. "the queen sends you this with thanks; it is all right, for i have counted it." "who cares for that? but the portfolio?" "well, it is not handsome." "it pleases me, nevertheless." "you have good taste." "ah, you quiz me." "you have the same taste as the queen, at all events." "then it was hers?" "do you wish for it?" "i cannot deprive you of it." "take it." "oh, countess, you are a precious friend; but while you have worked for me, i have not forgotten you." jeanne looked surprised. "yes," said he, "my banker came to propose to me some plan of a marsh to drain, which must be profitable. i took two hundred shares, and fifty of them are for you." "oh, monseigneur!" "he soon returned, he had realized already on them cent. per cent. he gave me , francs, and here is your share, dear countess;" and from the pocket-book she had just given him he slid , francs into her hand. "thanks, monseigneur. what gratifies me most is, that you thought of me." "i shall ever do so," said he, kissing her hand. "and i of you, at versailles." chapter xlix. in which we find dr. louis. perhaps our readers, remembering in what a position we left m. de charny, will not dislike to return with us to that little ante-chamber at versailles into which this brave seaman, who feared neither men nor elements, had fled, lest he should show his weakness to the queen. once arrived there, he felt it impossible to go further; he stretched out his arms, and was only saved from falling to the ground by the aid of those around. he then fainted, and was totally ignorant that the queen had seen him, and would have run to his assistance had andrée not prevented her, more even from a feeling of jealousy than from regard for appearances. immediately after the king entered, and seeing a man lying supported by two guards, who, unaccustomed to see men faint, scarcely knew what to do, advanced, saying, "some one is ill here." at his voice the men started and let their burden fall. "oh!" cried the king, "it is m. de charny. place him on this couch, gentlemen." then they brought him restoratives, and sent for a doctor. the king waited to hear the result. the doctor's first care was to open the waistcoat and shirt of the young man to give him air, and then he saw the wound. "a wound!" cried the king. "yes," said m. de charny, faintly, "an old wound, which has reopened;" and he pressed the hand of the doctor to make him understand. but this was not a court doctor, who understands everything; so, willing to show his knowledge, "old, sir! this wound is not twenty-four hours old." charny raised himself at this, and said, "do you teach me, sir, when i received my wound?" then, turning round, he cried, "the king!" and hastened to button his waistcoat. "yes, m. de charny, who fortunately arrived in time to procure you assistance." "a mere scratch, sire," stammered charny, "an old wound." "old or new," replied louis, "it has shown me the blood of a brave man." "whom a couple of hours in bed will quite restore," continued charny, trying to rise; but his strength failed him, his head swam, and he sank back again. "he is very ill," said the king. "yes, sire," said the doctor, with importance, "but i can cure him." the king understood well that m. de charny wished to hide some secret from him, and determined to respect it. "i do not wish," said he, "that m. de charny should run the risk of being moved; we will take care of him here. let m. de suffren be called, this gentleman recompensed, and my own physician, dr. louis, be sent for." while one officer went to execute these orders, two others carried charny into a room at the end of the gallery. dr. louis and m. de suffren soon arrived. the latter understood nothing of his nephew's illness. "it is strange," said he; "do you know, doctor, i never knew my nephew ill before." "that proves nothing," replied the doctor. "the air of versailles must be bad for him." "it is his wound," said one of the officers. "his wound!" cried m. de suffren; "he never was wounded in his life." "oh, excuse me," said the officer, opening the shirt, covered with blood, "but i thought----" "well," said the doctor, who began to see the state of the case, "do not let us lose time disputing over the cause, but see what can be done to cure him." "is it dangerous, doctor?" asked m. de suffren, with anxiety. "not at all," replied he. m. de suffren took his leave, and left charny with the doctor. fever commenced, and before long he was delirious. three hours after the doctor called a servant, and told him to take charny in his arms, who uttered doleful cries. "roll the sheet over his head," said the doctor. "but," said the man, "he struggles so much that i must ask assistance from one of the guards." "are you afraid of a sick man, sir? if he is too heavy for you, you are not strong enough for me. i must send you back to auvergne." this threat had its effect. charny, crying, fighting, and gesticulating, was carried by the man through the guards. some of the officers questioned the doctor. "oh! gentlemen," said he, "this gallery is too far off for me; i must have him in my own rooms." "but i assure you, doctor, we would all have looked after him here. we all love m. de suffren." "oh yes, i know your sort of care! the sick man is thirsty, and you give him something to drink, and kill him." "now there remains but one danger," said the doctor to himself, as he followed charny, "that the king should want to visit him, and if he hear him---- diable! i must speak to the queen." the good doctor, therefore, having bathed the head and face of his patient with cold water, and seen him safe in bed, went out and locked the door on him, leaving his servant to look after him. he went towards the queen's apartments, and met madame de misery, who had just been despatched to ask after the patient. "come with me," he said. "but, doctor, the queen waits for intelligence." "i am going to her." "the queen wishes----" "the queen shall know all she wishes. i will take care of that." chapter l. Ægri somnia the queen was expecting the return of madame de misery. the doctor entered with his accustomed familiarity. "madame," he said, "the patient in whom your majesty and the king are interested is as well as any one can be who has a fever." "is it a slight wound?" asked the queen. "slight or not, he is in a fever." "poor fellow!--a bad fever?" "terrible!" "you frighten me; dear doctor; you, who are generally so cheering. besides, you look about you, as though you had a secret to tell." "so i have." "about the fever?" "yes." "to tell me?" "yes." "speak, then, for i am curious." "i wait for you to question me, madame." "well, how does the fever go on?" "no; ask me why i have taken him away from the guard's gallery, where the king left him, to my own room." "well, i ask. indeed it is strange." "then, madame, i did so, because it is not an ordinary fever." the queen looked surprised. "what do you mean?" "m. de charny is delirious already, and in his delirium he says a number of things rather delicate for the gentlemen of the guard to hear." "doctor!" "oh, madame! you should not question me, if you do not wish to hear my answers." "well, then, dear doctor, is he an atheist? does he blaspheme?" "oh, no! he is on the contrary a devotee." the queen assumed a look of sang-froid. "m. de charny," she said, "interests me. he is the nephew of m. de suffren, and has besides rendered me personal services. i wish to be a friend to him. tell me, therefore, the exact truth." "but i cannot tell you, madame. if your majesty wishes to know, the only way is to hear him yourself." "but if he says such strange things?" "things which your majesty ought to hear." "but," said the queen, "i cannot move a step here, without some charitable spy watching me." "i will answer for your security. come through my private way, and i will lock the door after us." "i trust to you, then, dear doctor." and she followed him, burning with curiosity. when they reached the second door the doctor put his ear to the keyhole. "is your patient in there, doctor?" "no, madame, or you would have heard him at the end of the corridor. even here you can hear his voice." "he groans." "no, he speaks loud and distinct." "but i cannot go in to him." "i do not mean you to do so. i only wish you to listen in the adjoining room, where you will hear without being seen." they went on, and the doctor entered the sick-room alone. charny, still dressed in his uniform, was making fruitless efforts to rise, and was repeating to himself his interview with the german lady in the coach. "german!" he cried--"german! queen of france!" "do you hear, madame?" "it is frightful," continued charny, "to love an angel, a woman--to love her madly--to be willing to give your life for her; and when you come near her, to find her only a queen--of velvet and of gold, of metal and of silk, and no heart." "oh! oh!" cried the doctor again. "i love a married woman!" charny went on, "and with that wild love which, makes me forget everything else. well, i will say to her, there remain for us still some happy days on this earth. come, my beloved, and we will live the life of the blessed, if we love each other. afterwards there will be death--better than a life like this. let us love at least." "not badly reasoned for a man in a fever," said the doctor. "but her children!" cried charny suddenly, with fury; "she will not leave her children. oh! we will carry them away also. surely i can carry her, she is so light, and her children too." then he gave a terrible cry: "but they are the children of a king!" the doctor left his patient and approached the queen. "you are right, doctor," said she; "this young man would incur a terrible danger if he were overheard." "listen again," said the doctor. "oh, no more." but just then charny said, in a gentler voice: "marie, i feel that you love me, but i will say nothing about it. marie, i felt the touch of your foot in the coach; your hand touched mine, but i will never tell; i will keep this secret with my life. my blood may all flow away, marie, but my secret shall not escape with it. my enemy steeped his sword in my blood, but if he has guessed my secret, yours is safe. fear nothing, marie, i do not even ask you if you love me; you blushed, that is enough." "oh!" thought the doctor; "this sounds less like delirium than like memory." "i have heard enough," cried the queen, rising and trembling violently; and she tried to go. the doctor stopped her. "madame," said he, "what do you wish?" "nothing, doctor, nothing." "but if the king ask to see my patient?" "oh! that would be dreadful!" "what shall i say?" "doctor, i cannot think; this dreadful spectacle has confused me." "i think you have caught his fever," said the doctor, feeling her pulse. she drew away her hand, and escaped. chapter li. andrÉe. the doctor remained thoughtful, then said to himself,--"there are other difficulties here besides those i can contend with by science." he bathed again the temples of his patient, who for the time began to grow calmer. all at once the doctor heard the rustling of a dress outside. "can it be the queen returned?" thought he; and opening the door softly, he saw before him the motionless figure of a woman, looking like a statue of despair. it was almost dark; he advanced suddenly along the corridor to the place where the figure was standing. on seeing him, she uttered a cry. "who is there?" asked doctor louis. "i, doctor!" replied a sweet and sorrowful voice--a voice that he knew but could not immediately recognize. "i, andrée de taverney," continued she. "oh, mon dieu! what is the matter?" cried the doctor; "is she ill?" "she! who?" the doctor felt that he had committed an imprudence. "excuse me, but i saw a lady going away just now, perhaps it was you." "oh, yes, there has been a lady here before me, has there not?" asked andrée, in a tone of emotion. "my dear child," replied the doctor, "of whom do you speak? what do you want to know?" "doctor," answered andrée, in a sorrowful voice, "you always speak the truth, do not deceive me now; i am sure there was a woman here before me." "doubtless. why should i deceive you? madame de misery was here." "it was madame de misery who came?" "certainly; what makes you doubt? what inexplicable beings women are." "dear doctor." "well, but to the point. is she worse?" "who?" "pardieu, the queen." "the queen!" "yes, the queen, for whom madame de misery came to fetch me, and who was troubled with her palpitations. if you come from her, tell me, and we will go back together." "no, doctor, i do not come from the queen, and was even ignorant that she was suffering. but pardon me, doctor, i scarcely know what i an saying." in fact, she seemed on the point of fainting. the doctor supported her. she rallied by a strong effort. "doctor," she said, "you know i am nervous in the dark; i lost my way in these intricate passages, and have grown frightened and foolish." "and why the devil should you be wandering about these dark passages, since you came for nothing?" "i did not say i came for nothing, only that no one sent me." "well, if you have anything to say to me, come away from here, for i am tired of standing." "oh, i shall not be ten minutes; can any one hear us?" "no one." "not even your patient in there?" "oh, no fear of his hearing anything." andrée clasped her hands. "oh, mon dieu!" she cried, "he is, then, very ill?" "indeed he is not well. but tell me quickly what brings you here, for i cannot wait." "well, doctor, we have spoken of it; i came to ask after him." doctor louis received this confession with a solemn silence, which andrée took for a reproach. "you may excuse this step, doctor," she said, "as he was wounded in a duel with my brother." "your brother! i was ignorant of that." "but now that you know it, you understand why i inquire after him." "oh, certainly, my child," said the good doctor, enchanted to find an excuse for being indulgent; "i could not know this." "a duel between two gentlemen is a thing of everyday occurrence, doctor." "certainly; the only thing that could make it of importance would be that they have fought about a lady!" "about a lady!" "about yourself, for example." andrée sighed. "oh, doctor! they did not fight about me." "then," said the doctor, "is it your brother that has sent you for news of m. de charny?" "oh, yes, my brother, doctor." dr. louis looked at her scrutinizingly. "i will find out the truth," thought he. then he said, "well, i will tell you the truth, that your brother may make his arrangements accordingly; you understand." "no, doctor." "why, a duel is never a very agreeable thing to the king, and if it makes a scandal, he often banishes or imprisons the actors; but when death ensues, he is always inflexible. therefore counsel your brother to hide for a time." "then," cried andrée, "m. de charny is--dangerously ill?" "my dear young lady, if he is not out of danger by this time to-morrow, if before that time i cannot quell the fever that devours him, m. de charny is a dead man." andrée bit her lips till the blood came, and clenched her hands till the nails stuck into the flesh, to stifle the cry that was ready to burst from her. having conquered herself, she said, "my brother will not fly; he wounded m. de charny in fair fight, and if he has killed him, he will take his chance." the doctor was deceived. she did not come on her own account, he thought. "how does the queen take it?" he asked. "the queen? i know not. what is it to her?" "but she likes your brother." "well, he is safe; and perhaps she will defend him if he is accused." "then, mademoiselle, you have learned what you wished. let your brother fly, or not, as he pleases; that is your affair. mine is to do the best to-night for the wounded man; without which, death will infallibly carry him off. adieu." andrée fled back to her room, locked herself in, and falling on her knees by the side of her bed, "my god!" cried she, with a torrent of burning tears, "you will not leave this young man to die who has done no wrong, and who is so loved in this world. oh! save him, that i may see a god of mercy, and not of vengeance." her strength gave way, and she fell senseless on the floor. when her senses returned to her, her first muttered words were, "i love him! oh, i love him!" chapter lii. delirium. m. de charny conquered the fever. the next day the report was favorable. once out of danger, doctor louis ceased to take so much interest in him; and after the lapse of a week, as he had not forgotten all that had passed in his delirium, he wished to have him removed from versailles: but charny, at the first hint of this, rebelled, and said angrily, "that his majesty had given him shelter there, and that no one had a right to disturb him." the doctor, who was not patient with intractable convalescents, ordered four men to come in and move him; but charny caught hold of his bed with one hand, and struck furiously with the other at every one who approached; and with the effort, the wound reopened, the fever returned, and he began to cry out that the doctor wished to deprive him of the visions that he had in his sleep, but that it was all in vain; for that she who sent them to him was of too high rank to mind the doctor. then the doctor, frightened, sent the men away, and dressed the wound again; but as the delirium returned stronger than ever, he determined to go once more to the queen. marie antoinette received him with a smile; she expected to hear that the patient was cured, but on hearing that he was very ill, she cried: "why, yesterday you said he was going on so well!" "it was not true, madame." "and why did you deceive me? is there, then, danger?" "yes, madame, to himself and others; but the evil is moral, not physical. the wound in itself is nothing; but, madame, m. de charny is fast becoming a monomaniac, and this i cannot cure. madame, you will have ruined this young man." "i, doctor! am i the cause, if he is mad?" "if you are not now, you soon will be." "what must i do, then? command me, doctor." "this young man must be cured either with kindness or coercion. the woman whose name he evokes every instant must kill or cure him." "doctor, you exaggerate. can you kill a man with a hard word, or cure a madman with a smile?" "if your majesty be incredulous, i have only to pay my respects, and take leave." "no, doctor; tell me what you wish." "madame, if you desire to free this palace from his cries, and from scandal, you must act." "you wish me to come and see him?" "yes." "then i will call some one--mademoiselle de taverney, for example--and you have all ready to receive us. but it is a dreadful responsibility to run the risk of kill or cure, as you say." "it is what i have to do every day. come, madame, all is ready." the queen sighed, and followed the doctor, without waiting for andrée, who was not to be found. it was eleven o'clock in the morning, and charny was asleep, after the troubled night he had gone through. the queen, attired in an elegant morning dress, entered the corridor. the doctor advised her to present herself suddenly, determined to produce a crisis, either for good or ill; but at the door they found a woman standing, who had not time to assume her usual unmoved tranquillity, but showed an agitated countenance, and trembled before them. "andrée!" cried the queen. "yes, your majesty; you are here too!" "i sent for you, but they could not find you." andrée, anxious to hide her feelings, even at the price of a falsehood, said, "i heard your majesty had asked for me, and came after you." "how did you know i was here?" "they said you were gone with doctor louis, so i guessed it." "well guessed," replied the queen, who was little suspicious, and forgot immediately her first surprise. she went on, leaving andrée with the doctor. andrée, seeing her disappear, gave a look full of anger and grief. the doctor said to her: "do you think she will succeed?" "succeed in what?" "in getting this poor fellow removed, who will die here." "will he live elsewhere?" asked andrée, surprised. "i believe so." "oh, then, may she succeed!" chapter liii. convalescence. the queen walked straight up to where charny lay, dressed, on a couch. he raised his head, wakened by her entrance. "the queen!" cried he, trying to rise. "yes, sir, the queen," she replied, "who knows how you strive to lose both reason and life; the queen, whom you offend both dreaming and waking; the queen, who cares for your honor and your safety, and therefore comes to you. is it possible," continued she, "that a gentleman, formerly renowned like you for his loyalty and honor, should become such an enemy as you have been to the reputation of a woman? what will my enemies do, if you set them the example of treason?" "treason!" stammered charny. "yes, sir. either you are a madman, and must be forcibly prevented from doing harm; or you are a traitor, and must be punished." "oh, madame, do not call me a traitor! from the mouth of a king, such an accusation would precede death; from the mouth of a woman, it is dishonor. queen, kill me, or spare me!" "are you in your right mind, m. de charny?" said the queen, in a moved voice. "yes, madame." "do you remember your wrongs towards me, and towards the king?" "mon dieu!" he murmured. "for you too easily forget, you gentlemen, that the king is the husband of the woman whom you insult, by raising your eyes to her--that he is the father of your future master, the dauphin; you forget, also, that he is a greater and better man than any of you--a man whom i esteem and love." "oh!" murmured charny, with a groan, and seemed ready to faint. this cry pierced the queen's heart; she thought he was about to die, and was going to call for assistance; but, after an instant's reflection, she went on: "let us converse quietly, and be a man. doctor louis has vainly tried to cure you; your wound, which was nothing, has been rendered dangerous through your own extravagances. when will you cease to present to the good doctor the spectacle of a scandalous folly which disquiets him? when will you leave the castle?" "madame," replied charny, "your majesty sends me away; i go, i go!" and he rose with a violent effort, as though he would have fled that instant, but, unable to stand, fell almost into the arms of the queen, who had risen to stop him. she replaced him on the sofa; a bloody foam rose to his lips. "ah, so much the better!" cried he; "i die, killed by you!" the queen forgot everything but his danger; she supported his drooping head on her shoulders, and pressed her cold hands to his forehead and heart. her touch seemed to revive him as if by magic--he lived again; then she wished to fly, but he caught hold of her dress, saying: "madame, in the name of the respect which i feel for you----" "adieu, adieu!" cried the queen. "oh, madame, pardon me!" "i do pardon you." "madame, one last look." "m. de charny," said the queen, trembling, "if you are not the basest of men, to-morrow you will be dead, or have left this castle." he threw himself at her feet; she opened the door, and rushed away. andrée saw for an instant the young man on his knees before her, and felt struck with both hate and despair. she thought, as she saw the queen return, that god had given too much to this woman in adding to her throne and her beauty this half-hour with m. de charny. the doctor, occupied only with the success of the negotiation, said, "well, madame, what will he do?" "he will leave," replied the queen; and, passing them quickly, she returned to her apartment. the doctor went to his patient, and andrée to her room. doctor louis found charny a changed man, declaring himself perfectly strong, asking the doctor how he should be moved, and when he should be quite well, with so much energy that the doctor feared it was too much, and that he must relapse after it. he was, however, so reasonable as to feel the necessity of explaining this sudden change. "the queen has done me more good by making me ashamed of myself," he said, "than you, dear doctor, with all your science. she has vanquished me by an appeal to my amour propre." "so much the better," said the doctor. "yes. i remember that a spaniard--they are all boasters--told me one day, to prove the force of his will, that it sufficed for him in a duel which he had fought, and in which he had been wounded, to will that the blood should not flow in the presence of his adversary in order to retain it. i laughed at him. however, i now feel something like it myself; i think that if my fever and delirium wished to return, i could chase them away, saying, fever and delirium, i forbid you to appear!" "we know such things are possible," replied the doctor. "allow me to congratulate you, for you are cured morally." "oh yes." "well, the physical cure will soon follow. once sound in mind, you will be sound in body within a week." "thanks, doctor." "and, to begin, you must leave this place." "i am ready immediately." "oh, we will not be rash; we will wait till this evening. where will you go?" "anywhere--to the end of the world if you like." "that is too far for a first journey; we will content ourselves with versailles. i have a house there where you shall go to-night." accordingly, that evening the four valets, who had been so rudely repulsed before, carried him to his carriage. the king had been hunting all day; charny felt somewhat uneasy at leaving without apprizing him; but the doctor promised to make his excuses. andrée, concealed behind her curtains, saw the carriage drive off. "if he resumes his desire to die," thought the doctor, "at least it will not be in my rooms, and under my care." charny arrived safely, however, and the next day the doctor found him so well, that he told him he thought he would require him no longer. he received a visit from his uncle, and from an officer sent by the king to inquire after him. at the end of a week he could ride slowly on horseback: then the doctor advised him to go for a time to his estates in picardy to regain strength. he accordingly took leave of the king, charged m. de suffren with his adieus to the queen, who was ill that evening, and set off for his château at boursonnes. chapter liv. two bleeding hearts. on the day following the queen's visit to m. de charny, madlle. de taverney entered the royal bedroom as usual at the hour of the petite toilette. the queen was just laughing over a note from madame de la motte. andrée, paler than usual, looked cold and grave: the queen, however, being occupied, did not notice it, but merely turning her head, said in her usual friendly tone, "bon jour, petite." at last, however, andrée's silence struck her, and looking up she saw her sad expression and said, "mon dieu! andrée, what is the matter? has any misfortune happened to you?" "yes, madame, a great one." "what is it?" "i am going to leave your majesty." "leave me!" "yes, madame." "where are you going? and what is the cause of this sudden departure?" "madame, i am not happy in my affections; in my family affections, i mean," added andrée, blushing. "i do not understand you--you seemed happy yesterday." "no, madame," replied andrée, firmly. "yesterday was one of the unhappy days of my life." "explain yourself." "it would but fatigue your majesty, and the details are not worthy of your hearing. suffice it to say, that i have no satisfaction in my family--that i have no good to expect in this world. i come, therefore, to beg your majesty's permission to retire into a convent." the queen rose, and although with some effort to her pride, took andrée's hand, and said: "what is the meaning of this foolish resolution? have you not to-day, like yesterday, a father and a brother? and were they different yesterday from to-day? tell me your difficulties. am i no longer your protectress and mother?" andrée, trembling, and bowing low, said, "madame, your kindness penetrates my heart, but does not shake my resolution. i have resolved to quit the court. i have need of solitude. do not force me to give up the vocation to which i feel called." "since yesterday?" "i beg your majesty not to make me speak on this point." "be free, then," said the queen, rather bitterly; "only i have always shown you sufficient confidence for you to have placed some in me. but it is useless to question one who will not speak. keep your secrets, and i trust you will be happier away than you have been here. remember one thing, however, that my friendship does not expire with people's caprices, and that i shall ever look on you as a friend. now, go, andrée; you are at liberty. but where are you going to?" "to the convent of st. denis, madame." "well, mademoiselle, i consider you guilty towards me of ingratitude and forgetfulness." andrée, however, left the room and the castle without giving any of those explanations which the good heart of the queen expected, and without in any way softening or humbling herself. when she arrived at home, she found philippe in the garden--the brother dreamed, while the sister acted. at the sight of andrée, whose duties always kept her with the queen at that hour, he advanced, surprised, and almost frightened, which was increased when he perceived her gloomy look. he questioned her, and she told him that she was about to leave the service of the queen, and go into a convent. he clasped his hands, and cried, "what! you also, sister?" "i also! what do you mean?" "'tis a cursed contact for us, that of the bourbons. you wish to take religious vows; you, at once the least worldly of women, and the least fitted for a life of asceticism. what have you to reproach the queen with?" "i have nothing to reproach her with; but you, philippe, who expected, and had the right to expect, so much--why did not you remain at court? you did not remain there three days; i have been there as many years." "she is capricious, andrée." "you, as a man, might put up with it. i, a woman, could not, and do not wish to do so." "all this, my sister, does not inform me what quarrel you have had with her." "none, philippe, i assure you. had you any when you left her? oh, she is ungrateful!" "we must pardon her, andrée; she is a little spoiled by flattery, but she has a good heart." "witness what she has done for you, philippe." "what has she done?" "you have already forgotten. i have a better memory, and with one stroke pay off your debts and my own." "very dear, it seems to me, andrée--to renounce the world at your age, and with your beauty. take care, dear sister, if you renounce it young, you will regret it old, and will return to it when the time will be passed, and you have outlived all your friends." "you do not reason thus for yourself, brother. you are so little careful of your fortunes, that when a hundred others would have acquired titles and gold, you have only said--she is capricious, she is perfidious, and a coquette, and i prefer not to serve her. therefore, you have renounced the world, though you have not entered into a monastery." "you are right, sister; and were it not for our father----" "our father! ah, philippe! do not speak of him," replied andrée, bitterly. "a father should be a support to his children, or accept their support. but what does ours do? could you confide a secret to m. de taverney, or do you believe him capable of confiding in you? m. de taverney is made to live alone in this world." "true, andrée, but not to die alone." "ah, philippe! you take me for a daughter without feeling, but you know i am a fond sister; and to have been a good daughter, required only to have had a father; but everything seems to conspire to destroy in me every tender feeling. it never happens in this world that hearts respond; those whom we choose prefer others." philippe looked at her with astonishment. "what do you mean?" said he. "nothing," replied andrée, shrinking from a confidence. "i think my brain is wandering; do not attend to my words." "but----" andrée took his hand. "enough on this subject, my dearest brother. i am come to beg you to conduct me to the convent of st. denis; but be easy, i will take no vows. i can do that at a later period, if i wish. instead of going, like most women, to seek forgetfulness, i will go to seek memory. it seems to me that i have too often forgotten my creator. he is the only consolation, as he is really the only afflictor. in approaching him more nearly, i shall do more for my happiness than if all the rich and great in this world had combined to make life pleasant to me." "still, andrée, i oppose this desperate resolution, for you have not confided to me the cause of your despair!" "despair!" said she, with a disdainful air. "no, thank god, i am not despairing; no, a thousand times, no." "this excess of disdain shows a state of mind which cannot last. if you reject the word 'despair,' i must use that of 'pique.'" "pique! do you believe that i am so weak as to yield up my place in the world through pique? judge me by yourself, philippe; if you were to retire to la trappe, what would you call the cause of your determination?" "i should call it an incurable grief." "well, philippe, i adopt your words, for they suit me." "then," he replied, "brother and sister are alike in their lives: happy together, they have become unhappy at the same time." then, thinking further remonstrance useless, he asked, "when do you want to go?" "to-morrow, even to-day, if it were possible." "i shall be ready whenever you require me." andrée retired to make her preparations. soon she received this note from philippe: "you can see our father at five o'clock this evening. you must be prepared for reproaches, but an adieu is indispensable." she answered: "at five o'clock i will be with m. de taverney all ready to start, and by seven we can be at st. denis, if you will give me up your evening." chapter lv. the minister of finance. we have seen that the queen, before receiving andrée, was smiling over a note from madame de la motte. she was, however, rendered serious by the interview with mademoiselle de taverney. scarcely had she gone, when madame de misery came to announce m. de calonne. he was a man of much intellect, but, foreseeing that disaster was hanging over france, determined to think only of the present, and enjoy it to the utmost. he was a courtier, and a popular man. m. de necker had shown the impossibility of finding finances, and called for reforms which would have struck at the estates of the nobility and the revenues of the clergy; he exposed his designs too openly, and was overwhelmed by a torrent of opposition; to show the enemy your plan of attack is half to give them the victory. calonne, equally alive to the danger, but seeing no way of escape, gave way to it. he completely carried with him the king and queen, who implicitly believed in his system, and this is, perhaps, the only political fault which louis xvi was guilty of towards posterity. m. de calonne was handsome, and had an ingratiating manner; he knew how to please a queen, and always arrived with a smile on his face, when others might have worn a frown. the queen received him graciously, and said, "have we any money, m. de calonne?" "certainly, madame; we have always money." "you are perfectly marvelous," replied she, "an incomparable financier, for you seem always ready when we want money." "how much does your majesty require?" "explain to me first how you manage to find money, when m. necker declared that there was none." "m. necker was right, madame; for when i became minister on the d of november, , there were but one thousand and two hundred francs in the public treasury. had m. necker, madame, instead of crying out, 'there is no money,' done as i have done, and borrowed , , the first year, and , , the second, and had he been as sure as i am of a new loan of , , for the third, he would have been a true financier. every one can say there is no money, but not that there is plenty." "that is what i compliment you on, sir; but how to pay all this?" "oh, madame, be sure we shall pay it," replied he, with a strange smile. "well, i trust to you," said the queen. "i have now a project, madame," replied he, bowing, "which will put , , into the pockets of the nation, and , , or , , into your own." "they will be welcome, but where are they to come from?" "your majesty is aware that money is not of the same value in all the countries of europe." "certainly. in spain gold is dearer than in france." "your majesty is perfectly right. gold in spain has been for the last five or six years worth considerably more than in france; it results that the exporters gain on eight ounces of gold, that they send from here, about the value of fourteen ounces of silver." "that is a great deal." "well, madame, i mean to raise the price of gold one-fifth of this difference, and where we have now thirty louis we shall then have thirty-two." "it is a brilliant idea!" cried the queen. "i believe it, and am happy that it meets your majesty's approbation." "always have such, and i am sure you will soon pay our debts." "but allow me, madame, to return to what you want of me," said the minister. "would it be possible to have at present--i am afraid it is too much----" calonne smiled in an encouraging manner. " , francs?" continued the queen. "oh, madame, really your majesty frightened me; i was afraid it was something great." "then you can?" "assuredly." "without the king's knowledge?" "oh, madame, that is impossible. every month all my accounts are laid before the king; however, he does not always read them." "when can i have it?" "what day does your majesty wish for it?" "on the fifth of next month." "your majesty shall have it on the third." "thanks, m. de calonne." "my greatest happiness is to please your majesty, and i beg you never will allow yourself to be embarrassed for want of money." he rose, the queen gave him her hand to kiss, and then said, "after all, this money causes me some remorse, for it is for a caprice." "never mind; some one will gain by it." "that is true; you have a charming mode of consoling one." "oh, madame, if we had none of us more reasons for remorse than you, we should all go straight to heaven." "but it will be cruel to make the poor people pay for my caprices." "have no scruples, madame; it is not the poor who will pay." "how so?" asked the queen, in some surprise. "because, madame, they have nothing to pay with." he bowed and retired. chapter lvi. the cardinal de rohan. hardly had m. de calonne traversed the gallery, when madame de la motte was shown in to the queen. "madame," said she, "the cardinal is here." she then introduced him, and took her leave. the cardinal, finding himself alone with the queen, bowed respectfully, without raising his eyes. "monsieur," said the queen, "i have heard of you what has effaced many wrongs." "permit me, madame," said he, trembling with real emotion, "to assure your majesty that these wrongs of which you speak i could explain in a few words." "i do not forbid you to justify yourself," replied she, with dignity; "but if what you are about to say throws the smallest shade upon my family or country, you will only wound me still more. let us leave this subject; and i will only see you under the fresh light, which shows you to me obliging, respectful, and devoted." "devoted until death," replied he. "but," said marie antoinette, with a smile, "at present it is a question not of death, but of ruin; and i do not wish you devoted even so far. you shall live, and not be ruined, at least, not by me; for they say you are ruining yourself." "madame!" "oh! that is your own business; only, as a friend, i would counsel you to be economical--the king would like you better." "i would become a miser to please your majesty." "oh, the king," replied she, with an accent on the word, "does not love misers either." "i will become whatever your majesty desires," replied he, with a hardly-disguised passion. "i said, then," continued she, "that you shall not be ruined for me. you have advanced money on my account, and i have the means of meeting the calls; therefore, regard the affair for the future as in my hands." "to finish it, then, it only remains for me to offer the necklace to your majesty;" and drawing out the case, he presented it to her. she took it, but did not open it, and laid it down by her side. she received kindly all his polite speeches, but as she was longing to be left alone with her diamonds, she began to answer somewhat absently. he thought she was embarrassed, and was delighted, thinking it showed, at least, an absence of indifference. he then kissed her hand, and took leave, going away full of enthusiasm and hope. jeanne was waiting for him in the carriage, and received his ardent protestations with pleasure. "well," said she, "shall you be richelieu or mazarin? have her lips given you encouragement in ambition or love? are you launched in politics or intrigue?" "do not laugh, dear countess; i am full of happiness." "already!" "assist me, and in three weeks i may be a minister." "peste! that is a long time; the next payment is in a fortnight." "ah! the queen has money, and will pay, and i shall have only the merit of the intention. it is too little; i would willingly have paid for this reconciliation with the whole sum." "make yourself easy," replied the countess; "you shall have this merit if you desire it." "i should have preferred it; the queen would then have been under an obligation to me." "monseigneur, something tells me you will have this satisfaction. are you prepared for it?" "i have mortgaged all my revenue for the ensuing year." "then you have the money?" "certainly, for this payment; after that, i do not know what i shall do." "oh, this payment will give you three quiet months; who knows what may happen in three months?" "that is true; but she said that the king wished me to incur no more debt." "two months in the ministry would set all straight." "countess!" "oh, do not be fastidious; if you do not assist yourself, others will." "you are right. where are you going now?" "back to the queen, to hear what she says of your interview." "good! i go to paris." "why? you should go this evening to the 'jeu du roi;' it is good policy to keep your ground." "no, countess; i must attend a rendezvous, for which i received a note this morning." "a rendezvous?" "yes, and a serious one, by the contents of the note. look." "a man's writing," said the countess; and, opening the note, she read: "monseigneur,--some one wishes to see you about raising an important sum of money. this person will wait on you this evening, at paris, to solicit the honor of an interview." "anonymous--some beggar?" "no, countess; no beggar would expose himself to the risk of being beaten by my servants. besides, i fancy i have seen the writing before. so au revoir, countess." "apropos, monseigneur, if you are going to get a windfall, some large sum, i understand we are to share." "countess, you have brought me luck; i shall not be ungrateful." and they separated. the cardinal was full of happy dreams: the queen had received him kindly. he would place himself at the head of her party, and make it a popular one; he would protect her, and for her sake would abandon his slothful life, and live an active one. as soon as he arrived at his hotel, he commenced burning a box full of love-letters; then he called his steward to order some economical reforms, and sat down to his history of english politics. soon he heard a ring, and a servant entered to announce the person who had written to him that morning. "ask his name," said the cardinal. the man, having inquired, returned and said: "m. le comte de cagliostro." "let him come in." the count entered. "mon dieu!" cried the cardinal, "is it possible? joseph balsamo, who was supposed to have perished in the flames?" "yes, monseigneur, more alive than ever." "but, sir, you have taken a new name." "yes, monseigneur; the other recalled too many painful recollections. possibly, you yourself would not have opened your door to joseph balsamo." "i! oh yes, sir." "then monseigneur has a better memory and more honesty than most men." "monsieur, you once rendered me a service." "am i not, monseigneur, a good specimen of the results of my elixir?" "i confess it, sir; but you seem above humanity--you, who distribute health and gold to all." "health perhaps, monseigneur, but not gold." "you make no more gold." "no, monseigneur." "why?" "because i lost the parcel of an indispensable ingredient which althotas discovered, but of which i never had the receipt. he has carried that secret with him to the grave." "he is dead, then? how, could you not preserve the life of this man, so useful to you, as you have kept yourself through so many centuries?" "because i can guard against illness, but not against such accidents as kill before i can act." "he died from an accident, then?" "the fire in which you thought i died killed him; or rather he, weary of life, chose to die." "it is strange." "no, it is natural; i have a hundred times thought of ending my life." "but you have not done so." "because i enjoy a state of youth, in which health and pleasure kept me from ennui; but he had chosen one of old age. he was a savant, and cared only for science; and thus youth, with its thousand pleasures, would have constantly drawn him from its study. an old man meditates better than a young one. althotas died a victim to his love of science: i lead a worldly life, and do nothing--i live like a planet." "oh, sir, your words and appearance bring to me dreams of my youth. it is ten years since i saw you." "yes; but if you are no longer a fine young man, you are a prince. do you remember the day when, in my cabinet, i promised you the love of the woman whose fair locks i consulted?" the cardinal turned from pale to red. terror and joy almost stopped the beating of his heart. "i remember," said he. "ah, let me try if i can still play the magician. this fair child of your dreams----" "what is she doing now?" "ah, i suspect you yourself have seen her to-day; indeed, you have not long left her." the cardinal could hardly stand. "oh, i beg, sir----" he cried. "let us speak of something else," said cagliostro, sitting down. chapter lvii. debtor and creditor. "now that we have renewed our acquaintance, let us converse," said cagliostro. "yes," replied the cardinal, "about the money you wrote of; it was a pretext, was it not?" "no, monsieur, a serious matter, as it concerns a sum of , francs." "the sum which you lent me?" cried the cardinal, growing pale. "yes, monseigneur; i love to see so good a memory in a great prince like you." the cardinal felt overwhelmed by the blow. at last, trying to smile, he said: "i thought that joseph balsamo had carried his debt with him to the tomb, as he threw the receipt into the fire." "monseigneur," replied the count, "the life of joseph balsamo is as indestructible as the sheet on which you wrote. death cannot conquer the elixir of life; fire is powerless against asbestos." "i do not understand," said the cardinal. "you soon will," replied cagliostro, producing a folded paper, which he offered to the prince. he, before opening it, cried, "my receipt!" "yes, monseigneur, your receipt." "but i saw you burn it." "true, i threw it on the fire, but by accident you had written on a piece of asbestos, so that the receipt remained uninjured among the cinders." "monsieur," said the cardinal, haughtily, for he thought this a proof that he had been suspected, "believe me, i should not have denied my debt, even without this paper; therefore you were wrong to deceive me." "i deceived you?" "yes; you made me think the paper was destroyed." "to leave you the calm enjoyment of , francs." "but, sir, why have you left such a sum for ten years unclaimed?" "i knew, monseigneur, that it was safe. various events have deprived me of my wealth; but, knowing that i had this sum in reserve, i have waited patiently until the last moment." "and has that arrived?" "alas! yes, monseigneur." "so that you can really wait no longer?" "no, monseigneur." "you want it at once?" "if it please you to pay it." the cardinal was at first silent, through despair. then he said, in a hoarse voice: "m. le comte, we unhappy princes of the earth do not improvise fortunes as quickly as you enchanters." "oh, monseigneur," said cagliostro, "i would not have asked you for this sum, had i not known beforehand that you had it." "i have , francs?" " , in gold, , in silver, and the rest in notes, which are in this buhl cabinet." the cardinal turned white. "you knew this?" "yes, monseigneur, and i know you have made great sacrifices to obtain it. i have heard that you will pay heavily for it." "oh, it is too true!" "but, monseigneur, during these ten years i have often been in want and embarrassment, yet i have kept this paper back, so as not to trouble you; therefore i do not think you can complain." "complain! oh, no, sir; when you graciously lent me such a sum, i must ever remain your debtor. but during those ten years there were twenty occasions when i could have repaid you with ease, while to-day the restitution you demand embarrasses me dreadfully. you, who know everything, who read even hearts, and penetrate the doors of cabinets, doubtless, know also the purpose for which this money was destined." "you are wrong, monseigneur," said cagliostro, coldly. "my knowledge has brought me so much misery and disappointment, that i no longer seek to penetrate the secrets of others. it concerned me to know whether you had this money, as i wished to claim it; but once having ascertained that, i did not trouble myself to think for what purpose it was destined. besides, did i know it, it might seem so grave a matter as almost to force me to waive my claim, which really at present i cannot afford to do. therefore, i prefer to be ignorant." "oh, monsieur," cried the cardinal, "do not think i wish to parade my embarrassments in order to elude my debt! you have your own interests to look to; they are guaranteed by this paper, which bears my signature--that is enough. you shall have your money, although i do not think there was any promise to pay." "your eminence is mistaken;" and opening the paper he read these words: "i acknowledge the receipt of , francs from m. joseph balsamo, which i will repay on demand. "louis de rohan." "you see, monseigneur, that i only ask my right; besides, as this was a spontaneous loan by me to a man i hardly knew, the payment might have been equally spontaneous, without waiting for me to claim it. but you did not think so. well, monseigneur, i withdraw this paper, and bid you adieu." "no, count," replied the cardinal; "a rohan must not receive lessons in generosity; besides, this is a mere question of honesty. give me the paper, sir, and i will discharge my debt." for a moment cagliostro hesitated, for the pale face and distressed air of the cardinal inclined him to pity; but quickly hardening himself he handed him the paper. m. de rohan went to the cabinet, and took out the money. "there," said he, "are your , francs; and i owe you , more for interest, which you shall have if you will give me time." "monseigneur," said cagliostro, "i lent , francs to m. de rohan, which he has paid me; he therefore owes me nothing more. i will take the notes with me, and send for the money. i thank you for your compliance with my request." then, bowing, he left the room. "well," sighed m. de rohan, "it is likely, at least, that the queen has the money, and no joseph balsamo will come and take it from her." chapter lviii. family accounts. it was the day before the first payment was due, and m. de calonne had so much to do, that he had forgotten his promise. the queen had up to this time waited patiently, relying on his word; she now, however, was beginning to grow uneasy, when she received the following note: "this evening the business with which your majesty has charged me will be settled by the council; the money will be with the queen to-morrow evening." marie antoinette recovered all her gaiety directly. after dinner the king went to the council, but in a rather bad humor. the news from russia was bad; a vessel had been lost; some of the provinces refused to pay the taxes; also a beautiful map of the world, made by himself, had that day split into two pieces. vainly, therefore, m. de calonne produced his accounts, with his usual smiling air; the king continued out of temper. for a long time he sat, as usual, drawing hieroglyphics on a piece of paper, whilst the foreign correspondence was being read, and paying little attention to what passed around him. at last, however, m. de calonne began to speak of the loan to be raised for the ensuing year. the king became attentive, and said, "always borrowing; but how is it to be repaid? that is a problem, m. de calonne, for you to solve." "sire, a loan is only turning a stream from one direction, to cause it to flow more abundantly in another. in deepening the channel, you only increase the supply; therefore, let us not think of paying, but only of obtaining present supplies." m. de calonne then explained his plans, which were approved by his colleagues. the king agreed, with a sigh. "now we have money," said m. de calonne, "let us dispose of it;" and he handed a paper to the king, with a list of pensions, gifts, and payments to be made. the king glanced at the total,--" , , francs for this--enormous!" "but, sire, one item is , francs." "which?" "the advance to the queen." "to the queen! , francs to the queen!--impossible!" "pardon, sire, it is correct." "but there must be a mistake; a fortnight ago her majesty received her money." "sire, but if her majesty has need of money; and we all know how well she employs it." "no," cried the king; "the queen does not want this money; she said to me that she preferred a vessel to jewels. the queen thinks but of france, and when france is poor, we that are rich ought to lend to france; and if she does require this money, it will be a greater merit to wait for it; and i guarantee that she will wait." the ministers applauded this patriotic speech of the king,--only m. de calonne insisted. "really, monsieur," said the king, "you are more interested for us than we are for ourselves." "the queen, sire, will accuse us of having been backward when her interests were concerned." "i will plead your cause." "but, sire, the queen never asks without necessity." "if the queen has wants, they are, i trust, less imperious than those of the poor, and she will be the first to acknowledge it." "sire!" "i am resolved," said the king; "and i fancy i hear the queen in her generosity thanking me for having so well understood her heart." m. de calonne bit his lips, and louis, content with this personal sacrifice, signed all the rest without looking at them. "calonne, you shall tell the queen yourself." "oh! sire, i beg to resign to you the honor." "so be it then. ah! here she comes, let us meet her." "i beg your majesty to excuse me," he replied, and retired quickly. the king approached the queen--she was leaning on the arm of the comte d'artois, and seemed very gay. "madame," said the king, "have you had a pleasant walk?" "yes, sire. and you an agreeable council?" "yes, madame, i have gained you , francs." "m. de calonne has kept his word," thought the queen. "only imagine, madame," continued the king; "m. de calonne had put down , francs for you, and i have struck it out,--a clear gain, therefore, of that sum." "struck it through!" cried the queen, turning pale; "but, sire----" "oh! i am so hungry, i am going to supper;" and he went away delighted with his work. "brother," said the queen, "seek m. de calonne for me." at that moment a note from him was handed to her: "your majesty will have learned that the king refused your grant. it was incomprehensible, and i retired from the council penetrated with grief." "read," said she, passing the note to the count. "and there are people," said he, "who say that we squander the revenue! this is an extraordinary proceeding----" "quite husbandlike," said the queen. "adieu, brother." "i condole with you," he replied; "and it is a lesson for me. i was going to make a request to-morrow for myself." "send for madame de la motte," said the queen, when she returned to her room. chapter lix. marie antoinette as queen, and madame de la motte as woman. the courier despatched for madame de la motte, not finding her at home, went to the hotel of the cardinal de rohan to inquire if she were there. the well-tutored swiss replied that she was not, but that he could get any message transmitted to her. the courier, therefore, left word for her to come to the queen as soon as possible. the man had hardly left the door before the message was delivered to jeanne as she sat at supper with the cardinal. she set off immediately, and was at once introduced into the queen's chamber. "oh!" cried the queen on seeing her, "i have something to tell you. the king has refused me , francs." "mon dieu!" murmured the countess. "incredible, is it not? he struck through the item; but it is useless to talk of it; you must return to paris, and tell the cardinal that since he is so kind i accept the , francs he offered me. it is selfish, i know, but what can i do?" "oh! madame!" cried jeanne, "we are lost--the cardinal no longer has the money." the queen started. "no money!" stammered she. "no, madame; an unexpected creditor claimed this money from him. it was a debt of honor, and he paid it." "the whole , francs? "yes, madame." "and he has no more?" "no, madame, he told me this an hour and a half ago, and confessed to me that he had no other resources." the queen leaned her head on her hands; then, after a few moments' reflection, she said: "this, countess, is a terrible lesson for me, and a punishment for having done anything, great or small, without the king's knowledge. it was a folly; i had no need of this necklace." "true, madame; but if the queen consulted only her absolute wants----" "i must consult before everything the tranquillity and happiness of my household. i renounce forever what has begun with so much annoyance. i will sacrifice my vanity on the altar of duty, as m. de provence would say; and beautiful as this necklace is, you shall carry it back to mm. boehmer and bossange." "carry it back?" "yes." "but, madame, your majesty has already given , francs for it." "well, i shall gain all the rest that was to have been paid for it." "but, madame, they will not like to return your money." "i give it up on condition of their breaking the contract. now, countess, that i have come to this determination, i feel at ease once more. this necklace brought with it cares and fears; diamonds cannot compensate for these. take it away, countess; the jewelers must be satisfied; they will have their necklace, and , francs into the bargain." "but m. de rohan?" "he only acted to give me pleasure, and when he is told it is my pleasure, not to have the necklace, he will understand me, i am sure; and if he is a good friend, he will approve and strengthen me in my sacrifice." saying these words, the queen held out the casket to jeanne. she did not take it. "why not ask for time, madame?" "no, countess, it is humiliation. one may humiliate one's self for a person one loves, to save a living creature, were it only a dog; but only to keep some sparkling stones--never, countess; take it away." "but, madame, it will surely become known that your majesty has had the jewels, and was obliged to return them." "no one will know anything about it. the jewelers will surely hold their tongues for , francs. take it away, countess, and thank m. de rohan for his good-will towards me. there is no time to lose; go as soon as possible, and bring me back a receipt for them." "madame, it shall be done as you wish." she first drove home, and changed her dress, which was too elegant for a visit to the jewelers. meanwhile she reflected much; she thought still it was a fault for m. de rohan to allow the queen to part with these jewels; and should she obey her orders without consulting him, would he not have reason to complain? would he not rather sell himself than let the queen return them? "i must consult him," she thought; "but, after all, he never can get the money." she then took the necklace from the case, once more to look at and admire it. " , , francs in my possession; true, it is but for an hour. to carry away such a sum in gold i should want two horses, yet how easily i hold it here! but i must decide. shall i go to the cardinal, or take it direct to the jewelers, as the queen ordered? and the receipt--in what form shall i get it, so as not to compromise the queen, the cardinal, or myself? shall i consult---- ah! if he loved me more, and could give me the diamonds." she sat down again and remained nearly an hour in deep thought. then she rose, with a strange look in her eyes, and rang the bell with a determined air. she ordered a coach, and in a few minutes she reached the house of the journalist, m. reteau de villette. chapter lx. the receipt of mm. boehmer and bossange, and the gratitude of the queen. the result of madame de la motte's visit to m. reteau de villette appeared the next day. at seven o'clock in the morning she sent to the queen the following paper: "we, the undersigned, acknowledge having received back again the diamond necklace sold to the queen for , , francs, the diamonds not suiting her majesty, who has paid us for our loss and trouble , francs. "boehmer and bossange." the queen, now tranquil about the whole affair, locked up the receipt, and thought no more of it. but, in strange contradiction to this receipt, the jewelers received a visit two days after from m. de rohan, who felt uneasy about the payment. if the instalment had not been paid, he expected to find them naturally annoyed; but to his great satisfaction they received him with smiles. "the queen has paid, then?" he asked. "no, monseigneur, the queen could not procure the money, as the king had refused it to her; but she has guaranteed the debt, and that fully satisfies us." "ah! so much the better; but how? through the countess?" "no, monseigneur. on hearing of the king's refusal, which soon became public, we wrote to madame de la motte----" "when?" "yesterday." "and she replied?" "by one word, 'wait.' that evening we received from the queen, by a courier, a letter." "a letter to you?" "or rather a guarantee, in due form." "let me see it." "oh! we would with pleasure, but her majesty enjoins that it is not to be shown to any one." "then you are safe?" "perfectly, monseigneur." "the queen acknowledges the debt?" "fully." "and engages to pay?" " , francs in three months, the rest in six;" and she adds, "let the affair rest between ourselves. you will have no cause to repent it." "i am charmed that it is settled," said the cardinal. we must now raise the veil, though, doubtless, our readers comprehend how jeanne de la motte had acted towards her benefactress, and how she had managed to satisfy both the queen and the jewelers by borrowing the pen of m. reteau. three months were thus obtained for the completion of her design of crime and deception, and within three months everything would be arranged. she went to m. de rohan, and repeated to him what the jewelers had already told him. he asked if the queen remembered his good intentions. she drew a picture of her gratitude, which enchanted him. her intention had been to sell some of the diamonds to the value of , crowns, and then pass over to england, where, when necessary, she could dispose of the remainder. but her first essay frightened her; some offered despicably small sums for the stones, others went into raptures, declaring they had never seen such diamonds but in the necklace of mm. boehmer and bossange. she abandoned this course, therefore, which she saw might soon bring about her ruin. she shut up the diamonds carefully, and resolved to wait. but her position was critical. a few words of explanation between the queen and the cardinal, and all would be discovered. she consoled herself by thinking that the cardinal was too much in love not to fall into all the snares she might lay for him. one thought alone occupied her--how to prevent their meeting. that he would not be long satisfied without an interview she knew--what should she do? persuade him to ask for one, and offend the queen by his presumption?--but then the queen would speak her anger out, and all would come to light. she must compromise her, and endeavor so to close her lips. but if they met by chance, what remained for her but flight? that was easy; a few hours would suffice. then, again, she thought of the name she would leave behind her, and bear with her; no longer a woman of rank, but a thief, whom justice only does not reach, because she is too far off. no, she would not fly, if she could help it. she would try what audacity and skill could do, remain here and act between them. "to prevent them from meeting--that is the difficulty, as he is in love, and a prince, who has a right to see the queen; and she is now grateful and will no longer fly from him; but if i excite him to too open an admiration and disgust her, i alienate them more than ever. she will take fire easily, but what i want is something to make the queen tremble as well as him; something which would give me power to say, 'if you accuse me, i will accuse you and ruin you--leave me my wealth, and i will you your honor.' this is what i must seek for, and what i must find." chapter lxi the prisoner. meanwhile a different scene was passing in the rue st. claude, where m. de cagliostro had lodged oliva in the old house, to keep her from the pursuit of the police. there she lived, retired, and almost happy: cagliostro lavished care and attentions on her, and she liked being protected by this great lord, who asked nothing from her in return. only what did he want? she often asked herself, uselessly, for he must have some object. her amour propre made her decide that after all he was in love with her; and she began to build castles in the air in which we must confess poor beausire now very rarely had a place. therefore the two visits a week paid to her by cagliostro were always eagerly looked forward to, and between them she amused herself with her dreams, and playing the great lady. however, her books were soon read through, at least such as suited her taste, and pictures and music soon wearied her. she soon began to regret her mornings passed at the windows of the rue dauphine, where she used to sit to attract the attention of the passers-by; and her delightful promenades in the quartier st. germain, where so many people used to turn to look after her. true, the police-agents were formidable people, but what availed safety if she was not amused; so she first regretted her liberty, and then regretted beausire. then she began to lose her appetite for want of fresh air, for she had been used to walk every day. one day, when she was bemoaning her fate, she received an unexpected visit from cagliostro. he gave his accustomed signal, and she opened the door, which was always kept bolted, with an eagerness which showed her delight; and, seizing his hands, she cried, in an impatient voice, "monsieur, i am ennuyée here." "this is unlucky, my dear child." "i shall die here." "really?" "yes." "well," said he, soothingly, "do not blame me, blame the lieutenant of police, who persecutes you." "you exasperate me with your sang froid, monsieur; i would rather you flew in a passion." "confess, mademoiselle, that you are unreasonable," said he, seating himself. "it is all very well for you to talk," replied she; "you come and go as you like, you breathe the fresh air, your life is full of pleasure. i vegetate in the space to which you have limited me, and your assistance, is useless to me if i am to die here." "die!" said the count, smiling. "you behave very badly to me; you forget that i love passionately." "m. beausire?" "yes, beausire, i love him. i always told you so. did you think i had forgotten him?" "so little did i think so, mademoiselle, that i bring you news of him." "ah!" "he is a charming person, young and handsome, is he not?" "full of imagination and fire, rather rough toward me, but that is his way of showing his love." "therefore i wished to take you back to him." "you did not wish that a month ago." "no, but when i see how you love him." "ah! you are laughing at me." "oh, no, you have resisted all my advances so well." "yes, have i not?" "it was your love for him." "but yours, then, was not very tenacious." "no, i am neither old enough nor ugly enough, neither poor enough nor foolish enough, to run the risk of a refusal; and i saw that you would always have preferred beausire." "oh, but," cried the coquette, using her eyes, which had remained idle so long, "this famous compact which you proposed to me, the right of always giving me your arm, of visiting me when you liked; did that give you no hope?" cagliostro did not reply, but turned his eyes as if dazzled by her glances. "let us return to beausire," she said, piqued at his indifference; "why have you not brought him here? it would have been a charity. he is free----" "because," replied cagliostro, "beausire has too much imagination, and has also embroiled himself with the police." "what has he done?" "oh, a delightful trick, a most ingenious idea; i call it a joke, but matter-of-fact people--and you know how matter-of-fact m. de crosne can be--call it a theft." "a theft!" cried oliva, frightened. "is he arrested?" "no, but he is pursued." "and is he in danger?" "that i cannot tell you; he is well hunted for, and if you were together, the chances of his being taken would be doubled." "oh, yes, he must hide, poor fellow; i will hide too; let me leave france, monsieur. pray render me this service; for if i remain shut up here, i shall end by committing some imprudence." "what do you call imprudence?" "oh, just getting some fresh air." "i do not want to prevent your getting fresh air; you would lose your beauty, and m. beausire would love you no longer. open the windows as much as you like." "oh, i see i have offended you; you care no more about me." "offended me--how?" "because you had taken a fancy to me, and i repulsed you. a man of your consequence, a handsome man like you, has a right to be angry at being rejected by a poor girl like me. but do not abandon me, sir, i entreat;" and she put her arms round his neck. "poor little thing," said he, kissing her forehead; "do not be afraid; i am not angry or offended. indeed, were you to offer me your love, i should refuse you, so much do i desire to inspire pure sentiments. besides, i should think you influenced more by gratitude than love; so we will remain as we are, and i will continue to protect you." oliva let his hand fall, humiliated, and duped by the pretended generosity of cagliostro. "oh, i shall say henceforth," she cried, "that there are men superior to what i ever thought." "all women are good," thought cagliostro, "if you only touch the right chord.--from this evening," he said aloud, "you shall move to other rooms, where the windows look on menilmontant and the bellevue. you need not fear to show yourself to the neighbors; they are all honest, simple people, who will never suspect you. only keep a little back from the window, lest any one passing through the street should see you. at least you will have air and sunshine." oliva looked pleased. "shall i conduct you there now?" "oh, yes." he took a light, and she followed him up a staircase to the third story, and entered a room, completely furnished, and ready for occupation. "one would think it was prepared for me," she said. "not for you, but for myself; i like this place, and often come here to sleep. nothing shall be wanting to make you comfortable, and your femme-de-chambre shall attend you in a quarter of an hour." and he left the room. the poor prisoner sat down by her elegant bed, murmuring, "i understand nothing of all this." chapter lxii. the look out. oliva went to bed, and slept better. she admired the count, whom she did not in the least understand. she could no longer think him timid; she did not suspect that he was only cold and insensible. she felt pleased at the perfect safety in which he assured her she was; and in the morning she examined her new rooms, and found them nobly and luxuriously furnished, and enjoyed immensely her privilege of going out into the balcony, filled with flowers, and where she got sunshine and fresh air, although she drew back whenever she saw any one approaching, or heard a carriage coming. there were not many, however, in the rue st. claude. she could see the château of menilmontant, the great trees in the cemetery, myriads of houses of all colors; and she could see the fields beyond, full of children at play, and the peasants trotting along the roads on their donkeys. all this charmed oliva, who had always a heart of love for the country, since she had left taverney maison-rouge. at last, getting tired of this distant view, she began to examine the houses opposite to her. in some, she saw birds in cages; and in one, hung with yellow silk curtains, and ornamented with flowers, she thought she could distinguish a figure moving about. she called her femme-de-chambre to make inquiries about them; but the woman could only show her mistress all the churches, and tell her the names of the streets; she knew nothing of the neighbors. oliva therefore sent her away again, and determined to watch for herself. she saw some open their doors, and come out for a walk, and others variously occupied. at last she saw the figure of a woman seat herself in an armchair, in the room with the yellow curtains, and abandon her head for an hour and a half to a hair-dresser, while he built up one of those immense edifices worn at that time, in which minerals, vegetables, and even animals, were introduced. at last, it was complete: oliva thought she looked pretty, and admired her little foot, encased in a rose-colored slipper, which rested on another chair. she began to construct all sorts of romances about this lady, and made various movements to attract her attention, but she never turned her eyes that way, as that room had never before been occupied, and she began to despair. the lady was, of course, jeanne de valois, who was deeply absorbed in devising some scheme for preventing the queen and the cardinal from meeting. at last, oliva, turning suddenly round, knocked over a flower-pot which fell from the balcony with a crash: at the sound the lady turned and saw her, and clasping her hands she called out, "the queen;" but looking again, she murmured, "oh! i sought for a means to gain my end, and i have found one." then, hearing a sound behind her, oliva turned and saw cagliostro, and came in directly. chapter lxiii. the two neighbors. cagliostro recommended her using the greatest circumspection, and, above all, not to make friends with her neighbors; but she did not feel disposed to relinquish the intercourse which she hoped for with her fair neighbor opposite. she, however, promised to obey him; but he was no sooner gone than she returned to her balcony, hoping to attract her attention again. nor was she disappointed, for jeanne, who was watching for her, acknowledged her with a bow and by kissing her hand. this went on for two days. jeanne was ever ready to wave her a good morning, or an adieu when she went out. cagliostro, at his next visit, informed oliva that an unknown person had paid a visit to her hotel. "what do you mean?" cried oliva. "a very pretty and elegant lady presented herself here, and asked the servant who inhabited this story, and wished to see you. i fear you are discovered; you must take care, the police have female spies as well as male, and i warn you, that if m. de crosne claims you, i cannot refuse to give you up." oliva was not at all frightened, she recognized the portrait of her opposite neighbor, and felt delighted at this advance, but she dissembled with the count, and said, "oh! i am not at all frightened; no one has seen me; she could not have meant me." "but she said a lady in these rooms." "well, i will be more careful than ever, and, besides, this house is so impenetrable." "yes, without climbing the wall, which is not easy, or opening the little door with a key like mine, which i never lend, no one can come in, so i think you are safe." oliva overwhelmed the count with thanks and protestations, but at six o'clock the next morning she was out in the balcony. she had not long to wait before jeanne appeared, who, after looking cautiously up and down the street, and observing that all the doors and windows were still closed, and that everything was quiet, called across, "i wish to pay you a visit, madame; is it impossible to see you?" "alas, yes!" said oliva. "can i send a letter?" "oh, no!" jeanne, after a moment's thought, left her balcony, but soon returned with a cross-bow, with which she shot a little wooden ball right through the open window of oliva's room. she picked it up and found wrapped round it the following note: "you interest me, beautiful lady. i find you charming, and love you only by having seen you. are you a prisoner? i vainly tried to obtain admission to you. does the enchanter who guards you never let any one approach you? will you be my friend? if you cannot go out, you can at least write, and as i go out when i please, wait till you see me pass, and then throw out your answer. tie a thread to your balcony, and attach your note to it; i will take it off and fasten mine on, and in the dark no one will observe us. if your eyes have not deceived me, i count on a return of my affection and esteem, and between us we will outwit any one. "your friend." oliva trembled with joy when she read this note. she replied as follows: "i love you as you love me. i am a victim of the wickedness and cruelty of men; but he who keeps me here is a protector and not a tyrant; he comes to see me nearly every day. i will explain all this some day; but, alas! i cannot go out; i am locked up. oh! if i could but see you; there is so much we cannot write. "your friend, "oliva legay." then, when evening came, she let the thread fall over the balcony. jeanne, who was below, caught it, and half an hour afterwards attached to it the following answer: "you seem generally alone. how is your house secured--with a key? who has this key? could you not borrow or steal it? it would be no harm, but would procure you a few hours of liberty, or a few walks with a friend, who would console you for all your misfortune." oliva devoured this eagerly. she had remarked that when the count came in he put down his lantern and the key on a chiffonier. so she prepared some wax to take the impression of the key at his first visit. this she accomplished without his once turning to look at her, and as soon as he was gone, she put it into a little box, and lowered it to jeanne, with a note. the next day she received the following answer: "my dearest, "to-night, at eleven o'clock, you will descend and unlock the door, when you will find yourself in the arms of your faithful friend." oliva felt more charmed than with the most tender love-letter that she had ever received. at the appointed time she went down and met jeanne, who embraced her tenderly, and made her get into a carriage that waited a little way off; they remained out two hours, and parted with kisses and protestations of affection. jeanne learned the name of oliva's protector; she feared this man, and determined to preserve the most perfect mystery as to her plans. oliva had confided everything to her about beausire, the police, and all. jeanne gave herself out for a young lady of rank, living here secretly, without the knowledge of her friends. one knew all, the other nothing. from this day, then, it was no longer necessary to throw out notes; jeanne had her key, and carried off oliva whenever she pleased. "m. de cagliostro suspects nothing?" she often asked oliva. "oh! no," she would reply; "i do not think he would believe it if i told him." a week passed thus. chapter lxiv. the rendezvous. when charny arrived at his estates, the doctor ordered him to keep within doors, and not receive visitors; orders which he rigorously obeyed, to the great disappointment of all the young ladies in the neighborhood, who were most anxious to see this young man, reputed to be at once so brave and so handsome. his malady, however, was more mental than bodily; he was devoured by regrets, by longings, and by ennui; so, after a week, he set off one night on horseback, and, before the morning, was at versailles. he found a little house there, outside the park, which had been empty for some time; it had been inhabited by one of the king's huntsmen, who had cut his throat, and since then the place had been deserted. there charny lived in profound solitude; but he could see the queen from afar when she walked in the park with her ladies, and when she went in again he could see her windows from his own, and watch her lights every evening until they disappeared; and he even fancied he could see her shadow pass before the window. one evening he had watched all this as usual, and after sitting two hours longer at his window, was preparing to go to bed, for midnight was striking from a neighboring clock, when the sound of a key turning in a lock arrested his attention. it was that of a little door leading into the park, only twenty paces from his cottage, and which was never used, except sometimes on hunting-days. whoever it was that entered did not speak, but closed it again quietly, and entered an avenue under his windows. at first charny could not distinguish them through the thick wood, though he could hear the rustling of dresses; but as they emerged into an open space, and bright moonlight, he almost uttered a cry of joy in recognizing the tournure of marie antoinette, and a glimpse of her face; she held in her hand a beautiful rose. stifling his emotion, he stepped down as quietly as possible into the park, and hid behind a clump of trees, where he could see her better. "oh!" thought he, "were she but alone, i would brave tortures, or death itself, that i might once fall on my knees before her, and tell her, 'i love you!'" oh, were she but menaced by some danger, how gladly would he have risked his life to save hers. suddenly the two ladies stopped, and the shortest, after saying a few words to her companion in a low voice, left her. the queen, therefore, remained alone, and charny felt inclined to run towards her; but he reflected that the moment she saw him she would take fright, and call out, and that her cries would first bring back her companion, and then the guards; that his retreat would be discovered, and he should be forced to leave it. in a few minutes the other lady reappeared, but not alone. behind her came a man muffled up in a large cloak, and whose face was concealed by a slouch hat. this man advanced with an uncertain and hesitating step to where the queen stood, when he took off his hat and made a low bow. the surprise which charny felt at first soon changed into a more painful feeling. why was the queen in the park at this time of night? who was this man who was waiting for her, and whom she had sent her companion to fetch? then he remembered that the queen often occupied herself with foreign politics, much to the annoyance of the king. was this a secret messenger from schoenbrunn, or from berlin? this idea restored him to some degree of composure. the queen's companion stood a few steps off, anxiously watching lest they should be seen; but it was as necessary to guard against spies in a secret political rendezvous as in one of love. after a short time charny saw the gentleman bow to the ground, and turn to leave, when the companion of the queen said to him, "stop." he stopped, and the two ladies passed close to charny, who could even recognize the queen's favorite scent, vervain, mixed with mignonette. they passed on, and disappeared. a few moments after the gentleman passed; he held in his hand a rose, which he pressed passionately to his lips. did this look political? charny's head turned; he felt a strong impulse to rush on this man and tear the flower from him, when the queen's companion reappeared, and said, "come, monseigneur." he joined her quickly, and they went away. charny remained in a distracted state, leaning against the tree. chapter lxv. the queen's hand. when charny reentered the house, he felt overwhelmed by what he had seen--that he should have discovered this retreat, which he had thought so precious, only to be the witness of a crime, committed by the queen against her conjugal duty and royal dignity. this man must be a lover; in vain did he try to persuade himself that the rose was the pledge of some political compact, given instead of a letter, which might have been too compromising. the passionate kiss which he had seen imprinted on it forbade this supposition. these thoughts haunted him all night and all the next day, through which he waited with a feverish impatience, fearing the new revelations which the night might bring forth. he saw her taking her ordinary walk with her ladies, then watched the lights extinguished one by one, and he waited nervously for the stroke of midnight, the hour of the rendezvous of the preceding night. it struck, and no one had appeared. he then wondered how he could have expected it; she surely would not repeat the same imprudence two nights following. but as these thoughts passed through his mind, he heard the key turn again and saw the door open. charny grew deadly pale when he recognized the same two figures enter the park. "oh, it is too much," he said to himself, and then repeated his movements of the night before, swearing that, whatever happened, he would restrain himself, and remember that she was his queen. all passed exactly as the night before: the confidante left and returned with the same man; only this time, instead of advancing with his former timid respect, he almost ran up to the queen, and kneeled down before her. charny could not hear what he said, but he seemed to speak with passionate energy. she did not reply, but stood in a pensive attitude; then he spoke again, and at last she said a few words, in a low voice, when the unknown cried out, in a loud voice, so that charny could hear, "oh! thanks, your majesty, till to-morrow, then." the queen drew her hood still more over her face, and held out both her hands to the unknown, who imprinted on them a kiss so long and tender that charny gnashed his teeth with rage. the queen then took the arm of her companion and walked quickly away; the unknown passed also. charny remained in a state of fury not to be described; he ran about the park like a madman: at last he began to wonder where this man came from; he traced his steps to the door behind the baths of apollo. he comes not from versailles, but from paris, thought charny, and to-morrow he will return, for he said, "to-morrow." till then let me devour my tears in silence, but to-morrow shall be the last day of my life, for we will be four at the rendezvous. chapter lxvi. woman and queen. the next night the door opened at the same time, and the two ladies appeared. charny had taken his resolution--he would find out who this lover was; but when he entered the avenue he could see no one--they had entered the baths of apollo. he walked towards the door, and saw the confidante, who waited outside. the queen, then, was in there alone with her lover; it was too much. charny was about to seize this woman, and force her to tell him everything; but the rage and emotion he had endured were too much for him--a mist passed over his eyes, internal bleeding commenced, and he fainted. when he came to himself again, the clock was striking two, the place was deserted, and there was no trace of what had passed there. he went home, and passed a night almost of delirium. the next morning he arose, pale as death, and went towards the castle of trianon just as the queen was leaving the chapel. all heads were respectfully lowered as she passed. she was looking beautiful, and when she saw charny she colored, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. "i thought you were in the country, m. de charny," she said. "i have returned, madame," said he, in a brusque and almost rude tone. she looked at him in surprise; then, turning to the ladies, "good morning, countess," she said to madame de la motte, who stood near. charny started as he caught sight of her, and looked at her almost wildly. "he has not quite recovered his reason," thought the queen, observing his strange manner. then, turning to him again, "how are you now, m. de charny?" said she, in a kind voice. "very well, madame." she looked surprised again; then said: "where are you living?" "at versailles, madame." "since when?" "for three nights," replied he, in a marked manner. the queen manifested no emotion, but jeanne trembled. "have you not something to say to me?" asked the queen again, with kindness. "oh, madame, i should have too much to say to your majesty." "come," said she, and she walked towards her apartments; but to avoid the appearance of a tête-à-tête, she invited several ladies to follow her. jeanne, unquiet, placed herself among them; but when they arrived, she dismissed madame de misery, and the other ladies, understanding that she wished to be alone, left her. charny stood before her. "speak," said the queen; "you appear troubled, sir." "how can i begin?" said charny, thinking aloud; "how can i dare to accuse honor and majesty?" "sir!" cried marie antoinette, with a flaming look. "and yet i should only say what i have seen." the queen rose. "sir," said she, "it is very early in the morning for me to think you intoxicated, but i can find no other solution for this conduct." charny, unmoved, continued, "after all, what is a queen?--a woman. and am i not a man as well as a subject?" "monsieur!" "madame, anger is out of place now. i believe i have formerly proved that i had respect for your royal dignity. i fear i proved that i had an insane love for yourself. choose, therefore, to whom i shall speak. is it to the queen, or the woman, that i shall address my accusation of dishonor and shame?" "monsieur de charny," cried the queen, growing pale, "if you do not leave this room, i must have you turned out by my guards!" "but i will tell you first," cried he, passionately, "why i call you an unworthy queen and woman! i have been in the park these three nights!" instead of seeing her tremble, as he believed she would on hearing these words, the queen rose, and, approaching him, said, "m. de charny, your state excites my pity. your hands tremble, you grow pale; you are suffering. shall i call for help?" "i saw you!" cried he again; "saw you with that man to whom you gave the rose! saw you when he kissed your hands! saw you when you entered the baths of apollo with him!" the queen passed her hands over her eyes, as if to make sure that she was not dreaming. "sit down," said she, "or you will fall." charny, indeed, unable to keep up, fell upon the sofa. she sat down by him. "be calm," said she, "and repeat what you have just said." "do you want to kill me?" he murmured. "then let me question," she said. "how long have you returned from the country?" "a fortnight." "where do you live?" "in the huntsman's house, which i have hired." "at the end of the park?" "yes." "you speak of some one whom you saw with me." "yes." "where?" "in the park." "when?" "at midnight. tuesday, for the first time, i saw you and your companion." "oh, i had a companion! do you know her also?" "i thought just now i recognized her, but i could not be positive, because it was only the figure--she always hid her face, like all who commit crimes." "and this person to whom you say i gave a rose?" "i have never been able to meet him." "you do not know him, then?" "only that he is called monseigneur." the queen stamped her foot. "go on!" said she. "tuesday i gave him a rose----" "wednesday you gave him your hands to kiss, and yesterday you went alone with him into the baths of apollo, while your companion waited outside." "and you saw me?" said she, rising. he lifted his hands to heaven, and cried, "i swear it!" "oh, he swears!" "yes. on tuesday you wore your green dress, moirée, with gold; wednesday, the dress with great blue and brown leaves; and yesterday, the same dress that you wore when i last kissed your hand. oh, madame, i am ready to die with grief and shame while i repeat that, on my life, my honor, it was really you!" "what can i say?" cried the queen dreadfully agitated. "if i swore, he would not believe me." charny shook his head. "madman!" cried she, "thus to accuse your queen--to dishonor thus an innocent woman! do you believe me when i swear, by all i hold sacred, that i was not in the park on either of those days after four o'clock? do you wish it to be proved by my women--by the king? no; he does not believe me." "i saw you," replied he. "oh, i know!" she cried. "did they not see me at the ball at the opera, at mesmer's, scandalizing the crowd? you know it--you, who fought for me!" "madame, then i fought because i did not believe it; now i might fight, but i believe." the queen raised her arms to heaven, while burning tears rolled down her cheeks. "my god," she cried, "send me some thought which will save me! i do not wish this man to despise me." charny, moved to the heart, hid his face in his hands. then, after a moment's silence, the queen continued: "sir, you owe me reparation. i exact this from you. you say you have seen me three nights with a man; i have been already injured through the resemblance to me of some woman, i know not whom, but who is like her unhappy queen; but you are pleased to think it was me. well, i will go with you into the park; and if she appears again, you will be satisfied? perhaps we shall see her together; then, sir, you will regret the suffering you have caused me." charny pressed his hands to his heart. "oh, madame, you overwhelm me with your kindness!" "i wish to overwhelm you with proofs. not a word, to any one, but this evening, at ten o'clock, wait alone at the door of the park. now go, sir." charny kneeled, and went away without a word. jeanne, who was waiting in the ante-chamber, examined him attentively as he came out. she was soon after summoned to the queen. chapter lxvii. woman and demon. jeanne had remarked the trouble of charny, the solicitude of the queen, and the eagerness of both for a conversation. after what we have already told of the meetings between jeanne and oliva, our readers will have been at no loss to understand the scenes in the park. jeanne, when she came in to the queen, watched her closely, hoping to gather something from her; but marie antoinette was beginning to learn caution, and she guarded herself carefully. jeanne was, therefore, reduced to conjectures. she had already ordered one of her footmen to follow m. de charny; the man reported that he had gone into a house at the end of the park. "there is, then, no more doubt," thought jeanne; "it is a lover who has seen everything, it is clear. i should be a fool not to understand. i must undo what i have done." on leaving versailles, she drove to the rue st. claude; there she found a superb present of plate, sent to her by the cardinal. she then drove to his house, and found him radiant with joy and pride. on her entrance he ran to meet her, calling her "dear countess," and full of protestations and gratitude. "thank you also, for your charming present. you are more than a happy man; you are a triumphant victor." "countess, it frightens me; it is too much." jeanne smiled. "you come from versailles?" continued he. "yes." "you have seen her?" "i have just left her." "and she said nothing?" "what do you expect that she said?" "oh, i am insatiable." "well, you had better not ask." "you frighten me. is anything wrong? have i come to the height of my happiness, and is the descent to begin?" "you are very fortunate not to have been discovered." "oh! with precautions, and the intelligence of two hearts and one mind----" "that will not prevent eyes seeing through the trees." "we have been seen?" "i fear so." "and recognized?" "oh, monseigneur, if you had been--if this secret had been known to any one, jeanne de valois would be out of the kingdom, and you would be dead." "true; but tell me quickly. they have seen people walking in the park; is there any harm in that?" "ask the king." "the king knows?" "i repeat to you, if the king knew, you would be in the bastile. but i advise you not to tempt providence again." "what do you mean, dear countess?" "do you not understand?" "i fear to understand," he replied. "i shall fear, if you do not promise to go no more to versailles." "by day?" "or by night." "impossible!" "why so, monseigneur?" "because i have in my heart a love which will end only with my life." "so i perceive," replied she, ironically; "and it is to arrive more quickly at this result that you persist in returning to the park; for most assuredly, if you do, your love and your life will end together." "oh, countess, how fearful you are--you who were so brave yesterday!" "i am always brave when there is no danger." "but i have the bravery of my race, and am happier in the presence of danger." "but permit me to tell you----" "no, countess, the die is cast. death, if it comes; but first, love. i shall return to versailles." "alone, then." "you abandon me?" "and not i alone." "she will come?" "you deceive yourself; she will not come." "is that what you were sent to tell me?" "it is what i have been preparing you for." "she will see me no more?" "never; and it is i who have counseled it." "madame, do not plunge the knife into my heart!" cried he, in a doleful voice. "it would be much more cruel, monseigneur, to let two foolish people destroy themselves for want of a little good advice." "countess, i would rather die." "as regards yourself, that is easy; but, subject, you dare not dethrone your queen; man, you will not destroy a woman." "but confess that you do not come in her name, that she does not throw me off." "i speak in her name." "it is only a delay she asks?" "take it as you wish; but obey her orders." "the park is not the only place of meeting. there are a hundred safer spots--the queen can come to you, for instance." "monseigneur, not a word more. the weight of your secret is too much for me, and i believe her capable, in a fit of remorse, of confessing all to the king." "good god! impossible." "if you saw her, you would pity her." "what can i do then?" "insure your safety by your silence." "but she will think i have forgotten her, and accuse me of being a coward." "to save her." "can a woman forgive him who abandons her?" "do not judge her like others." "i believe her great and strong. i love her for her courage and her noble heart. she may count on me, as i do on her. once more i will see her, lay bare my heart to her; and whatever she then commands, i will sacredly obey." jeanne rose. "go, then," said she, "but go alone. i have thrown the key of the park into the river. you can go to versailles--i shall go to switzerland or holland. the further off i am when the shell bursts the better." "countess, you abandon me. with whom shall i talk of her?" "oh! you have the park and the echoes. you can teach them her name!" "countess, pity me; i am in despair." "well, but do not act in so childish and dangerous a manner. if you love her so much, guard her name, and if you are not totally without gratitude, do not involve in your own ruin those who have served you through friendship. swear to me not to attempt to see or speak to her for a fortnight, and i will remain, and may yet be of service to you. but if you decide to brave all, i shall leave at once, and you must extricate yourself as you can." "it is dreadful," murmured the cardinal; "the fall from so much happiness is overwhelming. i shall die of it." "suffering is always the consequence of love. come, monseigneur, decide. am i to remain here, or start for lausanne?" "remain, countess." "you swear to obey me." "on the faith of a rohan." "good. well, then, i forbid interviews, but not letters." "really! i may write?" "yes." "and she will answer." "try." the cardinal kissed jeanne's hand again, and called her his guardian angel. the demon within her must have laughed. chapter lxviii. the night. that day, at four o'clock, a man on horseback stopped in the outskirts of the park, just behind the baths of apollo, where m. de rohan used to wait. he got off, and looked at the places where the grass had been trodden down. "here are the traces," thought he; "it is as i supposed. m. de charny has returned for a fortnight, and this is where he enters the park." and he sighed. "leave him to his happiness. god gives to one, and denies to another. but i will have proof to-night. i will hide in the bushes, and see what happens." as for charny, obedient to the queen's commands, he waited for orders; but it was half-past ten, and no one appeared. he waited with impatient anxiety. then he began to think she had deceived him, and had promised what she did not mean to perform. "how could i be so foolish--i, who saw her--to be taken in by her words and promises!" at last he saw a figure approaching, wrapped in a large black mantle, and he uttered a cry of joy, for he recognized the queen. he ran to her, and fell at her feet. "ah, here you are, sir! it is well." "ah, madame! i scarcely hoped you were coming." "have you your sword?" "yes, madame." "where do you say those people came in?" "by this door." "at what time?" "at midnight each time." "there is no reason why they should not come again to-night. you have not spoken to any one." "to no one." "come into the thick wood, and let us watch, i have not spoken of this to m. de crosne. i have already mentioned this creature to him, and if she be not arrested, he is either incapable, or in league with my enemies. it seems incredible that any one should dare to play such tricks under my eyes, unless they were sure of impunity. therefore, i think it is time to take the care of my reputation on myself. what do you think?" "oh, madame! allow me to be silent! i am ashamed of all i have said." "at least you are an honest man," replied the queen, "and speak to the accused face to face. you do not stab in the dark." "oh, madame, it is eleven o'clock! i tremble." "look about, that no one is here." charny obeyed. "no one," said he. "where did the scenes pass that you have described?" "oh, madame! i had a shock when i returned to you; for she stood just where you are at this moment." "here!" cried the queen, leaving the place with disgust. "yes, madame; under the chestnut tree." "then, sir, let us move, for they will most likely come here again." he followed the queen to a different place. she, silent and proud, waited for the proof of her innocence to appear. midnight struck. the door did not open. half an hour passed, during which the queen asked ten times if they had always been punctual. three-quarters struck--the queen stamped with impatience. "they will not come," she cried; "these misfortunes only happen to me;" and she looked at charny, ready to quarrel with him, if she saw any expression of triumph or irony: but he, as his suspicions began to return, grew so pale and looked so melancholy, that he was like the figure of a martyr. at last she took his arm, and led him under the chestnut tree. "you say," she murmured, "that it was here you saw her?" "yes, madame." "here that she gave the rose?" and the queen, fatigued and wearied with waiting and disappointment leaned against the tree, and covered her face with her hands, but charny could see the tears stealing through. at last she raised her head: "sir," said she, "i am condemned. i promised to prove to you to-day that i was calumniated; god does not permit it, and i submit. i have done what no other woman, not to say queen, would have done. what a queen! who cannot reign over one heart, who cannot obtain the esteem of one honest man. come, sir, give me your arm, if you do not despise me too much." "oh, madame!" cried he, falling at her feet, "if i were only an unhappy man who loves you, could you not pardon me?" "you!" cried she, with a bitter laugh, "you love me! and believe me infamous!" "oh, madame!" "you accuse me of giving roses, kisses, and love. no, sir, no falsehoods! you do not love me." "madame, i saw these phantoms. pity me, for i am on the rack." she took his hands. "yes, you saw, and you think it was i. well, if here under this same tree, you at my feet, i press your hands, and say to you, 'm, de charny, i love you, i have loved, and shall love no one else in this world, may god pardon me'--will that convince you? will you believe me then?" as she spoke, she came so close to him that he felt her breath on his lips. "oh!" cried charny, "now i am ready to die." "give me your arm," said she, "and teach me where they went, and where she gave the rose,"--and she took from her bosom a rose and held it to him. he took it and pressed it to his heart. "then," continued she, "the other gave him her hand to kiss." "both her hands," cried charny, pressing his burning lips passionately on hers. "now they visited, the baths--so will we; follow me to the place." he followed her, like a man in a strange, happy dream. they looked all round, then opened the door, and walked through. then they came out again: two o'clock struck. "adieu," said she; "go home until to-morrow." and she walked away quickly towards the château. when they were gone, a man rose from among the bushes. he had heard and seen all. chapter lxix. the conge. the queen went to mass the next day, which was sunday, smiling and beautiful. when she woke in the morning she said, "it is a lovely day, it makes me happy only to live." she seemed full of joy, and was generous and gracious to every one. the road was lined as usual on her return with ladies and gentlemen. among them were madame de la motte and m. de charny, who was complimented by many friends on his return, and on his radiant looks. glancing round, he saw philippe standing near him, whom he had not seen since the day of the duel. "gentlemen," said charny, passing through the crowd, "allow me to fulfil an act of politeness;" and, advancing towards philippe, he said, "allow me, m. de taverney, to thank you now for the interest you have taken in my health. i shall have the honor to pay you a visit to-morrow. i trust you preserve no enmity towards me." "none, sir," replied philippe. charny held out his hand, but philippe, without seeming to notice it, said, "here comes the queen, sir." as she approached, she fixed her looks on charny with that rash openness which she always showed in her affections, while she said to several gentlemen who were pressing round her, "ask me what you please, gentlemen, for to-day i can refuse nothing." a voice said, "madame." she turned, and saw philippe, and thus found herself between two men, of whom she almost reproached herself with loving one too much and the other too little. "m. de taverney, you have something to ask me; pray speak----" "only ten minutes' audience at your majesty's leisure," replied he, with grave solemnity. "immediately, sir--follow me." a quarter of an hour after, philippe was introduced into the library, where the queen waited for him. "ah! m. de taverney, enter," said she in a gay tone, "and do not look so sorrowful. do you know i feel rather frightened whenever a taverney asks for an audience. reassure me quickly, and tell me that you are not come to announce a misfortune." "madame, this time i only bring you good news." "oh! some news." "alas, yes, your majesty." "there! an 'alas' again." "madame, i am about to assure your majesty that you need never again fear to be saddened by the sight of a taverney; for, madame, the last of this family, to whom you once deigned to show some kindness, is about to leave the court of france forever." the queen, dropping her gay tone, said, "you leave us?" "yes, your majesty." "you also!" philippe bowed. "my sister, madame, has already had that grief; i am much more useless to your majesty." the queen started as she remembered that andrée had asked for her congé on the day following her first visit to charny in the doctor's apartments. "it is strange," she murmured, as philippe remained motionless as a statue, waiting his dismissal. at last she said abruptly, "where are you going?" "to join m. de la pérouse, madame." "he is at newfoundland." "i have prepared to join him there." "do you know that a frightful death has been predicted for him?" "a speedy one," replied philippe; "that is not necessarily a frightful one." "and you are really going?" "yes, madame, to share his fate." the queen was silent for a time, and then said, "why do you go?" "because i am anxious to travel." "but you have already made the tour of the world." "of the new world, madame, but not of the old." "a race of iron, with hearts of steel, are you taverneys. you and your sister are terrible people--you go not for the sake of traveling, but to leave me. your sister said she was called by religions duty; it was a pretext. however, she wished to go, and she went. may she be happy! you might be happy here, but you also wish to go away." "spare us, i pray you, madame; if you could read our hearts, you would find them full of unlimited devotion towards you." "oh!" cried the queen, "you are too exacting; she takes the world for a heaven, where one should only live as a saint; you look upon it as a hell--and both fly from it; she because she finds what she does not seek, and you because you do not find what you do seek. am i not right? ah! m. de taverney, allow human beings to be imperfect, and do not expect royalty to be superhuman. be more tolerant, or, rather, less egotistical." she spoke earnestly, and continued: "all i know is, that i loved andrée, and that she left me; that i valued you, and you are about to do the same. it is humiliating to see two such people abandon my court." "nothing can humiliate persons like your majesty. shame does not reach those placed so high." "what has wounded you?" asked the queen. "nothing, madame." "your rank has been raised, your fortune was progressing." "i can but repeat to your majesty that the court does not please me." "and if i ordered you to stay here?" "i should have the grief of disobeying your majesty." "oh! i know," cried she impatiently, "you bear malice; you quarreled with a gentleman here, m. de charny, and wounded him; and because you see him returned to-day, you are jealous, and wish to leave." philippe turned pale, but replied, "madame, i saw him sooner than you imagine, for i met him at two o'clock this morning by the baths of apollo." it was now the queen's time to grow pale, but she felt a kind of admiration for one who had retained so much courtesy and self-command in the midst of his anger and grief. "go," murmured she at length, in a faint voice, "i will keep you no longer." philippe bowed, and left the room, while the queen sank, terrified and overwhelmed, on the sofa. chapter lxx. the jealousy of the cardinal. the cardinal passed three nights very different to those when he went to the park, and which he constantly lived over again in his memory. no news of any one, no hope of a visit; nothing but a dead silence, and perfect darkness, after such brightness and happiness. he began to fear that, after all, his sacrifice had been displeasing to the queen. his uneasiness became insupportable. he sent ten times in one day to madame de la motte: the tenth messenger brought jeanne to him. on seeing her he cried out, "how! you live so tranquilly; you know my anxiety, and you, my friend, never come near me." "oh, monseigneur, patience, i beg. i have been far more useful to you at versailles than i could have been here." "tell me," replied he, "what does she say? is she less cruel?" "absence is equal pain, whether borne at versailles or at paris." "oh, i thank you, but the proofs----" "proofs! are you in your senses, monseigneur, to ask a woman for proofs of her own infidelity?" "i am not speaking of proofs for a lawsuit, countess, only a token of love." "it seems to me that you are either very exacting or very forgetful." "oh! i know you will tell me that i might be more than satisfied. but judge by yourself, countess; would you like to be thrown on one side, after having received assurances of favor?" "assurances!" "oh, certainly, i have nothing to complain of, but still----" "i cannot be answerable for unreasonable discontents." "countess, you treat me ill. instead of reproaching me for my folly, you should try to aid me." "i cannot aid you. i see nothing to do." "nothing to do?" "no." "well, madame, i do not say the same." "ah, monseigneur, anger will not help you; and besides, you are unjust." "no, countess; if you do not assist me any longer, i know it is because you cannot. only tell me the truth at once." "what truth?" "that the queen is a perfidious coquette, who makes people adore her, and then drives them to despair." jeanne looked at him with an air of surprise, although she had expected him to arrive at this state, and she felt really pleased, for she thought that it would help her out of her difficult position. "explain yourself," she said. "confess that the queen refuses to see me." "i do not say so, monseigneur." "she wishes to keep me away lest i should rouse the suspicions of some other lover." "ah, monseigneur!" cried jeanne in a tone which gave him liberty to suspect anything. "listen," continued he; "the last time i saw her, i thought i heard steps in the wood----" "folly!" "and i suspect----" "say no more, monseigneur. it is an insult to the queen; besides, even if it were true that she fears the surveillance of another lover, why should you reproach her with a past which she has sacrificed to you?" "but if this past be again a present, and about to be a future?" "fie, monseigneur, your suspicions are offensive both to the queen and to me." "then, countess, bring me a proof--does she love me at all?" "it is very simple," replied jeanne, pointing to his writing table, "to ask her." "you will give her a note?" "who else would, if not i?" "and you will bring me an answer?" "if possible." "ah! now you are a good creature, countess." he sat down, but though he was an eloquent writer, he commenced and destroyed a dozen sheets of paper before he satisfied himself. "if you go on so, you will never have done," said jeanne. "you see, countess, i fear my own tenderness, lest i displease the queen." "oh," replied jeanne, "if you write a business letter, you will get one in reply. that is your own affair." "you are right, countess; you always see what is best." he then wrote a letter, so full of loving reproaches and ardent protestations, that jeanne, when he gave it to her to read, thought, "he has written of his own accord what i never should have dared to dictate." "will it do?" asked he. "if she loves you. you will see to-morrow: till then be quiet." "till to-morrow, then." on her return home jeanne gave way to her reflections. this letter was just what she wanted. how could the cardinal ever accuse her, when he was called on to pay for the necklace? even admitting that the queen and cardinal met, and that everything was explained, how could they turn against her while she held in her hands such proofs of a scandalous secret? no, they must let her go quietly off with her fortune of a million and a half of francs. they would know she had stolen the diamonds, but they never would publish all this affair; and if one letter was not enough, she would have seven or eight. the first explosion would come from the jewelers, who would claim their money. then she must confess to m. de rohan, and make him pay by threatening to publish his letters. surely they would purchase the honor of a queen and a prince at the price of a million and a half! the jewelers once paid, that question was at an end; jeanne felt sure of her fortune. she knew that the cardinal had a conviction so firm that nothing could shake it, that he had met the queen. there was but one living witness against her, and that one she would soon cause to disappear. arrived at this point, she went to the window and saw oliva, who was watching in her balcony. she made the accustomed sign for her to come down, and oliva replied joyfully. the great thing now was to get rid of her. to destroy the instrument that has served them is the constant endeavor of those who intrigue; but here it is that they generally fail; they do not succeed in doing so before there has been time to disclose the secret. jeanne knew that oliva would not be easy to get rid of, unless she could think of something that would induce her to fly willingly. oliva, on her part, much as she enjoyed her nocturnal promenades at first, after so much confinement, was already beginning to weary of them, and to sigh once more for liberty and beausire. the night came, and they went out together; oliva disguised under a large cloak and hood, and jeanne dressed as a grisette; besides which the carriage bore the respectable arms of valois, which prevented the police, who alone might have recognized oliva, from searching it. "oh! i have been so ennuyée," cried oliva, "i have been expecting you so long." "it was impossible to come and see you, i should have run, and made you run, a great danger." "how so?" said oliva, astonished. "a terrible danger at which i still tremble. you know how ennuyée you were, and how much you wished to go out." "yes; and you assisted me like a friend." "certainly; i proposed that we should have some amusement with that officer who is rather mad, and in love with the queen, whom you resemble a little; and endeavor to persuade him that it was the queen he was walking with." "yes," said oliva. "the first two nights you walked in the park, and you played your part to perfection; he was quite taken in." "yes," said oliva, "but it was almost a pity to deceive him, poor fellow, he was so delightful." "yes, but the evil is not there. to give a man a rose, to let him kiss your hands, and call you 'your majesty,' was all good fun; but, my little oliva, it seems you did not stop here." oliva colored. "how?" stammered she. "there was a third interview." "yes," replied oliva, hastily, "you know, for you were there." "excuse me, dear friend; i was there, but at a distance. i neither saw nor heard what passed within, i only know what you told me, that he talked and kissed your hands." "oh, mon dieu!" murmured oliva. "you surely could not have exposed us both to such a terrible danger without telling me of it." oliva trembled from head to foot. jeanne continued. "how could i imagine that you, who said you loved m. beausire, and were courted by a man like count cagliostro, whom you refused; oh! it cannot be true." "but where is the danger?" asked oliva. "the danger! have we not to manage a madman, one who fears nothing, and will not be controlled. it was no great thing for the queen to give him her hand to kiss or to give him a rose; oh, my dear child, i have not smiled since i heard this." "what do you fear?" asked oliva, her teeth chattering with terror. "why, as you are not the queen, and have taken her name, and in her name have committed a folly of this kind, that is unfortunately treason. he has no proof of this--they may be satisfied with a prison or banishment." "a prison! banishment!" shrieked oliva. "i, at least, intend to take precautions and hide myself." "you fear also?" "oh! will not this madman divulge my share also? my poor oliva, this trick of yours will cost us dear." oliva burst into tears. "oh!" she cried, "i think i am possessed of a demon, that i can never rest: just saved from one danger, i must rush into another. suppose i confess all to my protector?" "a fine story to confess to him, whose advances you refused, that you have committed this imprudence with a stranger." "mon dieu! you are right." "soon this report will spread, and will reach his ears; then do you not think he will give you up to the police? even if he only send you away, what will become of you?" "oh! i am lost." "and m. beausire, when he shall hear this----?" oliva started, and wringing her hands violently, cried out, "oh, he would kill me; but no, i will kill myself. you cannot save me, since you are compromised also." "i have," replied jeanne, "in the furthest part of picardy, a little farm. if you can gain this refuge, you might be safe." "but you?" "oh, once you were gone, i should not fear him." "i will go whenever you like." "i think you are wise." "must i go at once?" "wait till i have prepared everything to insure safety; meanwhile, hide yourself, and do not come near the window." "oh yes, dear friend." "and to begin, let us go home, as there is no more to say." "how long will your preparations take?" "i do not know, but remember henceforth, until the day of your departure i shall not come to the window. when you see me there, you will know that the day has arrived, and be prepared." they returned in silence. on arriving, oliva begged pardon humbly of her friend for bringing her into so much danger through her folly. "i am a woman," replied jeanne, "and can pardon a woman's weakness." chapter lxxi. the flight. oliva kept her promise, and jeanne also. oliva hid herself from every one, and jeanne made her preparations, and in a few days made her appearance at the window as a sign to oliva to be ready that evening for flight. oliva, divided between joy and terror, began immediately to prepare. jeanne went to arrange about the carriage that was to convey her away. eleven o'clock at night had just struck when jeanne arrived with a post-chaise to which three strong horses were harnessed. a man wrapped in a cloak sat on the box, directing the postilions. jeanne made them stop at the corner of the street, saying, "remain here--half an hour will suffice--and then i will bring the person whom you are to conduct with all possible speed to amiens. there you will give her into the care of the farmer who is my tenant; he has his instructions." "yes, madame." "i forgot--are you armed? this lady is menaced by a madman; he might, perhaps, try to stop her on the road." "what should i do?" "fire on any one who tries to impede your journey." "yes, madame." "you asked me seventy louis; i will give you a hundred, and will pay the expenses of the voyage which you had better make to london. do not return here; it is more prudent for you to go to st. valery, and embark at once for england." "rely on me, madame." "well, i will go and bring the lady." all seemed asleep in that quiet house. jeanne lighted the lamp which was to be the signal to oliva, but received no answering sign. "she will come down in the dark," thought jeanne; and she went to the door, but it did not open. oliva was perhaps bringing down her packages. "the fool!" murmured the countess, "how much time she is wasting over her rubbish!" she waited a quarter of an hour--no one came; then half-past eleven struck. "perhaps she did not see my signal," thought jeanne; and she went up and lighted it again, but it was not acknowledged. "she must be ill," cried jeanne, in a rage, "and cannot move." then she took the key which oliva had given her; but just as she was about to open the door, she thought, "suppose some one should be there? but i should hear voices on the staircase, and could return. i must risk something." she went up, and on arriving outside oliva's door she saw a light inside and heard footsteps, but no voices. "it is all right," she thought; "she was only a long time getting ready." "oliva," said she softly, "open the door." the door opened, and jeanne found herself face to face with a man holding a torch in his hand. "oliva," said he, "is this you?" then, with a tone of admirably-feigned surprise, cried, "madame de la motte!" "m. de cagliostro!" said she in terror, feeling half inclined to run away; but he took her hand politely, and begged her to sit down. "to what do i owe the honor of this visit, madame?" "monsieur," said she, stammering, "i came--i sought----" "allow me, madame, to inquire which of my servants was guilty of the rudeness of letting you come up unattended?" jeanne trembled. "you must have fallen to the lot of my stupid german porter, who is always tipsy." "do not scold him, i beg you, sir," replied jeanne, who could hardly speak. "but was it he?" "i believe so. but you promise me not to scold him?" "i will not; only, madame, will you now explain to me----" jeanne began to gather courage. "i came to consult you, sir, about certain reports." "what reports?" "do not hurry me, sir; it is a delicate subject." "ah! you want time to invent," thought he. "you are a friend of m. le cardinal de rohan?" "i am acquainted with him, madame." "well, i came to ask you----" "what?" "oh, sir, you must know that he has shown me much kindness, and i wish to know if i may rely upon it. you understand me, sir? you read all hearts." "you must be a little more explicit before i can assist you, madame." "monsieur, they say that his eminence loves elsewhere in a high quarter." "madame, allow me first to ask you one question. how did you come to seek me here, since i do not live here?" jeanne trembled. "how did you get in?--for there are neither porter nor servants in this part of my hotel. it could not be me you sought here--who was it? you do not reply; i must aid you a little. you came in by the help of a key which you have now in your pocket. you came to seek a young woman whom from pure kindness i had concealed here." jeanne trembled visibly, but replied, "if it were so, it is no crime; one woman is permitted to visit another. call her; she will tell you if my friendship is a hurtful one." "madame, you say that because you know she is not here." "not here! oliva not here?" "oh you do not know that--you, who helped her to escape!" "i!" cried jeanne; "you accuse me of that?" "i convict you," replied cagliostro; and he took a paper from the table, and showed her the following words, addressed to himself: "monsieur, and my generous protector, forgive me for leaving you; but above all things i love m. beausire. he came and i follow him. adieu! believe in my gratitude!" "beausire!" cried jeanne, petrified; "he, who did not even know her address?" "oh, madame, here is another paper, which was doubtless dropped by m. beausire." the countess read, shuddering: "m. beausire will find mademoiselle oliva, rue st. claude, at the corner of the boulevard. he had better come for her at once; it is time. this is the advice of a sincere friend." "oh!" groaned the countess. "and he has taken her away," said cagliostro. "but who wrote this note?" "doubtless yourself." "but how did he get in?" "probably with your key." "but as i have it here, he could not have it." "whoever has one can easily have two." "you are convinced," replied she, "while i can only suspect." she turned and went away, but found the staircase lighted and filled with men-servants. cagliostro called out loudly before them, "madame la comtesse de la motte!" she went out full of rage and disappointment. chapter lxxii. the letter and the receipt. the day arrived for the payment of the first , francs. the jewelers had prepared a receipt, but no one came with the money in exchange for it. they passed the day and night in a state of cruel anxiety. the following day m. boehmer went to versailles, and asked to see the queen; he was told that he could not be admitted without a letter of audience. however, he begged so hard, and urged his solicitations so well among the servants, that they consented to place him in the queen's way when she went out. marie antoinette, still full of joy from her interview with charny, came along, looking bright and happy, when she caught sight of the somewhat solemn face of m. boehmer. she smiled on him, which he took for a favorable sign, and asked for an audience, which was promised him for two o'clock. on his return to bossange, they agreed that no doubt the money was all right, only the queen had been unable to send it the day before. at two o'clock boehmer returned to versailles. "what is it now, m. boehmer?" asked the queen, as he entered. boehmer thought some one must be listening, and looked cautiously around him. "have you any secret to tell?" asked the queen, in surprise. "the same as before, i suppose--some jewels to sell. but make yourself easy; no one can hear you." "ahem!" murmured boehmer, startled at his reception. "well, what?" "then i may speak out to your majesty?" "anything; only be quick." "i only wished to say that your majesty probably forgot us yesterday." "forgot you! what do you mean?" "yesterday the sum was due----" "what sum?" "pardon me, your majesty, if i am indiscreet. perhaps your majesty is not prepared. it would be a misfortune; but still----" "but," interrupted the queen, "i do not understand a word of what you are saying. pray explain yourself." "yesterday the first payment for the necklace was due." "have you sold it, then?" "certainly, your majesty," replied boehmer, looking stupefied. "and those to whom you have sold it have not paid, my poor boehmer? so much the worse; but they must do as i did, and, if they cannot pay, send it you back again." the jeweler staggered like a man who had just had a sunstroke. "i do not understand your majesty," he said. "why, boehmer, if ten purchasers were each to send it back, and give you , francs, as i did, you would make a million, and keep your necklace also." "your majesty says," cried boehmer, ready to drop, "that you sent me back the necklace!" "certainly. what is the matter?" "what! your majesty denies having bought the necklace?" "ah! what comedy is this, sir?" said the queen, severely. "is this unlucky necklace destined to turn some one's brain?" "but did your majesty really say that you had returned the necklace?" "happily," replied the queen, "i can refresh your memory, as you are so forgetful, to say nothing more." she went to her secretaire, and, taking out the receipt, showed it to him, saying, "i suppose this is clear enough?" boehmer's expression changed from incredulity to terror. "madame," cried he, "i never signed this receipt!" "you deny it!" said the queen, with flashing eyes. "positively, if i lose my life for it. i never received the necklace; i never signed the receipt. were the headsman here, or the gallows, i would repeat the same thing!" "then, sir," said the queen, "do you think i have robbed you? do you think i have your necklace?" boehmer drew out a pocket-book, and in his turn produced a letter. "i do not believe," said he, "that if your majesty had wished to return the necklace, you would have written this." "i write! i never wrote to you; that is not my writing." "it is signed," said boehmer. "yes, 'marie antoinette of france.' you are mad! do you think that is the way i sign? i am of austria. go, m. boehmer; you have played this game unskilfully; your forgers have not understood their work." "my forgers!" cried the poor boehmer, ready to faint at this new blow. "you suspect me?" "you accuse me, marie antoinette?" replied she. "but this letter?" "this receipt? give it me back, and take your letter; the first lawyer you ask will tell you how much that is worth." and taking the receipt from his trembling hands, and throwing the letter indignantly down, she left the room. the unfortunate man ran to communicate this dreadful blow to his partner, who was waiting in the carriage for him; and on their way home their gestures and cries of grief were so frantic as to attract the attention of every passer-by. at last they decided to return to versailles. immediately they presented themselves they were admitted by the order of the queen. chapter lxxiii. "roi ne puis, prince ne daigne, rohan je suis."[b] [b] the motto of the rohans. "ah!" cried the queen, immediately they entered, "you have brought a reinforcement, m. boehmer; so much the better." boehmer kneeled at her feet, and bossange followed his example. "gentlemen," said she, "i have now grown calm, and an idea has come into my head which has modified my opinion with regard to you. it seems to me that we have both been duped." "ah, madame, you suspect me no longer. forger was a dreadful word." "no, i do not suspect you now." "does your majesty suspect any one else?" "reply to my questions. you say you have not these diamonds?" "no, madame, we have not." "it then matters little to you that i sent them--that is my affair. did you not see madame de la motte?" "yes, madame." "and she gave you nothing from me?" "no, madame; she only said to us, 'wait.'" "but this letter--who brought it?" "an unknown messenger, during the night." she rang, and a servant entered. "send for madame de la motte. and," continued the queen to m. boehmer, "did you see m. de rohan?" "yes, madame; he paid us a visit in order to ask." "good!" said the queen. "i wish to hear no more now; but if he be mixed up with this affair, i think you need not despair. i think i can guess what madame de la motte meant by saying 'wait.' meanwhile, go to m. de rohan, and tell him all you have told us, and that i know it." the jewelers had a renewed spark of hope; only bossange said that the receipt was a false one, and that that was a crime. "true," replied marie antoinette, "if you did not write it, it is a crime; but to prove this i must confront you with the person whom i charged to return you the jewels." "whenever your majesty pleases; we do not fear the test." "go first to m. de rohan; he alone can enlighten you." "and will your majesty permit us to bring you his answer?" "yes; but i dare say i shall know all before you do." when they were gone she was restless and unquiet, and despatched courier after courier for madame de la motte. we will, however, leave her for the present, and follow the jewelers in their search after the truth. the cardinal was at home, reading, with a rage impossible to describe, a little note which madame de la motte had just sent him, as she said, from versailles. it was harsh, forbidding any hope, ordering him to think no more of the past, not to appear again at versailles, and ending with an appeal to his loyalty not to attempt to renew relations which were become impossible. "coquette, capricious, perfidious!" cried he. "here are four letters which she has written to me, each more unjust and tyrannical than the other. she encouraged me only for a caprice, and now sacrifices me to a new one." it was at this moment that the jewelers presented themselves. three times he refused them admittance, and each time the servant came back, saying that they would not go without an audience. "let them come in, then," said he. "what means this rudeness, gentlemen? no one owes you anything here." the jewelers, driven to despair, made a half-menacing gesture. "are you mad?" asked the cardinal. "monseigneur," replied boehmer, with a sigh, "do us justice, and do not compel us to be rude to an illustrious prince." "either you are not mad, in which case my servants shall throw you out of the window; or you are mad, and they shall simply push you out of the door." "monseigneur, we are not mad, but we have been robbed." "what is that to me? i am not lieutenant of police." "but you have had the necklace in your hands, and in justice----" "the necklace! is it the necklace that is stolen?" "yes, monseigneur." "well, what does the queen say about it?" "she sent me to you." "she is very amiable; but what can i do, my poor fellows?" "you can tell us, monseigneur, what has been done with it." "i?" "doubtless." "do you think i stole the necklace from the queen?" "it is not the queen from whom it was stolen." "mon dieu! from whom, then?" "the queen denies having had it in her possession." "how! she denies it? but i thought you had an acknowledgment from her." "she says it is a forged one." "decidedly, you are mad!" cried the cardinal. "we simply speak the truth." "then she denied it because some one was there." "no, monseigneur. and this is not all: not only does the queen deny her own acknowledgment, but she produced a receipt from us, purporting that we had received back the necklace." "a receipt from you?" "which also is a forgery, m. le cardinal--you know it." "a forgery, and i know it!" "assuredly, for you came to confirm what madame de la motte had said; and you knew that we had sold the necklace to the queen." "come," said the cardinal, "this seems a serious affair. this is what i did: first, i bought the necklace of you for her majesty, and paid you , francs." "true, monseigneur." "afterwards you told me that the queen had acknowledged the debt in writing, and fixed the periods of payment." "we said so. will your eminence look at this signature?" he looked at it, and said directly, "'marie antoinette of france:' you have been deceived, gentlemen; this is not her signature; she is of the house of austria." "then," cried the jewelers, "madame de la motte must know the forger and the robber." the cardinal appeared struck with this. he acted like the queen; he rang, and said, "send for madame de la motte." his servants went after jeanne's carriage, which had not long left the hotel. m. boehmer continued, "but where is the necklace?" "how can i tell?" cried the cardinal; "i gave it to the queen. i know no more." "we must have our necklace, or our money," cried the jewelers. "gentlemen, this is not my business." "it is madame de la motte," cried they in despair, "who has ruined us." "i forbid you to accuse her here." "some one must be guilty; some one wrote the forged papers." "was it i?" asked m. de rohan, haughtily. "monseigneur, we do not wish to say so." "well, who then?" "monseigneur, we desire an explanation." "wait till i have one myself." "but, monseigneur, what are we to say to the queen? for she accused us at first." "what does she say now?" "she says that either you or madame de la motte has the necklace, for she has not." "well," replied the cardinal, pale with rage and shame, "go and tell her--no, tell her nothing; there is scandal enough. but to-morrow i officiate at the chapel at versailles: when i approach the queen, come to us; i will ask her again if she has the necklace, and you shall hear what she replies; if she denies it before me, then, gentlemen, i am a rohan, and will pay." and with these words, pronounced with an indescribable dignity, he dismissed them. chapter lxxiv. love and diplomacy. the next morning, about ten o'clock, a carriage bearing the arms of m. de breteuil entered versailles. our readers will not have forgotten that this gentleman was a personal enemy of m. de rohan, and had long been on the watch for an opportunity of injuring him. he now requested an audience from the king, and was admitted. "it is a beautiful day," said louis to his minister; "there is not a cloud in the sky." "sire, i am sorry to bring with me a cloud on your tranquillity." "so am i," replied the king, "but what is it?" "i feel very much embarrassed, sire, more especially as, perhaps, this affair naturally concerns the lieutenant of police rather than myself, for it is a sort of theft." "a theft! well, speak out." "sire, your majesty knows the diamond necklace?" "m. boehmer's, which the queen refused?" "precisely, sire," said m. de breteuil; and ignorant of all the mischief he was about to do, he continued, "and this necklace has been stolen." "ah! so much the worse. but diamonds are very easy to trace." "but, sire, this is not an ordinary theft; it is pretended that the queen has kept the necklace." "why, she refused it in my presence." "sire, i did not use the right word; the calumnies are too gross." "ah!" said the king with a smile, "i suppose they say now that the queen has stolen the necklace." "sire," replied m. breteuil, "they say that the queen recommenced the negotiation for the purchase privately, and that the jewelers hold a paper signed by her, acknowledging that she kept it. i need not tell your majesty how much i despise all such scandalous falsehoods." "they say this!" said the king, turning pale. "what do they not say? had the queen really bought it afterwards, i should not have blamed her. she is a woman, and the necklace is marvelously beautiful; and, thank god, she could still afford it, if she wished for it. i shall only blame her for one thing, for hiding her wishes from me. but that has nothing to do with the king, only with the husband. a husband may scold his wife if he pleases, and no one has a right to interfere. but then," continued he, "what do you mean by a robbery?" "oh! i fear i have made your majesty angry." the king laughed. "come, tell me all; tell me even that the queen sold the necklace to the jews. poor woman, she is often in want of money, oftener than i can give it to her." "exactly so; about two months ago the queen asked for , francs, and your majesty refused it." "true." "well, sire, they say that this money was to have been the first payment for the necklace. the queen, being denied the money, could not pay----" "well!" "well, sire, they say the queen applied to some one to help her." "to a jew?" "no, sire; not to a jew." "oh! i guess, some foreign intrigue. the queen asked her mother, or some of her family, for money." "it would have been better if she had, sire." "well, to whom, then, did she apply?" "sire, i dare not----" "monsieur, i am tired of this. i order you to speak out at once. who lent this money to the queen?" "m. de rohan." "m. de rohan! are you not ashamed to name to me the most embarrassed man in my kingdom?" "sire," said m. de breteuil, lowering his eyes. "m. de breteuil, your manner annoys me. if you have anything to say, speak at once." "sire, i cannot bring myself to utter things so compromising to the honor of my king and queen." "speak, sir; if there are calumnies, they must be refuted." "then, sire, m. de rohan went to the jewelers, and arranged for the purchase of the necklace, and the mode of payment." "really!" cried the king, annoyed and angry. "it is a fact, sire, capable of being proved with the greatest certainty. i pledge my word for this." "this is most annoying," said the king; "but still, sir, we have not heard of a theft." "sire, the jewelers say that they have a receipt signed by the queen, and she denies having the necklace." "ah!" cried the king, with renewed hope; "she denies it, you see, m. de breteuil." "oh, sire! i never doubted her majesty's innocence. i am indeed unfortunate, if your majesty does not see all my respect for the purest of women." "then you only accuse m. de rohan?" "yes, sire. and appearances demand some inquiry into his conduct. the queen says she has not the necklace--the jewelers say they sold it to her. it is not to be found, and the word 'theft' is used as connected both with the queen and m. de rohan." "you are right, m. de breteuil; this affair must be cleared up. but who is that passing below? is it not m. de rohan going to the chapel?" "not yet, sire; he does not come till eleven o'clock, and he will be dressed in his robes, for he officiates to-day." "then i will send for him and speak to him." "permit me to advise your majesty to speak first to the queen." "yes, she will tell me the truth." "doubtless, sire." "but first tell me all you know about it." m. de breteuil, with ingenious hate, mentioned every particular which he thought could injure m. de rohan. they were interrupted by an officer, who approached the king, and said, "sire, the queen begs you will come to her." "what is it?" asked the king, turning pale. "wait here, m. de breteuil." chapter lxxv. charny, cardinal, and queen. at the same moment as m. de breteuil asked for an audience of the king, m. de charny, pale and agitated, begged one of the queen. he was admitted, and touching tremblingly the hand she held out to him, said in an agitated voice, "oh! madame, what a misfortune!" "what is the matter?" "do you know what i have just heard? what the king has perhaps already heard, or will hear to-morrow." she trembled, for she thought of her night with charny, and fancied they had been seen. "speak," said she; "i am strong." "they say, madame, that you bought a necklace from m. boehmer." "i returned it," said she quickly. "but they say that you only pretended to do so, when the king prevented you from paying for it by refusing you the money, and that you went to borrow the amount from some one else, who is your lover." "and," cried the queen, with her usual impetuous confidence, "you, monsieur--you let them say that?" "madame, yesterday i went to m. boehmer's with my uncle, who had brought some diamonds from the indies, and wished to have them valued. there we heard this frightful story now being spread abroad by your majesty's enemies. madame, i am in despair; if you bought the necklace, tell me; if you have not paid, tell me; but do not let me hear that m. de rohan paid for you." "m. de rohan!" "yes, m. de rohan, whom they call your lover--whom they say lent the money--and whom an unhappy man, called charny, saw in the park in versailles, kneeling before the queen, and kissing her hand." "monsieur," cried marie antoinette, "if you believe these things when you leave me, you do not love me." "oh!" cried the young man, "the danger presses. i come to beg you to do me a favor." "what danger?" "oh, madame! the cardinal paying for the queen dishonors her. i do not speak now of the grief such a confidence in him causes to me. no; of these things one dies, but does not complain." "you are mad!" cried marie antoinette, in anger. "i am not mad, madame, but you are unhappy and lost. i saw you in the park--i told you so--i was not deceived. to-day all the horrible truth has burst out. m. de rohan boasts, perhaps----" the queen seized his arm. "you are mad," repeated she, with inexpressible anguish. "believe anything--believe the impossible--but, in the name of heaven, after all i have said to you, do not believe me guilty. i, who never even thought of you without praying to god to pardon me for my fault. oh, m. de charny! if you do not wish to kill me, do not tell me that you think me guilty." charny wrung his hands with anguish. "listen," said he, "if you wish me to serve you efficaciously." "a service from you?--from you, more cruel than my enemies? a service from a man who despises me? never, sir--never." charny approached, and took her hands in his. "this evening it will be too late. save me from despair, by saving yourself from shame." "monsieur!" "oh, i cannot pick my words with death, before me! if you do not listen to me, we shall both die; you from shame, and i from grief. you want money to pay for this necklace." "i?" "do not deny it." "i tell you----" "do not tell me that you have not the necklace." "i swear!" "do not swear, if you wish me to love you. there remains one way to save at once your honor and my love. the necklace is worth , , francs--you have paid , . here is the remainder; take it, and pay." "you have sold your possessions--you have ruined yourself for me! good and noble heart, i love you!" "then you accept?" "no; but i love you." "and let m. de rohan pay. remember, madame, this would be no generosity towards me, but the refinement of cruelty." "m. de charny, i am a queen. i give to my subjects, but do not accept from them." "what do you mean to do, then?" "you are frank. what do the jewelers say?" "that as you cannot pay, m. de rohan will pay for you." "what does the public say?" "that you have the necklace hidden, and will produce it when it shall have been paid for; either by the cardinal, in his love for you, or by the king, to prevent scandal." "and you, charny; in your turn, i ask, what do you say?" "i think, madame, that you have need to prove your innocence to me." the prince louis, cardinal de rohan, was at that moment announced by an usher. "you shall have your wish," said the queen. "you are going to receive him?" "yes." "and i?" "go into my boudoir, and leave the door ajar, that you may hear. be quick--here he is." m. de rohan appeared in his robes of office. the queen advanced towards him, attempting a smile, which died away on her lips. he was serious, and said, "madame, i have several important things to communicate to you, although you shun my presence." "i shun you so little, monsieur, that i was about to send for you." "am i alone with your majesty?" said he, in a low voice. "may i speak freely?" "perfectly, monseigneur. do not constrain yourself," said she aloud, for m. de. charny to hear. "the king will not come?" "have no fear of the king, or any one else." "oh, it is yourself i fear," said he, in a moved voice. "well, i am not formidable. say quickly and openly what you have to say. i like frankness, and want no reserve. they say you complain of me; what have you to reproach me with?" the cardinal sighed. chapter lxxvi. explanations. "madame," said the cardinal, bowing, "you know what is passing concerning the necklace?" "no, monsieur; i wish to learn it from you." "why has your majesty for so long only deigned to communicate with me through another? if you have any reason to hate me, why not explain it?" "i do not know what you mean. i do not hate you; but that is not, i think, the subject of our interview. i wish to hear all about this unlucky necklace; but first, where is madame de la motte?" "i was about to ask your majesty the same question." "really, monsieur, if any one knows, i think it ought to be you." "i, madame! why?" "oh! i do not wish to receive your confessions about her, but i wish to speak to her, and have sent for her ten times without receiving any answer." "and i, madame, am astonished at her disappearance, for i also sent to ask her to come, and, like your majesty, received no answer." "then let us leave her, monsieur, and speak of ourselves." "oh no, madame; let us speak of her first, for a few words of your majesty's gave me a painful suspicion; it seemed to me that your majesty reproached me with my assiduities to her." "i have not reproached you at all, sir." "oh! madame, such a suspicion would explain all to me; then i should understand all your rigor towards me, which i have hitherto found so inexplicable." "here we cease to understand each other, and i beg of you not to still further involve in obscurity what i wished you to explain to me." "madame," cried the cardinal, clasping his hands, "i entreat you not to change the subject; allow me only two words more, and i am sure we shall understand each other." "really, sir, you speak in language that i do not understand. pray return to plain french; where is the necklace that i returned to the jewelers?" "the necklace that you sent back?" "yes; what have you done with it?" "i! i do not know, madame." "listen, and one thing is simple; madame de la motte took away the necklace, and returned it to the jewelers in my name. the jewelers say they never had it, and i hold in my hands a receipt which proves the contrary; but they say the receipt is forged; madame de la motte, if sincere, could explain all, but as she is not to be found, i can but conjecture. she wished to return it, but you, who had always the generous wish to present me the necklace, you, who brought it to me, with the offer to pay for it----" "which your majesty refused." "yes. well, you have persevered in your idea, and you kept back the necklace, hoping to return it to me at some other time. madame de la motte was weak; she knew my inability to pay for it, and my determination not to keep it when i could not pay; she therefore entered into a conspiracy with you. have i guessed right? say yes. let me believe in this slight disobedience to my orders, and i promise you both pardon; so let madame de la motte come out from her hiding-place. but, for pity's sake, let there be perfect clearness and openness, monsieur. a cloud rests over me; i will have it dispersed." "madame," replied the cardinal, with a sigh, "unfortunately it is not true. i did not persevere in my idea, for i believed the necklace was in your own hands; i never conspired with madame de la motte about it, and i have it no more than you say you or the jewelers have it." "impossible! you have not got it?" "no, madame." "is it not you who hide it?" "no, madame." "you do not know what has become of it?" "no, madame." "but, then, how do you explain its disappearance?" "i do not pretend to explain it, madame; and, moreover, it is not the first time that i have had to complain that your majesty did not understand me." "how, sir?" "pray, madame, have the goodness to retrace my letters in your memory." "your letters!--you have written to me?" "too seldom, madame, to express all that was in my heart." the queen rose. "terminate this jesting, sir. what do you mean by letters? how can you dare to say such things?" "ah! madame, perhaps i have allowed myself to speak too freely the secret of my soul." "what secret? are you in your senses, monsieur?" "madame!" "oh! speak out. you speak now like a man who wishes to embarrass one before witnesses." "madame, is there really any one listening to us?" "no, monsieur. explain yourself, and prove to me, if you can, that you are in your right senses." "oh! why is not madame de la motte here? she could aid me to reawaken, if not your majesty's attachment, at least your memory." "my attachment! my memory!" "ah, madame," cried he, growing excited, "spare me, i beg. it is free to you to love no longer, but do not insult me." "ah, mon dieu!" cried the queen, turning pale: "hear what this man says." "well, madame," said he, getting still more excited, "i think i have been sufficiently discreet and reserved not to be ill-treated. but i should have known that when a queen says, 'i will not any longer,' it is as imperious as when a woman says, 'i will.'" "but, sir, to whom, or when, have i said either the one or the other?" "both, to me." "to you! you are a liar, m. de rohan. a coward, for you calumniate a woman; and a traitor, for you insult the queen." "and you are a heartless woman and a faithless queen. you led me to feel for you the most ardent love. you let me drink my fill of hopes----" "of hopes! my god! am i mad, or what is he?" "should i have dared to ask you for the midnight interviews which you granted me?" the queen uttered a cry of rage, as she fancied she heard a sigh from the boudoir. "should i," continued m. de rohan, "have dared to come into the park if you had not sent madame de la motte for me?" "mon dieu!" "should i have dared to steal the key? should i have ventured to ask for this rose, which since then i have worn here on my heart, and burned up with my kisses? should i have dared to kiss your hands? and, above all, should i have dared even to dream of sweet but perfidious love." "monsieur!" cried she, "you blaspheme." "mon dieu!" exclaimed the cardinal, "heaven knows that to be loved by this deceitful woman i would have given my all, my liberty, my life." "m. de rohan, if you wish to preserve either, you will confess immediately that you invented all these horrors; that you did not come to the park at night." "i did come," he replied. "you are a dead man if you maintain this." "a rohan cannot lie, madame; i did come." "m. de rohan, in heaven's name say that you did not see me there." "i will die if you wish it, and as you threaten me; but i did come to the park at versailles, where madame de la motte brought me." "once more, confess it is a horrible plot against me." "no." "then believe that you were mistaken--deceived--that it was all a fancy." "no." "then we will have recourse," said she, solemnly, "to the justice of the king." the cardinal bowed. the queen rang violently. "tell his majesty that i desire his presence." the cardinal remained firm. marie antoinette went ten times to the door of the boudoir, and each time returned without going in. at last the king appeared. chapter lxxvii. the arrest. "sire," cried the queen, "here is m. de rohan, who says incredible things, which i wish him to repeat to you." at these unexpected words the cardinal turned pale. indeed, it was a strange position to hear himself called upon to repeat to the king and the husband all the claims which he believed he had over the queen and the wife. but the king, turning towards him, said, "about a certain necklace, is it not, sir?" m. de rohan took advantage of the king's question, and chose the least of two evils. "yes, sire," he murmured, "about the necklace." "then, sir, you have brought the necklace?" "sire----" "yes, or no, sir." the cardinal looked at the queen, and did not reply. "the truth, sir," said the queen, answering his look. "we want nothing but the truth." m. de rohan turned away his head, and did not speak. "if m. de rohan will not reply, will you, madame, explain?" said the king. "you must know something about it; did you buy it?" "no." m. de rohan smiled rather contemptuously. "you say nothing, sir," said the king. "of what am i accused, sire?" "the jewelers say they sold the necklace either to you or the queen. they show a receipt from her majesty----" "a forged one," interrupted the queen. "the jewelers," continued the king, "say that in case the queen does not pay, you are bound to do so by your engagements." "i do not refuse to pay, sire. it must be the truth, as the queen permits it to be said." and a second look, still more contemptuous than the first, accompanied this speech. the queen trembled, for she began to think his behavior like the indignation of an honest man. "well, m. le cardinal, some one has imitated the signature of the queen of france," said the king. "the queen, sire, is free to attribute to me whatever crimes she pleases." "sir," said the king, "instead of justifying yourself, you assume the air of an accuser." the cardinal paused a moment, and then cried, "justify myself?--impossible!" "monsieur, these people say that this necklace has been stolen under a promise to pay for it; do you confess the crime?" "who would believe it, if i did?" asked the cardinal, with a haughty disdain. "then, sir, you think they will believe----" "sire, i know nothing of what is said," interrupted the cardinal; "all that i can affirm is, that i have not the necklace; some one has it who will not produce it; and i can but say, let the shame of the crime fall on the person who knows himself guilty." "the question, madame, is between you two," said the king. "once more, have you the necklace?" "no, by the honor of my mother, by the life of my son." the king joyfully turned towards the cardinal. "then, sir, the affair lies between you and justice, unless you prefer trusting to my clemency." "the clemency of kings is for the guilty, sire; i prefer the justice of men!" "you will confess nothing?" "i have nothing to say." "but, sir, your silence compromises my honor," cried the queen. the cardinal did not speak. "well, then, i will speak," cried she. "learn, sire, that m. de rohan's chief crime is not the theft of this necklace." m. de rohan turned pale. "what do you mean?" cried the king. "madame!" murmured the cardinal. "oh! no reasons, no fear, no weakness shall close my mouth. i would proclaim my innocence in public if necessary." "your innocence," said the king. "oh, madame, who would be rash enough, or base enough, to compel you to defend that?" "i beg you, madame," said the cardinal. "ah! you begin to tremble. i was right: such plots bear not the light. sire, will you order m. de rohan to repeat to you what he has just said to me." "madame," cried the cardinal, "take care; you pass all bounds." "sir," said the king, "do you dare to speak thus to the queen?" "yes, sire," said marie antoinette; "this is the way he speaks to me, and pretends he has the right to do so." "you, sir!" cried the king, livid with rage. "oh! he says he has letters----" "let us see them, sir," said the king. "yes, produce them," cried the queen. the cardinal passed his hands over his burning eyes, and asked himself how heaven could ever have created a being so perfidious and so audacious; but he remained silent. "but that is not all," continued the queen, getting more and more excited: "m. le cardinal says he has obtained interviews----" "madame, for pity's sake," cried the king. "for modesty's sake," murmured the cardinal. "one word, sir. if you are not the basest of men; if you hold anything sacred in this world; if you have proofs, produce them." "no, madame," replied he, at length, "i have not." "you said you had a witness." "who?" asked the king. "madame de la motte." "ah!" cried the king, whose suspicions against her were easily excited; "let us see this woman." "yes," said the queen, "but she has disappeared. ask monsieur what he has done with her." "others have made her disappear who had more interest in doing so than i had." "but, sir, if you are innocent, help us to find the guilty." the cardinal crossed his hands and turned his back. "monsieur," cried the king, "you shall go to the bastile." "as i am, sire, in my robes? consider, sire, the scandal will commence, and will fall heavily on whomsoever it rests." "i wish it to do so, sir." "it is an injustice, sire." "it shall be so." and the king looked round for some one to execute his orders. m. de breteuil was near, anticipating the fall of his rival; the king spoke to him, and he cried immediately, "guards! arrest m. le cardinal de rohan." the cardinal passed by the queen without saluting her; then, bowing to the king, went towards the lieutenant of the guards, who approached timidly, seeming to wait for a confirmation of the order he had received. "yes, sir," said m. de rohan, "it is i whom you are to arrest." "conduct monsieur to his apartment until i have written the order;" said the king. when they were alone, the king said, "madame, you know this must lead to a public trial, and that scandal will fall heavily on the heads of the guilty." "i thank you, sire; you have taken the only method of justifying me." "you thank me." "with all my heart; believe me, you have acted like a king, and i as a queen." "good," replied the king, joyfully; "we shall find out the truth at last, and when once we have crushed the serpent, i hope we may live in more tranquillity." he kissed the queen, and left her. "monsieur," said the cardinal to the officer who conducted him, "can i send word home that i have been arrested?" "if no one sees, monseigneur." the cardinal wrote some words on a page of his missal, then tore it out, and let it fall at the feet of the officer. "she ruins me," murmured the cardinal; "but i will save her, for your sake, oh! my king, and because it is my duty to forgive." chapter lxxviii. the procÈs-verbal. when the king reentered his room he signed the order to consign m. de rohan to the bastile. the count de provence soon came in and began making a series of signs to m. de breteuil, who, however willing, could not understand their meaning. this, however, the count did not care for, as his sole object was to attract the king's attention. he at last succeeded, and the king, after dismissing m. de breteuil, said to him, "what was the meaning of all those signs you were making just now? i suppose they meant something." "undoubtedly, but----" "oh, you are quite free to say or not." "sire, i have just heard of the arrest of m. de rohan." "well, and what then? am i wrong to do justice even on him?" "oh no, brother; i did not mean that." "i should have been surprised had you not taken part somehow against the queen. i have just seen her, and am quite satisfied." "oh, sire, god forbid that i should accuse her! the queen has no friend more devoted than myself." "then you approve of my proceedings? which will, i trust, terminate all the scandals which have lately disgraced our court." "yes, sire, i entirely approve your majesty's conduct, and i think all is for the best as regards the necklace----" "pardieu, it is clear enough. m. de rohan has been making himself great on a pretended familiarity with the queen; and conducting in her name a bargain for the diamonds, and leaving it to be supposed that she had them. it is monstrous. and then these tales never stop at the truth, but add all sorts of dreadful details which would end in a frightful scandal on the queen." "yes, brother, i repeat as far as the necklace is concerned you were perfectly right." "what else is there, then?" "sire, you embarrass me. the queen has not, then, told you?" "oh, the other boastings of m. de rohan? the pretended correspondence and interviews he speaks of? all that i know is, that i have the most absolute confidence in the queen, which she merits by the nobleness of her character. it was easy for her to have told me nothing of all this; but she always makes an immediate appeal to me in all difficulties, and confides to me the care of her honor. i am her confessor and her judge." "sire, you make me afraid to speak, lest i should be again accused of want of friendship for the queen. but it is right that all should be spoken, that she may justify herself from the other accusations." "well, what have you to say?" "let me first hear what she told you?" "she said she had not the necklace; that she never signed the receipt for the jewels; that she never authorized m. de rohan to buy them; that she had never given him the right to think himself more to her than any other of her subjects; and that she was perfectly indifferent to him." "ah! she said that----?" "most decidedly." "then these rumors about other people----" "what others?" "why, if it were not m. de rohan, who walked with the queen----" "how! do they say he walked with her?" "the queen denies it, you say? but how came she to be in the park at night, and with whom did she walk?" "the queen in the park at night!" "doubtless, there are always eyes ready to watch every movement of a queen." "brother, these are infamous things that you repeat, take care." "sire, i openly repeat them, that your majesty may search out the truth." "and they say that the queen walked at night in the park?" "yes, sire, tête-à-tête." "i do not believe any one says it." "unfortunately i can prove it but too well. there are four witnesses: one is the captain of the hunt, who says he saw the queen go out two following nights by the door near the kennel of the wolf-hounds; here is his declaration signed." the king, trembling, took the paper. "the next is the night watchman at trianon, who says he saw the queen walking arm in arm with a gentleman. the third is the porter of the west door, who also saw the queen going through the little gate; he states how she was dressed, but that he could not recognize the gentleman, but thought he looked like an officer; he says he could not be mistaken, for that the queen was accompanied by her friend, madame de la motte." "her friend!" cried the king, furiously. "the last is from the man whose duty it is to see that all the doors are locked at night. he says that he saw the queen go into the baths of apollo with a gentleman." the king, pale with anger and emotion, snatched the paper from the hands of his brother. "it is true," continued the count, "that madame de la motte was outside, and that the queen did not remain more than an hour." "the name of the gentleman?" cried the king. "this report does not name him; but here is one dated the next day, by a forester, who says it was m. de charny." "m. de charny!" cried the king. "wait here; i will soon learn the truth of all this." chapter lxxix. the last accusation. as soon as the king left the room, the queen ran towards the boudoir, and opened the door; then, as if her strength failed her, sank down on a chair, waiting for the decision of m. de charny, her last and most formidable judge. he came out more sad and pale than ever. "well?" said she. "madame," replied he, "you see, everything opposes our friendship. there can be no peace for me while such scandalous reports circulate in public, putting my private convictions aside." "then," said the queen, "all i have done, this perilous aggression, this public defiance of one of the greatest nobles in the kingdom, and my conduct being exposed to the test of public opinion, does not satisfy you?" "oh!" cried charny, "you are noble and generous, i know----" "but you believe me guilty--you believe the cardinal. i command you to tell me what you think." "i must say, then, madame, that he is neither mad nor wicked, as you called him, but a man thoroughly convinced of the truth of what he said--a man who loves you, and the victim of an error which will bring him to ruin, and you----" "well?" "to dishonor." "mon dieu!" "this odious woman, this madame de la motte, disappearing just when her testimony might have restored you to repose and honor--she is the evil genius, the curse, of your reign; she whom you have, unfortunately, admitted to partake of your intimacy and your secrets." "oh, sir!" "yes, madame, it is clear that you combined with her and the cardinal to buy this necklace. pardon if i offend you." "stay, sir," replied the queen, with a pride not unmixed with anger; "what the king believes, others might believe, and my friends not be harder than my husband. it seems to me that it can give no pleasure to any man to see a woman whom he does not esteem. i do not speak of you, sir; to you i am not a woman, but a queen; as you are to me, not a man, but a subject. i had advised you to remain in the country, and it was wise; far from the court, you might have judged me more truly. too ready to condescend, i have neglected to keep up, with those whom i thought loved me, the prestige of royalty. i should have been a queen, and content to govern, and not have wished to be loved." "i cannot express," replied charny, "how much your severity wounds me. i may have forgotten that you were a queen, but never that you were the woman most in the world worthy of my respect and love." "sir, i think your absence is necessary; something tells me that it will end by your name being mixed up in all this." "impossible, madame!" "you say 'impossible'; reflect on the power of those who have for so long played with my reputation. you say that m. de rohan is convinced of what he asserts; those who cause such convictions would not be long in proving you a disloyal subject to the king, and a disgraceful friend for me. those who invent so easily what is false will not be long in discovering the truth. lose no time, therefore; the peril is great. retire, and fly from the scandal which will ensue from the approaching trial; i do not wish that my destiny should involve yours, or your future be ruined. i, who am, thank god, innocent, and without a stain on my life--i, who would lay bare my heart to my enemies, could they thus read its purity, will resist to the last. for you might come ruin, defamation, and perhaps imprisonment. take away the money you so nobly offered me, and the assurance that not one movement of your generous heart has escaped me, and that your doubts, though they have wounded, have not estranged me. go, i say, and seek elsewhere what the queen of france can no longer give you--hope and happiness. from this time to the convocation of parliament, and the production of witnesses must be a fortnight; your uncle has vessels ready to sail--go and leave me; i bring misfortunes on my friends." saying this, the queen rose, and seemed to give charny his congé. he approached quickly, but respectfully. "your majesty," cried he, in a moved voice, "shows me my duty. it is here that danger awaits you, here that you are to be judged, and, that you may have one loyal witness on your side, i remain here. perhaps we may still make your enemies tremble before the majesty of an innocent queen, and the courage of a devoted man. and if you wish it, madame, i will be equally hidden and unseen as though i went. during a fortnight that i lived within a hundred yards of you, watching your every movement, counting your steps, living in your life, no one saw me; i can do so again, if it please you." "as you please," replied she; "i am no coquette, m. de charny, and to say what i please is the true privilege of a queen. one day, sir, i chose you from every one. i do not know what drew my heart towards you, but i had need of a strong and pure friendship, and i allowed you to perceive that need; but now i see that your soul does not respond to mine, and i tell you so frankly." "oh, madame," cried charny, "i cannot let you take away your heart from me! if you have once given it to me, i will keep it with my life; i cannot lose you. you reproached me with my doubts--oh, do not doubt me!" "ah," said she, "but you are weak, and i, alas, am so also." "you are all i love you to be." "what!" cried she, passionately, "this abused queen, this woman about to be publicly judged, that the world condemns, and that her king and husband may, perhaps, also in turn condemn, has she found one heart to love her?" "a slave, who venerates her, and offers her his heart's blood in exchange for every pang he has caused her!" "then," cried she, "this woman is blessed and happy, and complains of nothing!" charny fell at her feet, and kissed her hands in transport. at that moment the door opened, and the king surprised, at the feet of his wife, the man whom he had just heard accused by the comte de provence. chapter lxxx. the proposal of marriage. the queen and charny exchanged a look so full of terror, that their most cruel enemy must have pitied them. charny rose slowly, and bowed to the king, whose heart might almost have been seen to beat. "ah!" cried he, in a hoarse voice, "m. de charny!" the queen could not speak--she thought she was lost. "m. de charny," repeated the king, "it is little honorable for a gentleman to be taken in the act of theft." "of theft?" murmured charny. "yes, sir, to kneel before the wife of another is a theft; and when this woman is a queen, his crime is called high treason!" the count was about to speak, but the queen, ever impatient in her generosity, forestalled him. "sire," said she, "you seem in the mood for evil suspicions and unfavorable suppositions, which fall falsely, i warn you; and if respect chains the count's tongue, i will not hear him wrongfully accused without defending him." here she stopped, overcome by emotion, frightened at the falsehood she was about to tell, and bewildered because she could not find one to utter. but these few words had somewhat softened the king, who replied more gently, "you will not tell me, madame, that i did not see m. de charny kneeling before you, and without your attempting to raise him?" "therefore you might think," replied she, "that he had some favor to ask me." "a favor?" "yes, sire, and one which i could not easily grant, or he would not have insisted with so much less warmth." charny breathed again, and the king's look became calmer. marie antoinette was searching for something to say, with mingled rage at being obliged to lie, and grief at not being able to think of anything probable to say. she half hoped the king would be satisfied, and ask no more, but he said: "let us hear, madame, what is the favor so warmly solicited, which made m. de charny kneel before you; i may, perhaps, more happy than you, be able to grant it." she hesitated; to lie before the man she loved was agony to her, and she would have given the world for charny to find the answer. but of this he was incapable. "sire, i told you that m. de charny asked an impossible thing." "what is it?" "what can one ask on one's knees?" "i want to hear." "sire, it is a family secret." "there are no secrets from the king--a father interested in all his subjects, who are his children, although, like unnatural children, they may sometimes attack the honor and safety of their father." this speech made the queen tremble anew. "m. de charny asked," replied she, "permission to marry." "really," cried the king, reassured for a moment. then, after a pause, he said, "but why should it be impossible for m. de charny to marry? is he not noble? has he not a good fortune? is he not brave and handsome? really, to refuse him, the lady ought to be a princess, or already married. i can see no other reason for an impossibility. therefore, madame, tell me the name of the lady who is loved by m. de charny, and let me see if i cannot remove the difficulty." the queen, forced to continue her falsehood, replied: "no, sire; there are difficulties which even you cannot remove, and the present one is of this nature." "still, i wish to hear," replied the king, his anger returning. charny looked at the queen--she seemed ready to faint. he made a step towards her and then drew back. how dared he approach her in the king's presence? "oh!" thought she, "for an idea--something that the king can neither doubt nor disbelieve." then suddenly a thought struck her. she who has dedicated herself to heaven the king cannot influence. "sire!" she cried, "she whom m. de charny wishes to marry is in a convent." "oh! that is a difficulty; no doubt. but this seems a very sudden love of m. de charny's. i have never heard of it from any one. who is the lady you love, m. de charny?" the queen felt in despair, not knowing what he would say, and dreading to hear him name any one. but charny could not reply: so, after a pause, she cried, "sire, you know her; it is andrée de taverney." charny buried his face in his hands; the queen pressed her hand to her heart, and could hardly support herself. "mademoiselle de taverney? but she has gone to st. denis." "yes, sire," replied the queen. "but she has taken no vows." "no, but she is about to do so." "we will see if we can persuade her. why should she take the vows?" "she is poor," said the queen. "that i can soon alter, madame, if m. de charny loves her." the queen shuddered, and cast a glance at the young man, as if begging him to deny it. he did not speak. "and i dare say," continued the king, taking his silence for consent, "that mademoiselle de taverney loves m. de charny. i will give her as dowry the , francs which i refused the other day to you. thank the queen, m. de charny, for telling me of this, and ensuring your happiness." charny bowed like a pale statue which had received an instant's life. "oh, it is worth kneeling again for!" said the king. the queen trembled, and stretched out her hand to the young man, who left on it a burning kiss. "now," said the king, "come with me." m. de charny turned once, to read the anguish in the eyes of the queen. chapter lxxxi. st. denis. the queen remained alone and despairing. so many blows had struck her that she hardly knew from which she suffered most. how she longed to retract the words she had spoken, to take from andrée even the chance of the happiness which she still hoped she would refuse; but if she refused, would not the king's suspicions reawaken, and everything seem only the worse for this falsehood? she dared not risk this--she must go to andrée and confess, and implore her to make this sacrifice; or if she would only temporize, the king's suspicions might pass away, and he might cease to interest himself about it. thus the liberty of mlle. de taverney would not be sacrificed, neither would that of m. de charny; and she would be spared the remorse of having sacrificed the happiness of two people to her honor. she longed to speak again to charny, but feared discovery; and she knew she might rely upon him to ratify anything she chose to say. three o'clock arrived--the state dinner and the presentations; and the queen went through all with a serene and smiling air. when all was over she changed her dress, got into her carriage, and, without any guards, and only one companion, drove to st. denis, and asked to see andrée. andrée was at that moment kneeling, dressed in her white peignoir; and praying with fervor. she had quitted the court voluntarily, and separated herself from all that could feed her love; but she could not stifle her regrets and bitter feelings. had she not seen charny apparently indifferent towards her, while the queen occupied all his thoughts? yet, when she heard that the queen was asking for her, she felt a thrill of pleasure and delight. she threw a mantle over her shoulders, and hastened to see her; but on the way she reproached herself with the pleasure that she felt, endeavoring to think that the queen and the court had alike ceased to interest her. "come here, andrée," said the queen, with a smile, as she entered. chapter lxxxii. a dead heart. "andrée," continued the queen, "it looks strange to see you in this dress; to see an old friend and companion already lost to life, is like a warning to ourselves from the tomb." "madame, no one has a right to warn or counsel your majesty." "that was never my wish," said the queen; "tell me truly, andrée, had you to complain of me when you were at court?" "your majesty was good enough to ask me that question when i took leave, and i replied then as now, no, madame." "but often," said the queen, "a grief hurts us which is not personal; have i injured any one belonging to you? andrée, the retreat which you have chosen is an asylum against evil passions; here god teaches gentleness, moderation and forgiveness of injuries. i come as a friend, and ask you to receive me as such." andrée felt touched. "your majesty knows," said she, "that the taverneys cannot be your enemies." "i understand," replied the queen; "you cannot pardon me for having been cold to your brother, and, perhaps, he himself accuses me of caprice." "my brother is too respectful a subject to accuse the queen," said andrée, coldly. the queen saw that it was useless to try and propitiate andrée on this subject; so she said only, "well, at least, i am ever your friend." "your majesty overwhelms me with your goodness." "do not speak thus; cannot the queen have a friend?" "i assure you, madame, that i have loved you as much as i shall ever love any one in this world." she colored as she spoke. "you have loved me; then you love me no more? can a cloister so quickly extinguish all affection and all remembrance? if so, it is a cursed place." "do not accuse my heart, madame, it is dead." "your heart dead, andrée? you, so young and beautiful." "i repeat to you, madame, nothing in the court, nothing in the world, is any more to me. here i live like the herb or the flower, alone for myself. i entreat you to pardon me; this forgetfulness of the glorious vanities of the world is no crime. my confessor congratulates me on it every day." "then you like the convent?" "i embrace with pleasure a solitary life." "nothing remains which attracts you back to the world?" "nothing!" "mon dieu!" thought the queen; "shall i fail? if nothing else will succeed, i must have recourse to entreaties; to beg her to accept m. de charny--heavens, how unhappy i am!--andrée," she said, "what you say takes from me the hope i had conceived." "what hope, madame?" "oh! if you are as decided as you appear to be, it is useless to speak." "if your majesty would explain----" "you never regret what you have done?" "never, madame." "then it is superfluous to speak; and i yet hoped to make you happy." "me?" "yes, you, ingrate; but you know best your inclinations." "still, if your majesty would tell me----" "oh, it is simple; i wished you to return to court." "never!" "you refuse me?" "oh, madame, why should you wish me?--sorrowful, poor, despised, avoided by every one, incapable of inspiring sympathy in either sex! ah, madame, and dear mistress, leave me here to become worthy to be accepted by god, for even he would reject me at present." "but," said the queen, "what i was about to propose to you would have removed all these humiliations of which you complain. a marriage, which would have made you one of our great ladies." "a marriage?" stammered andrée. "yes." "oh, i refuse, i refuse!" "andrée!" cried the queen, in a supplicating voice. "ah, no, i refuse!" marie antoinette prepared herself, with a fearfully-palpitating heart, for her last resource; but as she hesitated, andrée said, "but, madame, tell me the name of the man who is willing to think of me as his companion for life." "m. de charny," said the queen, with an effort. "m. de charny?"---- "yes, the nephew of m. de suffren." "it is he!" cried andrée, with burning cheeks, and sparkling eyes; "he consents----" "he asks you in marriage." "oh, i accept, i accept, for i love him." the queen became livid, and sank back trembling, whilst andrée kissed her hands, bathing them with her tears. "oh, i am ready," murmured she. "come, then!" cried the queen, who felt as though her strength was failing her, with a last effort to preserve appearances. andrée left the room to prepare. then marie antoinette cried, with bitter sobs, "oh, mon dieu! how can one heart bear so much suffering? and yet i should be thankful, for does it not save my children and myself from shame?" chapter lxxxiii. in which it is explained why the baron de taverney grew fat. meanwhile philippe was hastening the preparations for his departure. he did not wish to witness the dishonor of the queen, his first and only passion. when all was ready, he requested an interview with his father. for the last three months the baron had been growing fat; he seemed to feed on the scandals circulating at the court--they were meat and drink to him. when he received his son's message, instead of sending for him, he went to seek him in his room, already full of the disorder consequent on packing. philippe did not expect much sensibility from his father, still he did not think he would be pleased. andrée had already left him, and it was one less to torment, and he must feel a blank when his son went also. therefore philippe was astonished to hear his father call out, with a burst of laughter, "oh, mon dieu! he is going away, i was sure of it, i would have bet upon it. well played, philippe, well played." "what is well played, sir?" "admirable!" repeated the old man. "you give me praises, sir, which i neither understand nor merit, unless you are pleased at my departure, and glad to get rid of me." "oh! oh!" laughed the old man again, "i am not your dupe. do you think i believe in your departure?" "you do not believe? really, sir, you surprise me." "yes, it is surprising that i should have guessed. you are quite right to pretend to leave; without this ruse all, probably, would have been discovered." "monsieur, i protest i do not understand one word of what you say to me." "where do you say you go to?" "i go first to taverney maison rouge." "very well, but be prudent. there are sharp eyes on you both, and she is so fiery and incautious, that you must be prudent for both. what is your address, in case i want to send you any pressing news?" "taverney, monsieur." "taverney, nonsense! i do not ask you for the address of your house in the park; but choose some third address near here. you, who have managed so well for your love, can easily manage this." "sir, you play at enigmas, and i cannot find the solution." "oh, you are discreet beyond all bounds. however, keep your secrets, tell me nothing of the huntsman's house, nor the nightly walks with two dear friends, nor the rose, nor the kisses." "monsieur!" cried philippe, mad with jealousy and rage, "will you hold your tongue?" "well, i know it all--your intimacy with the queen, and your meetings in the baths of apollo. mon dieu! our fortunes are assured forever." "monsieur, you cause me horror!" cried poor philippe, hiding his face in his hands. and, indeed, he felt it, at hearing attributed to himself all the happiness of another. all the rumors that the father had heard, he had assigned to his son, and believed that it was he that the queen loved, and no one else; hence his perfect contentment and happiness. "yes," he went on, "some said it was rohan; others, that it was charny; not one that it was taverney. oh, you have acted well." at this moment a carriage was heard to drive up, and a servant entering, said, "here is mademoiselle." "my sister!" cried philippe. then another servant appeared, and said that mademoiselle de taverney wished to speak to her brother in the boudoir. another carriage now came to the door. "who the devil comes now?" muttered the baron; "it is an evening of adventures." "m. le comte de charny," cried the powerful voice of the porter at the gate. "conduct m. le comte to the drawing-room; my father will see him; and i will go to my sister--what can he want here?" thought philippe, as he went down. chapter lxxxiv. the father and the fiancÉe. philippe hastened to the boudoir, where his sister awaited him. she ran to embrace him with a joyous air. "what is it, andrée?" cried he. "something which makes me happy. oh! very happy, brother." "and you come back to announce it to me." "i come back for ever," said andrée. "speak low, sister; there is, or is going to be, some one in the next room who might hear you." "who?" "listen." "m. le comte de charny," announced the servant. "he! oh, i know well what he comes for." "you know!" "yes, and soon i shall be summoned to hear what he has to say." "do you speak seriously, my dear andrée?" "listen, philippe. the queen has brought me suddenly back, and i must go and change my dress for one fit for a fiancée." and saying this, with a kiss to philippe, she ran off. philippe remained alone. he could hear what passed in the adjoining room. m. de taverney entered, and saluted the count with a recherché though stiff politeness. "i come, monsieur," said charny, "to make a request, and beg you to excuse my not having brought my uncle with me, which i know would have been more proper." "a request?" "i have the honor," continued charny, in a voice full of emotion, "to ask the hand of mademoiselle andrée, your daughter." the baron opened his eyes in astonishment--"my daughter?" "yes, m. le baron, if mademoiselle de taverney feels no repugnance." "oh," thought the old man, "philippe's favor is already so well-known, that one of his rivals wishes to marry his sister." then aloud, he said, "this request is such an honor to us, m. le comte, that i accede with much pleasure; and as i should wish you to carry away a perfectly favorable answer, i will send for my daughter." "monsieur," interrupted the count, rather coldly, "the queen has been good enough to consult mademoiselle de taverney already, and her reply was favorable." "ah!" said the baron, more and more astonished, "it is the queen then----" "yes, monsieur, who took the trouble to go to st. denis." "then, sir, it only remains to acquaint you with my daughter's fortune. she is not rich, and before concluding----" "it is needless, m. le baron; i am rich enough for both." at this moment the door opened, and philippe entered, pale and wild looking. "sir," said he, "my father was right to wish to discuss these things with you. while he goes up-stairs to bring the papers i have something to say to you." when they were left alone, "m. de charny," said he, "how dare you come here to ask for the hand of my sister?" charny colored. "is it," continued philippe, "in order to hide better your amours with another woman whom you love, and who loves you? is it, that by becoming the husband of a woman who is always near your mistress, you will have more facilities for seeing her?" "sir, you pass all bounds." "it is, perhaps; and this is what i believe, that were i your brother-in-law, you think my tongue would be tied about what i know of your past amours." "what you know?" "yes," cried philippe, "the huntsman's house hired by you, your mysterious promenades in the park at night, and the tender parting at the little gate." "monsieur, in heaven's name----" "oh, sir, i was concealed behind the baths of apollo when you came out, arm in arm with the queen." charny was completely overwhelmed for a time; then, after a few moments, he said, "well, sir, even after all this, i reiterate my demand for the hand of your sister. i am not the base calculator you suppose me; but the queen must be saved." "the queen is not lost, because i saw her on your arm, raising to heaven her eyes full of happiness; because i know that she loves you. that is no reason why my sister should be sacrificed, m. de charny." "monsieur," replied charny, "this morning the king surprised me at her feet----" "mon dieu!" "and she, pressed by his jealous questions, replied that i was kneeling to ask the hand of your sister. therefore if i do not marry her, the queen is lost. do you now understand?" a cry from the boudoir now interrupted them, followed by another from the ante-chamber. charny ran to the boudoir; he saw there andrée, dressed in white like a bride: she had heard all, and had fainted. philippe ran to where the other cry came from; it was his father, whose hopes this revelation of the queen's love for charny had just destroyed; struck by apoplexy, he had given his last sigh. philippe, who understood it, looked at the corpse for a few minutes in silence, and then returned to the drawing-room, and there saw charny watching the senseless form of his sister. he then said, "my father has just expired, sir; i am now the head of the family; if my sister survive, i will give her to you in marriage." charny regarded the corpse of the baron with horror, and the form of andrée with despair. philippe uttered a groan of agony, then continued, "m. de charny, i make this engagement in the name of my sister, now lying senseless before us; she will give her happiness to the queen, and i, perhaps, some day shall be happy enough to give my life for her. adieu, m. de charny----" and taking his sister in his arms, he carried her into the next room. chapter lxxxv. after the dragon, the viper. oliva was preparing to fly, as jeanne had arranged, when beausire, warned by an anonymous letter, discovered her and carried her away. in order to trace them, jeanne put all her powers in requisition--she preferred being able to watch over her own secret--and her disappointment was great when all her agents returned announcing a failure. at this time she received in her hiding-place numerous messages from the queen. she went by night to bar-sur-aube, and there remained for two days. at last she was traced, and an express sent to take her. then she learnt the arrest of the cardinal. "the queen has been rash," thought she, "in refusing to compromise with the cardinal, or to pay the jewelers; but she did not know my power." "monsieur," said she to the officer who arrested her, "do you love the queen?" "certainly, madame." "well, in the name of that love i beg you to conduct me straight to her. believe me, you will be doing her a service." the man was persuaded, and did so. the queen received her haughtily, for she began to suspect that her conduct had not been straightforward. she called in two ladies as witnesses of what was about to pass. "you are found at last, madame," said the queen; "why did you hide?" "i did not hide, madame." "run away, then, if that pleases you better." "that is to say, that i quitted paris. i had some little business at bar-sur-aube, and, to tell the truth, i did not know i was so necessary to your majesty as to be obliged to ask leave for an absence of eight days." "have you seen the king?" "no, madame." "you shall see him." "it will be a great honor for me; but your majesty seems very severe towards me--i am all trembling." "oh, madame, this is but the beginning. do you know that m. de rohan has been arrested?" "they told me so, madame." "you guess why?" "no, madame." "you proposed to me that he should pay for a certain necklace; did i accept or refuse?" "refuse." "ah!" said the queen, well pleased. "your majesty even paid , francs on account." "well, and afterwards?" "afterwards, as your majesty could not pay, you sent it back to m. boehmer." "by whom?" "by me." "and what did you do with it?" "i took it to the cardinal." "and why to the cardinal instead of to the jewelers, as i told you?" "because i thought he would be hurt if i returned it without letting him know." "but how did you get a receipt from the jewelers?" "m. de rohan gave it to me." "but why did you take a letter to them as coming from me?" "because he gave it to me, and asked me to do so." "it is, then, all his doing?" "what is, madame?" "the receipt and the letter are both forged." "forged, madame!" cried jeanne, with much apparent astonishment. "well, you must be confronted with him to prove the truth." "why, madame?" "he himself demands it. he says he has sought you everywhere, and that he wishes to prove that you have deceived him." "oh! then, madame, let us meet." "you shall. you deny all knowledge of where the necklace is?" "how should i know, madame?" "you deny having aided the cardinal in his intrigues?" "i am a valois, madame." "but m. de rohan maintained before the king many calumnies, which he said you would confirm." "i do not understand." "he declares he wrote to me." jeanne did not reply. "do you hear?" said the queen. "yes, madame." "what do you reply?" "i will reply when i have seen him." "but speak the truth now." "your majesty overwhelms me." "that is no answer." "i will give no other here;" and she looked at the two ladies. the queen understood, but would not yield; she scorned to purchase anything by concession. "m. de rohan," said the queen, "was sent to the bastile for saying too much; take care, madame, that you are not sent for saying too little." jeanne smiled. "a pure conscience can brave persecution," she replied; "the bastile will not convict me of a crime i did not commit." "will you reply?" "only to your majesty." "are you not speaking to me?" "not alone." "ah! you fear scandal, after being the cause of so much to me." "what i did," said jeanne, "was done for you." "what insolence!" "i submit to the insults of my queen." "you will sleep in the bastile to-night, madame!" "so be it; i will first pray to god to preserve your majesty's honor." the queen rose furiously, and went into the next room. "after having conquered the dragon," she said, "i can crush the viper!" chapter lxxxvi. how it came to pass that m. beausire was tracked by the agents of m. de crosne. madame de la motte was imprisoned as the queen had threatened, and the whole affair created no little talk and excitement through france. m. de rohan lived at the bastile like a prince: he had everything but liberty. he demanded to be confronted with madame de la motte as soon as he heard of her arrest. this was done. she whispered to him, "send every one away, and i will explain." he asked this, but was refused; they said his counsel might communicate with her. she said to this gentleman that she was ignorant of what had become of the necklace, but that they might well have given it to her in recompense for the services she had rendered the queen and the cardinal, which were well worth a million and a half. the cardinal turned pale on hearing this repeated, and felt how much they were in jeanne's power. he was determined not to accuse the queen, although his friends endeavored to convince him that it was his only way to prove his innocence of the robbery. jeanne said that she did not wish to accuse either the queen or the cardinal, but that, if they persisted in making her responsible for the necklace, she would do so to show that they were interested in accusing her of falsehood. then m. de rohan expressed all his contempt for her, and said that he began to understand much of jeanne's conduct, but not the queen's. all this was reported to marie antoinette. she ordered another private examination of the parties, but gained nothing from it. jeanne denied everything to those sent by the queen; but when they were gone she altered her tone, and said, "if they do not leave me alone i will tell all." the cardinal said nothing, and brought no accusations; but rumors began to spread fast, and the question soon became, not "has the queen stolen the necklace?" but "has she allowed some one else to steal it because she knew all about her amours?" madame de la motte had involved her in a maze, from which there seemed no honorable exit; but she determined not to lose courage. she began to come to the conclusion that the cardinal was an honest man, and did not wish to ruin her, but was acting like herself, only to preserve his honor. they strove earnestly but ineffectually to trace the necklace. all opinions were against jeanne, and she began to fear that, even if she dragged down the queen and cardinal, she should be quite overwhelmed under the ruins she had caused; and she had not even at hand the fruits of her dishonesty to corrupt her judges with. affairs were in this state when a new episode changed the face of things. oliva and m. beausire were living, happy and rich, in a country house, when one day beausire, going out hunting, fell into the company of two of the agents of m. de crosne, whom he had scattered all over the country. they recognized beausire immediately, but, as it was oliva whom they most wanted, they did not arrest him there, but only joined the chase. beausire, seeing two strangers, called the huntsman, and asked who they were. he replied that he did not know, but, if he had permission, would send them away. on his questioning them, they said they were friends of that gentleman, pointing to m. beausire. then the man brought them to him, saying, "m. de linville, these gentlemen say they are friends of yours." "ah, you are called de linville now, dear m. beausire!" beausire trembled; he had concealed his name so carefully. he sent away the huntsman, and asked them who they were. "take us home with you, and we will tell you." "home?" "yes; do not be inhospitable." beausire was frightened, but still feared to refuse these men who knew him. chapter lxxxvii. the turtles are caged. beausire, on entering the house, made a noise to attract oliva's attention, for, though he knew nothing about her later escapades, he knew enough about the ball at the opera, and the morning at m. mesmer's, to make him fear letting her be seen by strangers. accordingly, oliva, hearing the dogs bark, looked out, and, seeing beausire returning with two strangers, did not come to meet him as usual. unfortunately the servant asked if he should call madame. the men rallied him about the lady whom he had concealed; he let them laugh, but did not offer to call her. they dined; then beausire asked where they had met him before. "we are," replied they, "friends of one of your associates in a little affair about the portuguese embassy." beausire turned pale. "ah!" said he: "and you came on your friend's part?" "yes, dear m. beausire, to ask for , francs." "gentlemen," replied beausire, "you cannot think i have such a sum in the house." "very likely not, monsieur; we do not ask for impossibilities. how much have you?" "not more than fifty or sixty louis." "we will take them to begin with." "i will go and fetch them," said beausire. but they did not choose to let him leave the room without them, so they caught hold of him by the coat, saying: "oh no, dear m. beausire, do not leave us." "but how am i to get the money if i do not leave you?" "we will go with you." "but it is in my wife's bedroom." "ah," cried one of them, "you hide your wife from us!" "are we not presentable?" asked the other. "we wish to see her." "you are tipsy, and i will turn you out!" said beausire. they laughed. "now you shall not even have the money i promised," said he, emboldened by what he thought their intoxication; and he ran out of the room. they followed and caught him; he cried out, and at the sound a door opened, and a woman looked out with a frightened air. on seeing her, the men released beausire, and gave a cry of exultation, for they recognized her immediately who resembled the queen of france so strongly. beausire, who believed them for a moment disarmed by the sight of a woman, was soon cruelly undeceived. one of the men approached oliva, and said: "i arrest you." "arrest her! why?" cried beausire. "because it is m. de crosne's orders." a thunderbolt falling between the lovers would have frightened them less than this declaration. at last beausire said, "you came to arrest me?" "no; it was a chance." "never mind, you might have arrested me, and for sixty louis you were about to leave me at liberty." "oh no, we should have asked another sixty; however, for one hundred we will do so." "and madame?" "oh, that is quite a different affair." "she is worth two hundred louis," said beausire. they laughed again, and this time beausire began to understand this terrible laugh. "three hundred, four hundred, a thousand--see, i will give you one thousand louis to leave her at liberty!" they did not answer. "is not that enough? ah, you know i have money, and you want to make me pay. well, i will give you two thousand louis; it will make both your fortunes!" "for , crowns we would not give up this woman. m. de rohan will give us , francs for her, and the queen , , . now we must go. you doubtless have a carriage of some kind here; have it prepared for madame. we will take you also, for form's sake; but on the way you can escape, and we will shut our eyes." beausire replied, "where she goes, i will go; i will never leave her." "oh, so much the better; the more prisoners we bring m. de crosne, the better he will be pleased." a quarter of an hour after, beausire's carriage started, with the two lovers in it. one may imagine the effect of this capture on m. de crosne. the agents probably did not receive the , , francs they hoped for, but there is reason to believe they were satisfied. m. de crosne went to versailles, followed by another carriage well guarded. he asked to see the queen, and was instantly admitted. she judged from his face that he had good news for her, and felt the first sensation of joy she had experienced for a month. "madame," said m. de crosne, "have you a room here where you can see without being seen?" "oh yes--my library." "well, madame, i have a carriage below, in which is some one whom i wish to introduce into the castle unseen by any one." "nothing more easy," replied the queen, ringing to give her orders. all was executed as he wished. then she conducted m. de crosne to the library, where, concealed from view behind a large screen, she soon saw enter a form which made her utter a cry of surprise. it was oliva, dressed in one of her own favorite costumes--a green dress with broad stripes of black moirée, green satin slippers with high heels, and her hair dressed like her own. it might have been herself reflected in the glass. "what says your majesty to this resemblance?" asked m. de crosne, triumphantly. "incredible," said the queen. she then thought to herself, "ah! charny; why are you not here?" "what does your majesty wish?" "nothing, sir, but that the king should know." "and m. de provence see her? shall he not, madame?" "thanks, m. de crosne, you hold now, i think, the clue to the whole plot." "nearly so, madame." "and m. de rohan?" "knows nothing yet." "ah!" cried the queen; "in this woman, doubtless, lies all his error." "possibly, madame; but if it be his error it is the crime of some one else." "seek well, sir; the honor of france is in your hands." "believe me worthy of the trust. at present, the accused parties deny everything. i shall wait for the proper time to overwhelm them with this living witness that i now hold." "madame de la motte?" "knows nothing of this capture. she accuses m. de cagliostro of having excited the cardinal to say what he did." "and what does m. de cagliostro say?" "he has promised to come to me this morning. he is a dangerous man, but a useful one, and attacked by madame de la motte, i am in hopes he will sting back again." "you hope for revelations?" "i do." "how so, sir? tell me everything which can reassure me." "these are my reasons, madame. madame de la motte lived in the rue st. claude, and m. de cagliostro just opposite her. so i think her movements cannot have been unnoticed by him; but if your majesty will excuse me, it is close to the time he appointed to meet me." "go, monsieur, go; and assure yourself of my gratitude." when he was gone the queen burst into tears. "my justification begins," said she; "i shall soon read my triumph in all faces; but the one i most cared to know me innocent, him i shall not see." m. de crosne drove back to paris, where m. de cagliostro waited for him. he knew all; for he had discovered beausire's retreat, and was on the road to see him, and induce him to leave france, when he met the carriage containing beausire and oliva. beausire saw the count, and the idea crossed his mind that he might help them. he therefore accepted the offer of the police-agents, gave them the hundred louis, and made his escape, in spite of the tears shed by oliva; saying, "i go to try and save you." he ran after m. de cagliostro's carriage, which he soon overtook, as the count had stopped, it being useless to proceed. beausire soon told his story; cagliostro listened in silence, then said, "she is lost." "why so?" then cagliostro told him all he did not already know--all the intrigues in the park. "oh! save her," cried beausire; "and i will give her to you, if you love her still." "my friend," replied cagliostro, "you deceive yourself; i never loved mademoiselle oliva; i had but one aim--that of weaning her from the life of debauchery she was leading with you." "but----" said beausire. "that astonishes you--know that i belong to a society whose object is moral reform. ask her if ever she heard from my mouth one word of gallantry, or if my services were not disinterested." "oh, monsieur! but will you save her?" "i will try, but it will depend on yourself." "i will do anything." "then return with me to paris, and if you follow my instructions implicitly, we may succeed in saving her. i only impose one condition, which i will tell you when i reach home." "i promise beforehand. but can i see her again?" "i think so, and you can tell her what i say to you." in two hours they overtook the carriage containing oliva, and beausire bought for fifty louis permission to embrace her, and tell her all the count had said. the agents admired this violent love, and hoped for more louis, but beausire was gone. cagliostro drove him to paris. we will now return to m. de crosne. this gentleman knew a good deal about cagliostro, his former names, his pretensions to ubiquity and perpetual regeneration, his secrets in alchemy and magnetism, and looked upon him as a great charlatan. "monsieur," said he to cagliostro, "you asked me for an audience; i have returned from versailles to meet you." "sir, i thought you would wish to question me about what is passing, so i came to you." "question you?" said the magistrate, affecting surprise. "on what?" "monsieur," replied cagliostro, "you are much occupied about madame de la motte, and the missing necklace." "have you found it?" asked m. de crosne, laughing. "no, sir, but madame de la motte lived in the rue st. claude----" "i know, opposite you." "oh, if you know all about oliva, i have nothing more to tell you." "who is oliva?" "you do not know? then, sir, imagine a young girl very pretty, with blue eyes, and an oval face, a style of beauty something like her majesty, for instance." "well, sir?" "this young girl led a bad life; it gave me pain to see it; for she was once in the service of an old friend of mine, m. de taverney--but i weary you." "oh no, pray go on." "well, oliva led not only a bad life, but an unhappy one, with a fellow she called her lover, who beat and robbed her." "beausire," said the magistrate. "ah! you know him. you are still more a magician than i am. well, one day when beausire had beaten the poor girl more than usual, she fled to me for refuge; i pitied her, and gave her shelter in one of my houses." "in your house!" cried m. de crosne in surprise. "oh! why not? i am a bachelor," said cagliostro, with an air which quite deceived m. de crosne. "that is then the reason why my agents could not find her." "what! you were seeking this little girl? had she then been guilty of any crime?" "no, sir, no; pray go on." "oh! i have done. i lodged her at my house, and that is all." "no, sir, for you just now associated her name with that of madame de la motte." "only as neighbors." "but, sir, this oliva, whom you say you had in your house, i found in the country with beausire." "with beausire? ah! then i have wronged madame de la motte." "how so, sir?" "why just as i thought i had hopes of reforming oliva, and bringing her back to an honest life, some one carried her away from me." "that is strange." "is it not? and i firmly believed it to be madame de la motte. but as you found her with beausire, it was not she, and all her signals and correspondence with oliva meant nothing." "with oliva?" "yes." "they met?" "yes, madame de la motte found a way to take oliva out every night." "are you sure of this?" "i saw and heard her." "oh, sir, you tell me what i would have paid for with one thousand francs a word. but you are a friend of m. de rohan?" "yes." "you ought to know how far he was connected with this affair." "i do not wish to know." "but you know the object of these nightly excursions of madame de la motte and oliva?" "of that also i wish to be ignorant." "sir, i only wish to ask you one more question. have you proofs of the correspondence of madame de la motte and oliva?" "plenty." "what are they?" "notes which madame de la motte used to throw over to oliva with a cross-bow. several of them did not reach their destination, and were picked up either by myself, or my servants, in the street." "sir, you will be ready to produce them, if called upon?" "certainly; they are perfectly innocent, and cannot injure any one." "and have you any other proofs of intimacy?" "i know that she had a method of entering my house to see oliva. i saw her myself, just after oliva had disappeared, and my servants saw her also." "but what did she come for, if oliva was gone?" "i did not know. i saw her come out of a carriage at the corner of the street. my idea was that she wished to attach oliva to her, and keep her near her." "and you let her do it?" "why not? she is a great lady, and received at court. why should i have prevented her taking charge of oliva, and taking her off my hands?" "what did she say when she found that oliva was gone?" "she appeared distressed." "you suppose that beausire carried her off?" "i suppose so, for you tell me you found them together. i did not suspect him before, for he did not know where she was." "she must have let him know herself." "i think not, as she had fled from him. i think madame de la motte must have sent him a key." "ah! what day was it?" "the evening of st. louis." "monsieur, you have rendered a great service to me and to the state." "i am happy to hear it." "you shall be thanked as you deserve. i may count on the production of the proofs you mention?" "i am ready, sir, to assist justice at all times." as cagliostro left, he muttered, "ah, countess! you tried to accuse me--take care of yourself." meanwhile, m. de breteuil was sent by the king to examine madame de la motte. she declared that she had proofs of her innocence, which she would produce at the proper time; she also declared, that she would only speak the truth in the presence of the cardinal. she was told that the cardinal laid all the blame upon her. "tell him then," she said, "that i advise him not to persist in such a foolish system of defense." "whom then do you accuse?" asked m. breteuil. "i accuse no one," was her reply. a report was spread at last that the diamonds were being sold in england by m. reteau de villette. this man was soon found and arrested, and brought over and confronted with jeanne. to her utter confusion, he acknowledged that he had forged a receipt from the jewelers, and a letter from the queen at the request of madame de la motte. she denied furiously, and declared that she had never seen m. reteau. m. de crosne produced as witness a coachman, who swore to having driven her, on the day named, to the house of m. reteau. also, one of the servants of m. de cagliostro deposed to having seen this man on the box of jeanne's carriage on the night that she came to his master's house. now, jeanne began to abuse the count, and accused him of having inspired m. de rohan with the ideas inimical to the royal dignity. m. de rohan defended him, and jeanne at once plainly accused the cardinal of a violent love for the queen. m. de cagliostro requested to be incarcerated, and allowed to prove his innocence publicly. then the queen caused to be published all the reports made to the king about the nocturnal promenades, and requested m. de crosne to state all that he knew about it. this public avowal overturned all jeanne's plans, and she denied having assisted at any meetings between the queen and the cardinal. this declaration would have cleared the queen, had it been possible to attach any credence to what this woman said. while jeanne continued to deny that she had ever been in the park, they brought forward oliva at last, a living witness of all the falsehoods of the countess. when oliva was shown to the cardinal the blow was dreadful. he saw at last how infamously he had been played upon. this man, so full of delicacy and noble passions, discovered that an adventuress had led him to insult and despise the queen of france; a woman whom he loved, and who was innocent. he would have shed all his blood at the feet of marie antoinette to make atonement. but he could not even acknowledge his mistake without owning that he loved her--even his excuse would involve an offense; so he was obliged to keep silent, and allow jeanne to deny everything. oliva confessed all without reserve. at last jeanne, driven from every hold, confessed that she had deceived the cardinal, but declared that it was done with the consent of the queen, who watched and enjoyed the scene, hidden behind the trees. to this story she kept; the queen could never disprove it, and there were plenty of people willing to believe it true. chapter lxxxviii. the last hope lost. here the affair therefore rested, for jeanne was determined to share the blame with some one, as she could not turn it from herself. all her calculations had been defeated by the frankness with which the queen had met, and made public, every accusation against her. at last jeanne wrote the following letter to the queen: "madame, "in spite of my painful position and rigorous treatment, i have not uttered a complaint; all that has been tried to extort avowals from me has failed to make me compromise my sovereign. however, although persuaded that my constancy and discretion will facilitate my release from my present position, the friends of the cardinal make me fear i shall become his victim. a long imprisonment, endless questions, and the shame and despair of being accused of such crimes, begin to exhaust my courage, and i tremble lest my constancy should at last give way. your majesty might end all this by a few words to m. de breteuil, who could give the affair in the king's eyes any color your majesty likes without compromising you. it is the fear of being compelled to reveal all which makes me beg your majesty to take steps to relieve me from my painful position. i am, with profound respect, "your humble servant, "jeanne de la motte." jeanne calculated either that this letter would frighten the queen, or, what was more probable, would never reach her hands, but be carried by the messenger to the governor of the bastile, where it could hardly fail to tell against the queen. she then wrote to the cardinal: "i cannot conceive, monseigneur, why you persist in not speaking plainly. it seems to me that your best plan would be to confide fully in our judges. as for me, i am resolved to be silent if you will not second me; but why do you not speak? explain all the circumstances of this mysterious affair, for if i were to speak first, and you not support me, i should be sacrificed to the vengeance of her who wishes to ruin us. but i have written her a letter which will perhaps induce her to spare us, who have nothing to reproach ourselves with." this letter she gave to the cardinal at their last confrontation. he grew pale with anger at her audacity, and left the room. then jeanne produced her letter to the queen, and begged the abbé lekel, chaplain of the bastile, who had accompanied the cardinal, and was devoted to him, to take charge of it and convey it to the queen. he refused to take it. she declared that if he did not she would produce m. de rohan's letters to the queen. "and take care, sir," added she, "for they will cause his head to fall on the scaffold." at this moment the cardinal reappeared. "madame," said he, "let my head fall, so that i have the satisfaction of seeing also the scaffold which you shall mount as a thief and a forger. come, abbé." he went away, leaving jeanne devoured with rage and disappointment at her failures at every turn. chapter lxxxix. the baptism of the little beausire. madame de la motte had deceived herself on all points, cagliostro upon none. once in the bastile, he saw a good opportunity for working at the ruin of the monarchy, which he had been trying to undermine for so many years. he prepared the famous letter, dated from london, which appeared a month after. in this letter, after attacking king, queen, cardinal, and even m. de breteuil, he said, "yes, i repeat, now free after my imprisonment, there is no crime that would not be expiated by six months in the bastile. they ask me if i shall ever return to france? yes, i reply, when the bastile becomes a public promenade. you have all that is necessary to happiness, you frenchmen; a fertile soil and genial climate, good hearts, gay tempers, genius, and grace. you only want, my friends, one little thing--to feel sure of sleeping quietly in your beds when you are innocent." oliva kept her word faithfully to cagliostro, and uttered no word that could compromise him. she threw all the blame on madame de la motte, and asserted vehemently her own innocent participation in what she believed to be a joke, played on a gentleman unknown to her. all this time she did not see beausire, but she had a souvenir of him; for in the month of may she gave birth to a son. beausire was allowed to attend the baptism, which took place in the prison, which he did with much pleasure, swearing that if oliva ever recovered her liberty he would make her his wife. chapter xc. the trial. the day at last arrived, after long investigations, when the judgment of the court was to be pronounced. all the accused had been removed to the conciergerie, to be in readiness to appear when called on. oliva continued to be frank and timid; cagliostro, tranquil and indifferent; reteau, despairing, cowardly, and weeping; and jeanne, violent, menacing, and venomous. she had managed to interest the keeper and his wife, and thus obtain more freedom and indulgences. the first who took his place on the wooden stool, which was appropriated for the accused, was reteau, who asked pardon with tears and prayers, declared all he knew, and avowed his crimes. he interested no one; he was simply a knave and a coward. after him came madame de la motte. her appearance produced a great sensation; at the sight of the disgraceful seat prepared for her, she, who called herself a valois, threw around her furious looks, but, meeting curiosity instead of sympathy, repressed her rage. when interrogated, she continued, as before, to throw out insinuations, stating nothing clearly but her own innocence. when questioned as to the letters which she was reported to have said passed between the queen and the cardinal, she answered that she did not wish to compromise the queen, and that the cardinal was best able to answer this question himself. "ask him to produce them," said she; "i wish to say nothing about them." she inspired in nearly all a feeling of distrust and anger. when she retired, her only consolation was the hope of seeing the cardinal in the seat after her; and her rage was extreme when she saw it taken away, and an armchair brought for his use. the cardinal advanced, accompanied by four attendants, and the governor of the bastile walked by his side. at his entrance he was greeted by a long murmur of sympathy and respect; it was echoed by loud shouts from without--it was the people who cheered him. he was pale, and much moved. the president spoke politely to him, and begged him to sit down. when he spoke, it was with a trembling voice, and a troubled and even humble manner. he gave excuses rather than proofs, and supplications more than reasons, but said little, and seemed to be deserted by his former eloquence. oliva came next. the wooden stool was brought back for her. many people trembled at seeing this living image of the queen sitting there as a criminal. then cagliostro was called, but almost as a matter of form, and dismissed immediately. the court then announced that the proceedings were concluded, and the deliberations about to begin. all the prisoners were locked for the night in the conciergerie. the sentence was not pronounced till the following day. jeanne seated herself early at the window, and before long heard a tremendous shouting from the crowd collected to hear the sentence. this continued for some time, when she distinctly heard a passer-by say, "a grand day for the cardinal!" "for the cardinal," thought jeanne; "then he is acquitted;" and she ran to m. hubert, the keeper, to ask, but he did not know. "he must be acquitted!" she said; "they said it was a grand day for him. but i----" "well, madame," said he, "if he is acquitted, why should you not be acquitted also?" jeanne returned to the window. "you are wrong, madame," said madame hubert to her; "you only become agitated, without perfectly understanding what is passing. pray remain quiet until your counsel comes to communicate your fate." "i cannot," said jeanne, continuing to listen to what passed in the street. a woman passed, gaily dressed, and with a bouquet in her hand. "he shall have my bouquet, the dear man!" said she. "oh, i would embrace him if i could!" "and i also," said another. "he is so handsome!" said a third. "it must be the cardinal," said jeanne; "he is acquitted." and she said this with so much bitterness that the keeper said, "but, madame, do you not wish the poor prisoner to be released?" jeanne, unwilling to lose their sympathy, replied, "oh, you misunderstand me. do you believe me so envious and wicked as to wish ill to my companions in misfortune? oh no; i trust he is free. it is only impatience to learn my own fate, and you tell me nothing." "we do not know," replied they. then other loud cries were heard. jeanne could see the crowd pressing round an open carriage, which was going slowly along. flowers were thrown, hats waved; some even mounted on the steps to kiss the hand of a man who sat grave and half frightened at his own popularity. this was the cardinal. another man sat by him, and cries of "vive cagliostro!" were mingled with the shouts for m. de rohan. jeanne began to gather courage from all this sympathy for those whom she chose to call the queen's victims; but suddenly the thought flashed on her, "they are already set free, and no one has even been to announce my sentence!" and she trembled. new shouts now drew her attention to a coach, which was also advancing, followed by a crowd; and in this jeanne recognized oliva, who sat smiling with delight at the people who cheered her, holding her child in her arms. then jeanne, seeing all these people free, happy, and fêted, began to utter loud complaints that she was not also liberated, or at least told her fate. "calm yourself, madame," said madame hubert. "but tell me, for you must know." "madame." "i implore you! you see how i suffer." "we are forbidden, madame." "is it so frightful that you dare not?" "oh no; calm yourself." "then speak." "will you be patient, and not betray us?" "i swear." "well, the cardinal is acquitted." "i know it." "m. de cagliostro and mademoiselle oliva are also acquitted, m. reteau condemned to the galleys----" "and i?" cried jeanne, furiously. "madame, you promised to be patient." "see--speak--i am calm." "banished," said the woman, feebly. a flash of delight shone for a moment in the eyes of the countess; then she pretended to faint, and threw herself into the arms of madame hubert. "what would it have been," thought she, "if i had told her the truth!" "banishment!" thought jeanne; "that is liberty, riches, vengeance; it is what i hoped for. i have won!" chapter xci. the execution. jeanne waited for her counsel to come and announce her fate; but, being now at ease, said to herself, "what do i care that i am thought more guilty than m. de rohan? i am banished--that is to say, i can carry away my million and a half with me, and live under the orange trees of seville during the winter, and in germany or england in the summer. then i can tell my own story, and, young, rich, and celebrated, live as i please among my friends." pleasing herself with these notions, she commenced settling all her future plans, the disposal of her diamonds, and her establishment in london. this brought to her mind m. reteau. "poor fellow!" thought she, "it is he who pays for all; some one must suffer, and it always falls on the humblest instrument. poor reteau pays now for his pamphlets against the queen; he has led a hard life of blows and escapes, and now it terminates with the galleys." she dined with m. and madame hubert, and was quite gay; but they did not respond, and were silent and uneasy. jeanne, however, felt so happy that she cared little for their manner towards her. after dinner, she asked when they were coming to read her sentence. m. hubert said they were probably waiting till she returned to her room. she therefore rose to go, when madame hubert ran to her and took her hands, looking at her with an expression of so much pity and sympathy, that it struck her for a moment with terror. she was about to question her, but hubert took her hand, and led her from the room. when she reached her own apartment, she found eight soldiers waiting outside; she felt surprised, but went in, and allowed the man to lock her up as usual. soon, however, the door opened again, and one of the turnkeys appeared. "will madame please to follow me?" he said. "where?" "below." "what for? what do they want with me?" "madame, m. viollet, your counsel, wishes to speak to you." "why does he not come here?" "madame, he has received letters from versailles, and wishes to show them to you." "letters from versailles," thought jeanne; "perhaps the queen has interested herself for me, since the sentence was passed. wait a little," she said; "till i arrange my dress." in five minutes she was ready. "perhaps," she thought, "m. viollet has come to get me to leave france at once, and the queen is anxious to facilitate the departure of so dangerous an enemy." she followed the turnkey down-stairs, and they entered a room, which looked like a vault; it was damp, and almost dark. "sir," said she, trying to overcome her terror, "where is m. viollet?" the man did not reply. "what do you want?" continued she; "have you anything to say to me? you have chosen a very singular place for a rendezvous." "we are waiting for m. viollet," he replied. "it is not possible that m. viollet should wish for me to wait for him here." all at once, another door, which jeanne had not before observed, opened, and three men entered. jeanne looked at them in surprise, and with growing terror. one of them, who was dressed in black, with a roll of papers in his hand, advanced, and said: "you are jeanne de st. rémy de valois, wife of marie antoine, count de la motte?" "yes, sir." "born at fontette, on the d of july, ?" "yes, sir." "you live at paris, rue st. claude?" "yes, sir; but why these questions?" "madame, i am the registrar of the court, and i am come to read to you the sentence of the court of the st of may, ." jeanne trembled again, and now looked at the other two men; one had a gray dress with steel buttons, the other a fur cap on and an apron, which seemed to her spotted with blood. she drew back, but the registrar said, "on your knees, madame, if you please." "on my knees?" cried jeanne; "i, a valois!" "it is the order, madame." "but, sir, it is an unheard-of thing, except where some degrading sentence has been pronounced; and banishment is not such." "i did not tell you you were sentenced to banishment," said he gravely. "but to what, then?" "i will tell you, madame, when you are on your knees." "never!" "madame, i only follow my instructions." "never! i tell you." "madame, it is the order that when the condemned refuse to kneel, they should be forced to do it." "force--to a woman!" "there is no distinction in the eyes of justice." "ah!" cried jeanne, "this is the queen's doings; i recognize the hands of an enemy." "you are wrong to accuse the queen; she has nothing to do with the orders of the court. come, madame, i beg you to spare me the necessity of violence, and kneel down." "never!" and she planted herself firmly in a corner of the room. the registrar then signed to the two other men, who, approaching, seized her, and in spite of her cries dragged her into the middle of the room. but she bounded up again. "let me stand," said she, "and i will listen patiently." "madame, whenever criminals are punished by whipping, they kneel to receive the sentence." "whipping!" screamed jeanne; "miserable wretch, how dare you----" the men forced her on her knees once more, and held her down, but she struggled so furiously that they called out, "read quickly, monsieur, for we cannot hold her." "i will never hear such an infamous sentence," she cried; and indeed she drowned his voice so effectually with her screams, that although he read, not a word could be heard. he replaced his papers in his pocket, and she, thinking he had finished, stopped her cries. then he said, "and the sentence shall be executed at the place of executions, cour de justice." "publicly!" screamed she. "monsieur de paris, i deliver you this woman," said the registrar, addressing the man with the leathern apron. "who is this man?" cried jeanne, in a fright. "the executioner," replied the registrar. the two men then took hold of her to lead her out, but her resistance was so violent that they were obliged to drag her along by force, and she never ceased uttering the most frantic cries. they took her thus into the court called cour de justice, where there was a scaffold and which was crowded with spectators. on a platform, raised about eight feet, was a post garnished with iron rings, and with a ladder to mount to it. this place was surrounded with soldiers. when she appeared, cries of "here she is!" mingled with much abuse, were heard from the crowd. numbers of the partisans of m. de rohan had assembled to hoot her, and cries of "a bas la motte, the forger!" were heard on every side, and those who tried to express pity for her were soon silenced. then she cried in a loud voice, "do you know who i am? i am of the blood of your kings. they strike in me, not a criminal, but a rival; not only a rival, but an accomplice. yes," repeated she, as the people kept silence to kept listen, "an accomplice. they punish one who knows the secrets of----" "take care," interrupted the registrar. she turned and saw the executioner with the whip in his hand. at this sight she forgot her desire to captivate the multitude, and even her hatred, and sinking on her knees she said, "have pity!" and seized his hand; but he raised the other, and let the whip fall lightly on her shoulders. she jumped up, and was about to try and throw herself off the scaffold, when she saw the other man, who was drawing from a fire a hot iron. at this sight she uttered a perfect howl, which was echoed by the people. "help! help!" she cried, trying to shake off the cord with which they were tying her hands. the executioner at last forced her on her knees, and tore open her dress; but she cried, with a voice which was heard through all the tumult, "cowardly frenchmen! you do not defend me, but let me be tortured; oh! it is my own fault. if i had said all i knew of the queen i should have been----" she could say no more, for she was gagged by the attendants: then two men held her, while the executioner performed his office. at the touch of the iron she fainted, and was carried back insensible to the conciergerie when the crowd gradually dispersed. chapter xcii. the marriage. on the same day at noon the king entered a drawing-room, where the queen was sitting in full dress, but pale through her rouge, and surrounded by a party of ladies and gentlemen. he glanced frequently towards the door. "are not the young couple ready? i believe it is noon," he said. "sire, m. de charny is waiting in the gallery for your majesty's orders," said the queen, with a violent effort. "oh! let him come in." the queen turned from the door. "the bride ought to be here also," continued the king, "it is time." "your majesty must excuse mademoiselle de taverney, if she is late," replied m. de charny, advancing; "for since the death of her father she has not left her bed until to-day, and she fainted when she did so." "this dear child loved her father so much," replied the king, "but we hope a good husband will console her. m. de breteuil," said he, turning to that gentleman, "have you made out the order of banishment for m. de cagliostro?" "yes, sire." "and that de la motte. is it not to-day she is to be branded?" at this moment, andrée appeared, dressed in white like a bride, and with cheeks nearly as white as her dress. she advanced leaning on her brother's arm. m. de suffren, leading his nephew, came to meet her, and then drew back to allow her to approach the king. "mademoiselle," said louis, taking her hand, "i begged of you to hasten this marriage, instead of waiting until the time of your mourning had expired, that i might have the pleasure of assisting at the ceremony; for to-morrow i and the queen commence a tour through france." and he led andrée up to the queen, who could hardly stand, and did not raise her eyes. the king then, putting andrée's hand into philippe's, said, "gentlemen, to the chapel,"--and they began to move. the queen kneeled on her prie dieu, her face buried in her hands, praying for strength. charny, though pale as death, feeling that all eyes were upon him, appeared calm and strong. andrée remained immovable as a statue; she did not pray--she had nothing to ask, to hope for, or to fear. the ceremony over, the king kissed andrée on the forehead, saying, "madame la comtesse, go to the queen, she wishes to give you a wedding present." "oh!" murmured andrée to philippe, "it is too much; i can bear no more; i cannot do that." "courage, sister, one effort more." "i cannot, philippe; if she speaks to me, i shall die." "then, you will be happier than i, for i cannot die." andrée said no more, but went to the queen. she found her in her chair with closed eyes and clasped hands, seeming more dead than alive, except for the shudders which, shook her from time to time. andrée waited tremblingly to hear her speak; but, after a minute, she rose slowly, and took from the table a paper, which she put into andrée's hands. andrée opened it, and read: "andrée, you have saved me. my honor comes from you; my life belongs to you. in the name of this honor, which has cost you so dear, i swear to you that you may call me sister without blushing. this paper is the pledge of my gratitude, the dowry which i give you. your heart is noble and will thank me for this gift. "marie antoinette de lorraine d'autriche." andrée looked at the queen, and saw tears falling from her eyes; she seemed expecting an answer, but andrée, putting the letter in the fire, turned and left the room. then charny, who was waiting for her, took her hand, and they, each pale and silent, left the room. two traveling-carriages were in the courtyard; andrée got into one, and then said: "sir, i believe you go to picardy." "yes, madame." "and i to where my mother lies dead. adieu, monsieur." charny bowed, but did not reply, and andrée drove off. charny himself, after giving his hand to philippe, got into the other, and also drove off. then philippe cried, in a tone of anguish, "my task is done!" and he too vanished. the end. list of illustrations: cagliostro and oliva the queen's necklace none memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe book . section iv. "the dismissal of m. necker irritated the people beyond description. they looked upon themselves as insulted in their favourite. mob succeeded mob, each more mischievous and daring than the former. the duc d'orleans continued busy in his work of secret destruction. in one of the popular risings, a sabre struck his bust, and its head fell, severed from its body. many of the rioters (for the ignorant are always superstitious) shrunk back at this omen of evil to their idol. his real friends endeavoured to deduce a salutary warning to him from the circumstance. i was by when the duc de penthievre told him, in the presence of his daughter, that he might look upon this accident as prophetic of the fate of his own head, as well as the ruin of his family, if he persisted. he made no answer, but left the room. "on the th of july, and two or three days preceding, the commotions took a definite object. the destruction of the bastille was the point proposed, and it was achieved. arms were obtained from the old pensioners at the hotel des invalides. fifty thousand livres were distributed among the chiefs of those who influenced the invalides to give up the arms. "the massacre of the marquis de launay, commandant of the place, and of m. de flesselles, and the fall of the citadel itself, were the consequence. "her majesty was greatly affected when she heard of the murder of these officers and the taking of the bastille. she frequently told me that the horrid circumstance originated in a diabolical court intrigue, but never explained the particulars of the intrigue. she declared that both the officers and the citadel might have been saved had not the king's orders for the march of the troops from versailles, and the environs of paris, been disobeyed. she blamed the precipitation of de launay in ordering up the drawbridge and directing the few troops on it to fire upon the people. 'there,' she added, 'the marquis committed himself; as, in case of not succeeding, he could have no retreat, which every commander should take care to secure, before he allows the commencement of a general attack. [certainly, the french revolution may date its epoch as far back as the taking of the bastille; from that moment the troubles progressively continued, till the final extirpation of its illustrious victims. i was just returning from a mission to england when the storms began to threaten not only the most violent effects to france itself, but to all the land which was not divided from it by the watery element. the spirit of liberty, as the vine, which produces the most luxurious fruit, when abused becomes the most pernicious poison, was stalking abroad and revelling in blood and massacre. i myself was a witness to the enthusiastic national ball given on the ruins of the bastille, while it was still stained and reeking with the hot blood of its late keeper, whose head i saw carried in triumph. such was the effect on me that the princesse de lamballe asked me if i had known the marquis de launay. i answered in the negative; but told her from the knowledge i had of the english revolution, i was fearful of a result similar to what followed the fall of the heads of buckingham and stafford. the princess mentioning my observation to the duc de penthievre, they both burst into tears.] the death of the dauphin, the horrible revolution of the th of july, the troubles about necker, the insults and threats offered to the comte d'artois and herself,--overwhelmed the queen with the most poignant grief.] "she was most desirous of some understanding being established between the government and the representatives of the people, which she urged upon the king the expediency of personally attempting. "the king, therefore, at her reiterated remonstrances and requests, presented himself, on the following day, with his brothers, to the national assembly, to assure them of his firm determination to support the measures of the deputies, in everything conducive to the general good of his subjects. as a proof of his intentions, he said he had commanded the troops to leave paris and versailles. "the king left the assembly, as he had gone thither, on foot, amid the vociferations of 'vive le roi!' and it was only through the enthusiasm of the deputies, who thus hailed his majesty, and followed him in crowds to the palace, that the comte d'artois escaped the fury of an outrageous mob. "the people filled every avenue of the palace, which vibrated with cries for the king, the queen, and the dauphin to show themselves at the balcony. "'send for the duchesse de polignac to bring the royal children,' cried i to her majesty. "'not for the world!' exclaimed the queen. 'she will be assassinated, and my children too, if she make her appearance before this infuriate mob. let madame and the dauphin be brought unaccompanied.' "the queen, on this occasion, imitated her imperial mother, maria theresa. she took the dauphin in her arms, and madame by her side, as that empress had done when she presented herself to the hungarian magnates; but the reception here was very different. it was not 'moriamur pro nostra regina'. not that they were ill received; but the furious party of the duc d'orleans often interrupted the cries of 'vive le roi! vive la reine!' etc., with those of 'vive la nation! vive d' orleans!' and many severe remarks on the family of the de polignacs, which proved that the queen's caution on this occasion was exceedingly well-judged. "not to wound the feelings of the duchesse de polignac, i kept myself at a distance behind the queen; but i was loudly called for by the mobility, and, 'malgre moi', was obliged, at the king and queen's request, to come forward. "as i approached the balcony, i perceived one of the well-known agents of the duc d'orleans, whom i had noticed some time before in the throng, menacing me, the moment i made my appearance, with his upreared hand in fury. i was greatly terrified, but suppressed my agitation, and saluted the populace; but, fearful of exhibiting my weakness in sight of the wretch who had alarmed me, withdrew instantly, and had no sooner re-entered than i sunk motionless in the arms of one of the attendants. luckily, this did not take place till i left the balcony. had it been otherwise, the triumph to my declared enemies would have been too great. "recovering, i found myself surrounded by the royal family, who were all kindness and concern for my situation; but i could not subdue my tremor and affright. the horrid image of that monster seemed, still to threaten me. "'come, come!' said the king, 'be not alarmed, i shall order a council of all the ministers and deputies to-morrow, who will soon put an end to these riots!' "we were ere long joined by the prince de conde, the duc de bourbon, and others, who implored the king not to part with the army, but to place himself, with all the princes of the blood, at its head, as the only means to restore tranquillity to the country, and secure his own safety. "the queen was decidedly of the same opinion; and added, that, if the army were to depart, the king and his family ought to go with it; but the king, on the contrary, said he would not decide upon any measures whatever till he had heard the opinion of the council. "the queen, notwithstanding the king's indecision, was occupied, during the rest of the day and the whole of the night, in preparing for her intended; journey, as she hoped to persuade the king to follow the advice of the princes, and not wait the result of the next day's deliberation. nay, so desirous was she of this, that she threw herself on her knees to the king, imploring him to leave versailles and head the army, and offering to accompany him herself, on horseback, in uniform; but it was like speaking to a corpse he never answered. "the duchesse de polignac came to her majesty in a state of the greatest agitation, in consequence of m. de chinon having just apprised her that a most malicious report had been secretly spread among the deputies at versailles that they were all to be blown up at their next meeting. "the queen was as much surprised as the duchess, and scarcely less agitated. these wretched friends could only, in silence, compare notes of their mutual cruel misfortunes. both for a time remained speechless at this new calamity. surely this was not wanting to be added to those by which the queen was already so bitterly oppressed. "i was sent for by her majesty. count fersen accompanied me. he had just communicated to me what the duchess had already repeated from m. chinon to the queen. "the rumour had been set afloat merely as a new pretext for the continuation of the riots. "the communication of the report, so likely to produce a disastrous effect, took place while the king was with his ministers deliberating whether he should go to paris, or save himself and family by joining the army. "his majesty was called from the council to the queen's apartment, and was there made acquainted with the circumstance which had so awakened the terror of the royal party. he calmly replied, 'it is some days since this invention has been spread among the deputies; i was aware of it from the first; but from its being utterly impossible to be listened to for a moment by any one, i did not wish to afflict you by the mention of an impotent fabrication, which i myself treated with the contempt it justly merited. nevertheless, i did not forget, yesterday, in the presence of both my brothers, who accompanied me to the national assembly, there to exculpate myself from an imputation at which my nature revolts; and, from the manner in which it was received, i flatter myself that every honest frenchman was fully satisfied that my religion will ever be an insurmountable barrier against my harbouring sentiments allied in the slightest degree to such actions. "the king embraced the queen, begged she would tranquilise herself, calmed the fears of the two ladies, thanked the gentlemen for the interest they took in his favour, and returned to the council, who, in his absence, had determined on his going to the hotel de ville at paris, suggesting at the same time the names of several persons likely to be well received, if his majesty thought proper to allow their accompanying him. "during this interval, the queen, still flattering herself that she should pursue her wished-for journey, ordered the carriages to be prepared and sent off to rambouillet, where she said she should sleep; but this her majesty only stated for the purpose of distracting the attention of her pages and others about her from her real purpose. as it was well known that m. de st. priest had pointed out rambouillet as a fit asylum for the mob, she fancied that an understanding on the part of her suite that they were to halt there, and prepare for her reception, would protect her project of proceeding much farther. "when the council had broken up and the king returned, he said to the queen, 'it is decided.' "'to go, i hope?' said her majesty. "'no'--(though in appearance calm, the words remained on the lips of the king, and he stood for some moments incapable of utterance; but, recovering, added)--'to paris!' "the queen, at the word paris, became frantic. she flung herself wildly into the arms of her friends. "'nous sommes perdus! nous sommes perdus!' cried she, in a passion of tears. but her dread was not for herself. she felt only for the danger to which the king was now going to expose himself; and she flew to him, and hung on his neck. "'and what,' exclaimed she, 'is to become of all our faithful friends and attendants!' "'i advise them all,' answered his majesty, 'to make the best of their way out of france; and that as soon as possible.' "by this time, the apartments of the queen were filled with the attendants and the royal children, anxiously expecting every moment to receive the queen's command to proceed on their journey, but they were all ordered to retire to whence they came. "the scene was that of a real tragedy. nothing broke the silence but groans of the deepest affliction. our consternation at the counter order cast all into a state of stupefied insensibility. "the queen was the only one whose fortitude bore her up proudly under this weight of misfortunes. recovering from the frenzy of the first impression, she adjured her friends, by the love and obedience they had ever shown her and the king, to prepare immediately to fulfil his mandate and make themselves ready for the cruel separation! "the duchesse de polignac and myself were, for some hours, in a state of agony and delirium. "when the queen saw the body-guards drawn up to accompany the king's departure, she ran to the window, threw apart the sash, and was going to speak to them, to recommend the king to their care; but the count fersen prevented it. "'for god's sake, madame,'--exclaimed he, 'do not commit yourself to the suspicion of having any doubts of the people!' "when the king entered to take leave of her, and of all his most faithful attendants, he could only articulate, 'adieu!' but when the queen saw him accompanied by the comte d'estaing and others, whom, from their new principles, she knew to be popular favourites, she had command enough of herself not to shed a tear in their presence. "no sooner, however, had the king left the room than it was as much as the count fersen, princesse elizabeth, and all of us could do to recover her from the most violent convulsions. at last, coming to herself, she retired with the princess, the duchess, and myself to await the king's return; at the same time requesting the count fersen to follow his majesty to the hotel de ville. again and again she implored the count, as she went, in case the king should be detained, to interest himself with all the foreign ministers to interpose for his liberation. "versailles, when the king was gone, seemed like a city deserted in consequence of the plague. the palace was completely abandoned. all the attendants were dispersed. no one was seen in the streets. terror prevailed. it was universally believed that the king would be detained in paris. the high road from versailles to paris was crowded with all ranks of people, as if to catch a last look of their sovereign. "the count fersen set off instantly, pursuant to the queen's desire. he saw all that passed, and on his return related to me the history of that horrid day. "he arrived at paris just in time to see his majesty take the national cockade from m. bailly and place it in his hat. he, felt the hotel de ville shake with the long-continued cries of 'vive le roi!' in consequence, which so affected the king that, for some moments, he was unable to express himself. 'i myself,' added the count, 'was so moved at the effect on his majesty, in being thus warmly received by his parisian subjects, which portrayed the paternal emotions of his long-lacerated heart, that every other feeling was paralysed for a moment, in exultation at the apparent unanimity between the sovereign and his people. but it did not,' continued the ambassador, 'paralyse the artful tongue of bailly, the mayor of paris. i could have kicked the fellow for his malignant impudence; for, even in the cunning compliment he framed, he studied to humble the afflicted monarch by telling the people it was to them he owed the sovereign authority. "'but,' pursued the count, 'considering the situation of louis xvi. and that of his family, agonised as they must have been during his absence, from the queen's impression that the parisians would never again allow him to see versailles, how great was our rapture when we saw him safely replaced in his carriage, and returning to those who were still lamenting him as lost! "'when i left her majesty in the morning, she was nearly in a state of mental aberration. when i saw her again in the evening, the king by her side, surrounded by her family, the princesse eizabeth, and yourself, madame' said the kind count, 'she appeared to me like a person risen from the dead and restored to life. her excess of joy at the first moment was beyond description!' "count fersen might well say the first moment, for the pleasure of the queen was of short duration. her heart was doomed to bleed afresh, when the thrill of delight, at what she considered the escape of her husband, was past, for she had already seen her chosen friend, the duchesse de polignac, for the last time. "her majesty was but just recovered from the effects of the morning's agitation, when the duchess, the duke, his sister, and all his family set off. it was impossible for her to take leave of her friend. the hour was late--about midnight. at the same time departed the comte d'artois and his family, the prince de conde and his, the prince of hesse d'armstadt, and all those who were likely to be suspected by the people. "her majesty desired the count fersen to see the duchess in her name. when the king heard the request, he exclaimed: "'what a cruel state for sovereigns, my dear count! to be compelled to separate ourselves from our most faithful attendants, and not be allowed, for fear of compromising others or our own lives, to take a last farewell!' "'ah!' said the queen, 'i fear so too. i fear it is a last farewell to all our friends!' "the count saw the duchess a few moments before she left versailles. pisani, the venetian ambassador, and count fersen, helped her on the coachbox, where she rode disguised. "what must have been most poignantly mortifying to the fallen favourite was, that, in the course of her journey, she met with her greatest enemy, (necker) who was returning, triumphant, to paris, called by the voice of that very nation by whom she and her family were now forced from its territory,--necker, who himself conceived that she, who now went by him into exile, while he himself returned to the greatest of victories, had thwarted all his former plans of operation, and, from her influence over the queen, had caused his dismission and temporary banishment. "for my own part, i cannot but consider this sudden desertion of france by those nearest the throne as ill-judged. had all the royal family, remained, is it likely that the king and queen would have been watched with such despotic vigilance? would not confidence have created confidence, and the breach have been less wide between the king and his people? "when the father and his family will now be thoroughly reconciled, heaven alone can tell!" section v. "barnave often lamented his having been betrayed, by a love of notoriety, into many schemes, of which his impetuosity blinded him to the consequences. with tears in his eyes, he implored me to impress the queen's mind with the sad truths he inculcated. he said his motives had been uniformly the same, however he might have erred in carrying them into action; but now he relied on my friendship for my royal mistress to give efficacy to his earnest desire to atone for those faults, of which he had become convinced by dear-bought experience. he gave me a list of names for her majesty, in which were specified all the jacobins who had emissaries throughout france, for the purpose of creating on the same day, and at the same hour, an alarm of something like the 'vesparo siciliano' (a general insurrection to murder all the nobility and burn their palaces, which, in fact, took place in many parts of france), the object of which was to give the assembly, by whom all the regular troops were disbanded, a pretext for arming the people as a national guard, thus creating a perpetual national faction. "the hordes of every faubourg now paraded in this new democratic livery. even some of them, who were in the actual service of the court, made no scruple of decorating themselves thus, in the very face of their sovereign. the king complained, but the answer made to him was that the nation commanded. "the very first time their majesties went to the royal chapel, after the embodying of the troops with the national guards, all the persons belonging to it were accoutred in the national uniform. the queen was highly incensed, and deeply affected at this insult offered to the king's authority by the persons employed in the sacred occupations of the church. 'such persons,' said her majesty, 'would, i had hoped, have been the last to interfere with politics.' she was about to order all those who preferred their uniforms to their employments to be discharged from the king's service; but my advice, coupled with that of barnave, dissuaded her from executing so dangerous a threat. on being assured that those, perhaps, who might be selected to replace the offenders might refuse the service, if not allowed the same ridiculous prerogatives, and thus expose their royal majesties to double mortification, the queen seemed satisfied, and no more was said upon the subject, except to an italian soprano, to whom the king signified his displeasure at his singing a 'salva regina' in the dress of a grenadier of the new faction. "the singer took the hint and never again intruded his uniform into the chapel. "necker, notwithstanding the enthusiasm his return produced upon the people, felt mortified in having lost the confidence of the king. he came to me, exclaiming that, unless their majesties distinguished him by some mark of their royal favour, his influence must be lost with the national assembly. he perceived, he said, that the councils of the king were more governed by the advice of the queen's favourite, the abbe vermond, than by his (necker's). he begged i would assure her majesty that vermond was quite as obnoxious to the people as the duchesse de polignac had ever been; for it was generally known that her majesty was completely guided by him, and, therefore, for her own safety and the tranquillity of national affairs, he humbly suggested the prudence of sending him from the court, at least for a time. "i was petrified at hearing a minister dare presume thus to dictate the line of conduct which the queen of france, his sovereign, should pursue with respect to her most private servants. such was my indignation at this cruel wish to dismiss every object of her choice, especially one from whom, owing to long habits of intimacy since her childhood, a separation would be rendered, by her present situation, peculiarly cruel, that nothing but the circumstances in which the court then stood could have given me patience to listen to him. "i made no answer. upon my silence, necker subjoined, 'you must perceive, princess, that i am actuated for the general good of the nation.' "'and i hope, monsieur, for the prerogatives of the monarchy also,' replied i. "'certainly,' said necker. 'but if their majesties continue to be guided by others, and will not follow my advice, i cannot answer for the consequences.' "i assured the minister that i would be the faithful bearer of his commission, however unpleasant. "knowing the character of the queen, in not much relishing being dictated to with respect to her conduct in relation to the persons of her household, especially the abbe vermond, and aware, at the same time, of her dislike to necker, who thus undertook to be her director, i felt rather awkward in being the medium of the minister's suggestions. but what was my surprise, on finding her prepared, and totally indifferent as to the privation. "'i foresaw,' replied her majesty, 'that vermond would become odious to the present order of things, merely because he had been a faithful servant, and long attached to my interest; but you may tell m. necker that the abbe leaves versailles this very night, by my express order, for vienna.' "if the proposal of necker astonished me, the queen's reception of it astonished me still more. what a lesson is this for royal favourites! the man who had been her tutor, and who, almost from her childhood, never left her, the constant confidant for fifteen or sixteen years, was now sent off without a seeming regret. "i doubt not, however, that the queen had some very powerful secret motive for the sudden change in her conduct towards the abbe, for she was ever just in all her concerns, even to her avowed enemies; but i was happy that she seemed to express no particular regret at the minister's suggested policy. i presume, from the result, that i myself had overrated the influence of the abbe over the mind of his royal pupil; that he had by no means the sway imputed to him; and that marie antoinette merely considered him as the necessary instrument of her private correspondence, which he had wholly managed. [the truth is, her majesty had already taken leave of the abbe, in the presence of the king, unknown to the princess; or, more properly, the abbe had taken an affectionate leave of them.] "but a circumstance presently occurred which aroused her majesty from this calmness and indifference. the king came in to inform her that la fayette, during the night, had caused the guards to desert from the palace of versailles. "the effect on her of this intelligence was like the lightning which precedes a loud clap of thunder. "everything that followed was perfectly in character, and shook every nerve of the royal authority. "'thus,' exclaimed marie antoinette, 'thus, sire, have you humiliated yourself, in condescending to go to paris, without having accomplished the object. you have not regained the confidence of your subjects. oh, how bitterly do i deplore the loss of that confidence! it exists no longer. alas! when will it be restored!' "the french guards, indeed, had been in open insurrection through the months of june and july, and all that could be done was to preserve one single company of grenadiers, by means of their commander, the baron de leval, faithful to their colours. this company had now been influenced by general la fayette to desert and join their companions, who had enrolled themselves in the paris national guard. "messieurs de bouille and de luxembourg being interrogated by the queen respecting the spirit of the troops under their immediate command, m. de bouille answered, madame, i should be very sorry to be compelled to undertake any internal operation with men who have been seduced from their allegiance, and are daily paid by a faction which aims at the overthrow of its legitimate sovereign. i would not answer for a man that has been in the neighbourhood of the seditious national troops, or that has read the inflammatory discussions of the national assembly. if your majesty and the king wish well to the nation--i am sorry to say it--its happiness depends on your quitting immediately the scenes of riot and placing yourselves in a situation to treat with the national assembly on equal terms, whereby the king may be unbiassed and unfettered by a compulsive, overbearing mob; and this can only be achieved by your flying to a place of safety. that you may find such a place, i will answer with my life!' "'yes,' said m. de luxembourg, 'i think we may both safely answer that, in such a case, you will find a few frenchmen ready to risk a little to save all!' and both concurred that there was no hope of salvation for the king or country but through the resolution they advised. "'this,' said the queen, 'will be a very difficult task. his majesty, i fear, will never consent to leave france.' "'then, madame,' replied they, 'we can only regret that we have nothing to offer but our own perseverance in the love and service of our king and his oppressed family, to whom we deplore we can now be useful only with our feeble wishes.' "'well, gentlemen,' answered her majesty, 'you must not despair of better prospects. i will take an early opportunity of communicating your loyal sentiments to the king, and will hear his opinion on the subject before i give you a definite answer. i thank you, in the name of his majesty, as well as on my own account, for your good intentions towards us.' "scarcely had these gentlemen left the palace, when a report prevailed that the king, his family, and ministers, were about to withdraw to some fortified situation. it was also industriously rumoured that, as soon as they were in safety, the national assembly would be forcibly dismissed, as the parliament had been by louis xiv. the reports gained universal belief when it became known that the king had ordered the flanders regiment to versailles. "the national assembly now daily watched the royal power more and more assiduously. new sacrifices of the prerogatives of the nobles were incessantly proposed by them to the king. "when his majesty told the queen that he had been advised by necker to sanction the abolition of the privileged nobility, and that all distinctions, except the order of the holy ghost to himself and the dauphin, were also annihilated by the assembly, even to the order of maria theresa, which she could no longer wear, 'these, sire,' answered she, in extreme anguish, 'are trifles, so far as they regard myself. i do not think i have twice worn the order of maria theresa since my arrival in this once happy country. i need it not. the immortal memory of her who gave me being is engraven on my heart; that i shall wear forever, none can wrest it from me. but what grieves me to the soul is your having sanctioned these decrees of the national assembly upon the mere 'ipse dixit' of m. necker.' "'i have only, given my sanction to such as i thought most necessary to tranquilise the minds of those who doubted my sincerity; but i have withheld it from others, which, for the good of my, people, require maturer consideration. on these, in a full council, and in your presence, i shall again deliberate.' "'oh, said the queen, with tears in her eyes, could but the people hear you, and know, once for all, how to appreciate the goodness of your heart, as i do now, they would cast themselves at your feet, and supplicate your forgiveness for having shown such ingratitude to your paternal interest for their welfare!' "but this unfortunate refusal to sanction all the decrees sent by the national assembly, though it proceeded from the best motives, produced the worst effects. duport, de lameth, and barnave well knew the troubles such a course must create. of this they forewarned his majesty, before any measure was laid before him for approval. they cautioned him not to trifle with the deputies. they assured him that half measures would only rouse suspicion. they enforced the necessity of uniform assentation, in order to lull the mirabeau party, who were canvassing for a majority to set up d'orleans, to whose interest mirabeau and his myrmidons were then devoted. the scheme of duport, de lameth, and barnave was to thwart and weaken the mirabeau and orleans faction, by gradually persuading them, in consequence of the king's compliance with whatever the assembly exacted, that they could do no better than to let him into a share of the executive power; for now nothing was left to his majesty but responsibility, while the privileges of grace and justice had become merely nominal, with the one dangerous exception of the veto, to which he could never have recourse without imminent peril to his cause and to himself. "unfortunately for his majesty's interest, he was too scrupulous to act, even through momentary policy, distinctly against his conscience. when he gave way, it was with reluctance, and often with an avowal, more or less express, that he only complied with necessity against conviction. his very sincerity made him appear the reverse. his adherents consequently dwindled, while the orleans faction became immeasurably augmented. "in the midst of these perplexities, an austrian courier was stopped with despatches from prince kaunitz. these, though unsought for on the part of her majesty, though they contained a friendly advice to her to submit to the circumstances of the times, and though, luckily, they were couched in terms favourable to the constitution, showed the mob that there was a correspondence with vienna, carried on by the queen, and neither austria nor the queen were deemed the friends either of the people or of the constitution. to have received the letters was enough for the faction. "affairs were now ripening gradually into something like a crisis, when the flanders regiment arrived. the note of preparation had been sounded. 'let us go to versailles, and bring the king away from his evil counsellors,' was already in the mouths of the parisians. "in the meantime, dumourier, who had been leagued with the orleans faction, became disgusted with it. he knew the deep schemes of treason which were in train against the royal family, and, in disguise, sought the queen at versailles, and had an interview with her majesty in my presence. he assured her that an abominable insurrection was ripe for explosion among the mobs of the faubourgs; gave her the names of the leaders, who had received money to promote its organisation; and warned her that the massacre of the royal family was the object of the manoeuvre, for the purpose of declaring the duke of orleans the constitutional king; that he was to be proclaimed by mirabeau, who had already received a considerable sum in advance, for distribution among the populace, to ensure their support; and that mirabeau, in return for his co-operation, was to be created a duke, with the office of prime minister and secretary of state, and to have the framing of the constitution, which was to be modelled from that of great britain. it was farther concerted that d'orleans was to show himself in the midst of the confusion, and the crown to be conferred upon him by public acclamation. "on his knees dumourier implored her majesty to regard his voluntary discovery of this infamous and diabolical plot as a proof of his sincere repentance. he declared he came disinterestedly to offer himself as a sacrifice to save her, the king, and her family from the horrors then threatening their lives, from the violence of an outrageous mob of regicides; he called god to witness that he was actuated by no other wish than to atone for his error, and die in their defence; he looked for no reward beyond the king's forgiveness of his having joined the orleans faction; he never had any view in joining that faction but that of aiding the duke, for the good of his country, in the reform of ministerial abuses, and strengthening the royal authority by the salutary laws of the national assembly; but he no sooner discovered that impure schemes of personal aggrandisement gave the real impulse to these pretended reformers than he forsook their unholy course. he supplicated her majesty to lose no time, but to allow him to save her from the destruction to which she would inevitably be exposed; that he was ready to throw himself at the king's feet, to implore his forgiveness also, and to assure him of his profound penitence, and his determination to renounce forever the factious orleans party. "as her majesty would not see any of those who offered themselves, except in my presence, i availed myself, in this instance, of the opportunity it gave me by enforcing the arguments of dumourier. but all i could say, all the earnest representations to be deduced from this critical crisis, could not prevail with her, even so far as to persuade her to temporise with dumourier, as she had done with many others on similar occasions. she was deaf and inexorable. she treated all he had said as the effusion of an overheated imagination, and told him she had no faith in traitors. dumourier remained upon his knees while she was replying, as if stupefied; but at the word traitor he started and roused himself; and then, in a state almost of madness, seized the queen's dress, exclaiming, 'allow yourself to be persuaded before it is too late! let not your misguided prejudice against me hurry you to your own and your children's destruction; let it not get the better, madame, of your good sense and reason; the fatal moment is near; it is at hand!' upon this, turning, he addressed himself to me. "'oh, princess,' he cried, 'be her guardian angel, as you have hitherto been her only friend, and use your never-failing influence. i take god once more to witness, that i am sincere in all i have said; that all i have disclosed is true. this will be the last time i shall have it in my power to be of any essential service to you, madame, and my sovereign. the national assembly will put it out of my power for the future, without becoming a traitor to my country.' "'rise, monsieur,' said the queen, 'and serve your country better than you have served your king!' "'madame, i obey.' "when he was about to leave the room, i again, with tears, besought her majesty not to let him depart thus, but to give him some hope, that, after reflection, she might perhaps endeavour to soothe the king's anger. but in vain. he withdrew very much affected. i even ventured, after his departure, to intercede for his recall. "'he has pledged himself,' said i, 'to save you, madame!' "'my dear princess,' replied the queen, 'the goodness of your own heart will not allow you to have sinister ideas of others. this man is like all of the same stamp. they are all traitors; and will only hurry us the sooner, if we suffer ourselves to be deceived by them, to an ignominious death! i seek no safety for myself.' "'but he offered to serve the king also, madame.' "'i am not,' answered her majesty, 'henrietta of france. i will never stoop to ask a pension of the murderers of my husband; nor will i leave the king, my son, or my adopted country, or even meanly owe my existence to wretches who have destroyed the dignity of the crown and trampled under foot the most ancient monarchy in europe! under its ruins they will bury their king and myself. to owe our safety to them would be more hateful than any death they can prepare for us' "while the queen was in this state of agitation, a note was presented to me with a list of the names of the officers of the flanders regiment, requesting the honour of an audience of the queen. "the very idea of seeing the flanders officers flushed her majesty's countenance with an ecstasy of joy. she said she would retire to compose herself, and receive them in two hours. "the queen saw the officers in her private cabinet, and in my presence. they were presented to her by me. they told her majesty that, though they had changed their paymaster, they had not changed their allegiance to their sovereign or herself, but were ready to defend both with their lives. they placed one hand on the hilt of their swords, and, solemnly lifting the other up to heaven, swore that the weapons should never be wielded but for the defence of the king and queen, against all foes, whether foreign or domestic. "this unexpected loyalty burst on us like the beauteous rainbow, after a tempest, by the dawn of which we are taught to believe the world is saved from a second deluge. "the countenance of her majesty brightened over the gloom which had oppressed her, like the heavenly sun dispersing threatening clouds, and making the heart of the poor mariner bound with joy. her eyes spoke her secret rapture. it was evident she felt even unusual dignity in the presence of these noble-hearted warriors, when comparing them with him whom she had just dismissed. she graciously condescended to speak to every one of them, and one and all were enchanted with her affability. "she said she was no longer the queen who could compensate loyalty and valour; but the brave soldier found his reward in the fidelity of his service, which formed the glory of his immortality. she assured them she had ever been attached to the army, and would make it her study to recommend every individual, meriting attention, to the king. "loud bursts of repeated acclamations and shouts of 'vive la reine!' instantly followed her remarks. she thanked the officers most graciously; and, fearing to commit herself, by saying more, took her leave, attended by me; but immediately sent me back, to thank them again in her name. "they departed, shouting as they went, 'vive la reine! vive la princesse! vive le roi, le dauphin, et toute la famille royale!' "when the national assembly saw the officers going to and coming from the king's palace with such demonstrations of enthusiasm, they took alarm, and the regicide faction hastened on the crisis for which it had been longing. it was by no means unusual for the chiefs of regiments, destined to form part of the garrison of a royal residence, to be received by the sovereign on their arrival, and certainly only natural that they should be so; but in times of excitement trifling events have powerful effects. "but if the national assembly began to tremble for their own safety, and had already taken secret, measures to secure it, by conspiring to put an instantaneous end to the king's power, against which they had so long been plotting, when the flanders regiment arrived, it may be readily conceived what must have been their emotions on the fraternisation of this regiment with the body-guard, and on the scene to which the dinner, given to the former troops by the latter, so unpremeditatedly led. "on the day of this fatal dinner i remarked to the queen, 'what a beautiful sight it must be to behold, in these troublesome times, the happy union of such a meeting!' "'it must indeed!' replied the king; 'and the pleasure i feel in knowing it would be redoubled had i the privilege of entertaining the flanders regiment, as the body-guards are doing.' "'heaven forbid!' cried her majesty; 'heaven forbid that you should think of such a thing! the assembly would never forgive us!' "after we had dined, the queen sent to the marquise de tourzel for the dauphin. when he came, the queen told him about her having seen the brave officers on their arrival; and how gaily those good officers had left the palace, declaring they would die rather than suffer any harm to come to him, or his papa and mamma; and that at that very time they were all dining at the theatre. "'dining in the theatre, mamma?' said the young, prince. 'i never heard of people dining in a theatre!' "'no, my dear child,' replied her majesty, 'it is not generally allowed; but they are doing so, because the body-guards are giving a dinner to this good flanders regiment; and the flanders regiment are so brave that the guards chose the finest place they could think of to entertain them in, to show how much they like them; that is the reason why they are dining in the gay, painted theatre.' "'oh, mamma!' exclaimed the dauphin, whom the queen adored, 'oh, papa!' cried he, looking at the king, 'how i should like to see them!' "'let us go and satisfy the child!' said the king, instantly starting up from his seat. "the queen took the dauphin by the hand, and they proceeded to the theatre. it was all done in a moment. there was no premeditation on the part of the king or queen; no invitation on the part of the officers. had i been asked, i should certainly have followed the queen; but just as the king rose, i left the room. the prince being eager to see the festival, they set off immediately, and when i returned to the apartment they were gone. not being very well, i remained where i was; but most of the household had already followed their majesties. "on the royal family making their appearance, they were received with the most unequivocal shouts of general enthusiasm by the troops. intoxicated with the pleasure of seeing their majesties among them, and overheated with the juice of the grape, they gave themselves up to every excess of joy, which the circumstances and the situation of their majesties were so well calculated to inspire. 'oh! richard! oh, mon roi!' was sung, as well as many other loyal songs. the healths of the king, queen, and dauphin were drunk, till the regiments were really inebriated with the mingled influence of wine and shouting vivas! "when the royal party retired, they were followed by all the military to the very palace doors, where they sung, danced, embraced each other, and gave way to all the frantic demonstrations of devotedness to the royal cause which the excitement of the scene and the table could produce. throngs, of course, collected to get near the royal family. many persons in the rush were trampled on, and one or two men, it was said, crushed to death. the dauphin and king were delighted; but the queen, in giving the princesse elizabeth and myself an account of the festival, foresaw the fatal result which would ensue; and deeply deplored the marked enthusiasm with which they had been greeted and followed by the military. "there was one more military spectacle, a public breakfast which took place on the second of october. though none of the royal family appeared at it, it was no less injurious to their interests than the former. the enemies of the crown spread reports all over paris, that the king and queen had manoeuvred to pervert the minds of the troops so far as to make them declare against the measures of the national assembly. it is not likely that the assembly, or politics, were even spoken of at the breakfast; but the report did as much mischief as the reality would have done. this was quite sufficient to encourage the d'orleans and mirabeau faction in the assembly to the immediate execution of their long-meditated scheme, of overthrowing the monarchy. "on the very day following, duport, de lameth, and barnave sent their confidential agent to apprise the queen that certain deputies had already fully matured a plot to remove the king, nay, to confine her majesty from him in a distant part of france, that her influence over his mind might no farther thwart their premeditated establishment of a constitution. "but others of this body, and the more powerful and subtle portion, had a deeper object, so depraved, that, even when forewarned, the queen could not deem it possible; but of which she was soon convinced by their infernal acts. "the riotous faction, for the purpose of accelerating this denouement, had contrived, by buying up all the corn and sending it out of the country, to reduce the populace to famine, and then to make it appear that the king and queen had been the monopolisers, and the extravagance of marie antoinette and her largesses to austria and her favourites, the cause. the plot was so deeply laid that the wretches who, undertook to effect the diabolical scheme were metamorphosed in the queen's livery, so that all the odium might fall on her unfortunate majesty. at the head of the commission of monopolisers was luckner, who had taken a violent dislike to the queen, in consequence of his having been refused some preferment, which he attributed to her influence. mirabeau, who was still in the background, and longing to take a more prominent part, helped it on as much as possible. pinet, who had been a confidential agent of the duc d'orleans, himself told the duc de penthievre that d'orleans had monopolised all the corn. this communication, and the activity of the count fersen, saved france, and paris in particular, from perishing for the want of bread. even at the moment of the abominable masquerade, in which her majesty's agents were made to appear the enemies who were starving the french people, out of revenge for the checks imposed by them on the royal authority, it was well known to all the court that both her majesty and the king were grieved to the soul at their piteous want, and distributed immense sums for the relief of the poor sufferers, as did the duc de penthievre, the duchesse d'orleans, the prince de conde, the duc and duchesse de bourbon, and others; but these acts were done privately, while he who had created the necessity took to himself the exclusive credit of the relief, and employed thousands daily to propagate reports of his generosity. mirabeau, then the factotum agent of the operations of the palais royal and its demagogues, greatly added to the support of this impression. indeed, till undeceived afterwards, he believed it to be really the duc d'orleans who had succoured the people. "i dispensed two hundred and twenty thousand livres merely to discover the names of the agents who had been employed to carry on this nefarious plot to exasperate the people against the throne by starvation imputed to the sovereign. though money achieved the discovery in time to clear the characters of my royal mistress and the king, the detection only followed the mischief of the crime. but even the rage thus wickedly excited was not enough to carry through the plot. in the faubourgs of paris, where the women became furies, two hundred thousand livres were distributed ere the horror could be completely exposed. "but it is time for me to enter upon the scenes to which all the intrigues i have detailed were intended to lead--the removal of the royal family from versailles. "my heart sickens when i retrace these moments of anguish. the point to which they are to conduct us yet remains one of the mysteries of fate." section vi. "her majesty had been so thoroughly lulled into security by the enthusiasm of the regiments at versailles that she treated all the reports from paris with contempt. nothing was apprehended from that quarter, and no preparations were consequently made for resistance or protection. she was at little trianon when the news of the approach of the desolating torrent arrived. the king was hunting. i presented to her the commandant of the troops at versailles, who assured her majesty that a murderous faction, too powerful, perhaps, for resistance, was marching principally against her royal person, with la fayette at their head, and implored her to put herself and valuables in immediate safety; particularly all her correspondence with the princes, emigrants, and foreign courts, if she had no means of destroying them. "though the queen was somewhat awakened to the truth by this earnest appeal, yet she still considered the extent of the danger as exaggerated, and looked upon the representation as partaking, in a considerable degree, of the nature of all reports in times of popular commotion. "presently, however, a more startling omen appeared, in a much milder but ambiguous communication from general la fayette. he stated that he was on his march from paris with the national guard, and part of the people, coming to make remonstrances; but he begged her majesty to rest assured that no disorder would take place, and that he himself would vouch that there should be none. "the king was instantly sent for to the heights of meudon, while the queen set off from little trianon, with me, for versailles. "the first movements were commenced by a few women, or men in women's clothes, at the palace gates of versailles. the guards refused them entrance, from an order they had received to that effect from la fayette. the consternation produced by their resentment was a mere prelude to the horrid tragedy that succeeded. "the information now pouring in from different quarters increased her majesty's alarm every moment. the order of la fayette, not to let the women be admitted, convinced her that there was something in agitation, which his unexplained letter made her sensible was more to be feared than if he had signified the real situation and danger to which she was exposed. "a messenger was forthwith despatched for m. la fayette, and another, by order of the queen, for m. de st. priest, to prepare a retreat for the royal family, as the parisian mob's advance could no longer be doubted. everything necessary was accordingly got ready. "la fayette now arrived at versailles in obedience to the message, and, in the presence of all the court and ministers, assured the king that he could answer for the paris army, at the head of which he intended to march, to prevent disorders; and advised the admission of the women into the palace, who, he said, had nothing to propose but a simple memorial relative to the scarcity of bread. "the queen said to him, 'remember, monsieur, you have pledged your honour for the king's safety.' "'and i hope, madame, to be able to redeem it.' "he then left versailles to return to his post with the army. "a limited number of the women were at length admitted; and so completely did they seem satisfied with the reception they met with from the king, as, in all appearance, to have quieted their riotous companions. the language of menace and remonstrance had changed into shouts of 'vive le roi!' the apprehensions of their majesties were subdued; and the whole system of operation, which had been previously adopted for the royal family's quitting versailles, was, in consequence, unfortunately changed. "but the troops, that had been hitherto under arms for the preservation of order, in going back to their hotel, were assailed and fired at by the mob. "the return of the body-guards, thus insulted in going to and coming from the palace, caused the queen and the court to resume the resolution of instantly retiring from versailles; but it was now too late. they were stopped by the municipality and the mob of the city, who were animated to excess against the queen by one of the bass singers of the french opera.--[la haise] "every hope of tranquillity was now shaken by the hideous howlings which arose from all quarters. intended flight had become impracticable. atrocious expressions were levelled against the queen, too shocking for repetition. i shudder when i reflect to what a degree of outrage the 'poissardes' of paris were excited, to express their abominable designs on the life of that most adored of sovereigns. "early in the evening her majesty came to my apartment, in company with one of her female attendants. she was greatly agitated. she brought all her jewels and a considerable quantity of papers, which she had begun to collect together immediately on her arrival from trianon, as the commandant had recommended. [neither her majesty nor the princess ever returned to versailles after the sixth of that fatal october! part of the papers, brought by the queen to the apartment of the princess, were tacked by me on two of my petticoats; the under one three fold, one on the other, and outside; and the upper one, three or four fold double on the inside; and thus i left the room with this paper undergarment, which put me to no inconvenience. returning to the princess, i was ordered to go to lisle, there take the papers from their hiding-place, and deliver them, with others, to the same person who received the box, of which mention will be found in another part of this work. i was not to take any letters, and was to come back immediately. as i was leaving the apartment her majesty said something to her highness which i did not hear. the princess turned round very quickly, and kissing me on the forehead, said in italian, "my dear little englishwoman, for heaven's sake be careful of yourself, for i should never forgive myself if any misfortune were to befall you." "nor i," said her majesty.] "notwithstanding the fatigue and agitation which the queen must have suffered during the day, and the continued threats, horrible howlings, and discharge of firearms during the night, she had courage enough to visit the bedchambers of her children and then to retire to rest in her own. "but her rest was soon fearfully interrupted. horrid cries at her chamber door of 'save the queen! save the queen! or she will be assassinated!' aroused her. the faithful guardian who gave the alarm was never heard more. he was murdered in her defence! her majesty herself only escaped the poignards of immediate death by flying to the king's apartment, almost in the same state as she lay in bed, not having had time to screen herself with any covering but what was casually thrown over her by the women who assisted her in her flight; while one well acquainted with the palace is said to have been seen busily engaged in encouraging the regicides who thus sought her for midnight murder. the faithful guards who defended the entrance to the room of the intended victim of these desperadoes took shelter in the room itself upon her leaving it, and were alike threatened with instant death by the grenadier assassins for having defeated them in their fiend-like purpose; they were, however, saved by the generous interposition and courage of two gentlemen, who, offering themselves as victims in their place, thus brought about a temporary accommodation between the regular troops and the national guard. "all this time general la fayette never once appeared. it is presumed that he himself had been deceived as to the horrid designs of the mob, and did not choose to show himself, finding it impossible to check the impetuosity of the horde he had himself brought to action, in concurring to countenance their first movements from paris. posterity will decide how far he was justified in pledging himself for the safety of the royal family, while he was heading a riotous mob, whose atrocities were guaranteed from punishment or check by the sanction of his presence and the faith reposed in his assurance. was he ignorant, or did he only pretend to be so, of the incalculable mischief inevitable from giving power and a reliance on impunity to such an unreasoning mass? by any military operation, as commander-in-chief, he might have turned the tide. and why did he not avail himself of that authority with which he had been invested by the national assembly, as the delegates of the nation, for the general safety and guardianship of the people? for the people, of whom he was the avowed protector, were themselves in peril: it was only the humanity (or rather, in such a crisis, the imbecility) of louis xvi. that prevented them from being fired on; and they would inevitably have been sacrificed, and that through the want of policy in their leader, had not this mistaken mercy of the king prevented his guards from offering resistance to the murderers of his brave defenders! "the cry of 'queen! queen!' now resounded from the lips of the cannibals stained with the blood of her faithful guards. she appeared, shielded by filial affection, between her two innocent children, the threatened orphans! but the sight of so much innocence and heroic courage paralysed the hands uplifted for their massacre! "a tiger voice cried out, 'no children!' the infants were hurried away from the maternal side, only to witness the author of their being offering up herself, eagerly and instantly, to the sacrifice, an ardent and delighted victim to the hoped-for preservation of those, perhaps, orphans, dearer to her far than life! her resignation and firm step in facing the savage cry that was thundering against her, disarmed the ferocious beasts that were hungering and roaring for their prey! "mirabeau, whose immense head and gross figure could not be mistaken, is said to have been the first among the mob to have sonorously chanted, 'to paris!' his myrmidons echoed and re-echoed the cry upon the signal. he then hastened to the assembly to contravene any measures the king might ask in opposition. the riots increasing, the queen said to his majesty: "'oh, sire! why am i not animated with the courage of maria theresa? let me go with my children to the national assembly, as she did to the hungarian senate, with my imperial brother, joseph, in her arms and leopold in her womb, when charles the seventh of bavaria had deprived her of all her german dominions, and she had already written to the duchesse de lorraine to prepare her an asylum, not knowing where she should be delivered of the precious charge she was then bearing; but i, like the mother of the gracchi, like cornelia, more esteemed for my birth than for my marriage, am the wife of the king of france, and i see we shall be murdered in our beds for the want of our own exertions!' "the king remained as if paralysed and stupefied, and made no answer. the princesse elizabeth then threw herself at the queen's feet, imploring her to consent to go to paris. "'to paris!' exclaimed her majesty. "'yes, madame,' said the king. 'i will put an end to these horrors; and tell the people so.' "on this, without waiting for the queen's answer, he opened the balcony, and told the populace he was ready to depart with his family. "this sudden change caused a change equally sudden in the rabble mob. all shouted, 'vive le roi! vive la nation!' "re-entering the room from the window, the king said, 'it is done. this affair will soon be terminated.' "'and with it,' said the queen, 'the monarchy!' "'better that, madame, than running the risk, as i did some hours since, of seeing you and my children sacrificed!' "'that, sire, will be the consequence of our not having left versailles. whatever you determine, it is my duty to obey. as to myself, i am resigned to my fate.' on this she burst into a flood of tears. 'i only feel for your humiliated state, and for the safety of our children.' "the royal family departed without having consulted any of the ministers, military or civil, or the national assembly, by whom they were followed. "scarcely had they arrived at paris when the queen recollected that she had taken with her no change of dress, either for herself or her children, and they were obliged to ask permission of the national assembly to allow them to send for their different wardrobes. "what a situation for an absolute king and queen, which, but a few hours previous, they had been! "i now took up my residence with their majesties at the tuileries,--that odious tuileries, which i can not name but with horror, where the malignant spirit of rebellion has, perhaps, dragged us to an untimely death! "monsieur and madame had another residence. bailly, the mayor of paris, and la fayette became the royal jailers. "the princesse elizabeth and myself could not but deeply deplore, when we saw the predictions of dumourier so dreadfully confirmed by the result, that her majesty should have so slighted his timely information, and scorned his penitence. but delicacy bade us lament in silence; and, while we grieved over her present sufferings, we could not but mourn the loss of a barrier against future aggression, in the rejection of this general's proffered services. "it will be remembered, that dumourier in his disclosure declared that the object of this commotion was to place the duc d'orleans upon the throne, and that mirabeau, who was a prime mover, was to share in the profits of the usurpation. [but the heart of the traitor duke failed him at the important crisis. though he was said to have been recognised through a vulgar disguise, stimulating the assassins to the attempted murder of her majesty, yet, when the moment to show himself had arrived, he was nowhere to be found. the most propitious moment for the execution of the foul crime was lost, and with it the confidence of his party. mirabeau was disgusted. so far from wishing longer to offer him the crown, he struck it forever from his head, and turned against him. he openly protested he would no longer set up traitors who were cowards.] "soon after this event, her majesty, in tears, came to tell me that the king, having had positive proof of the agency of the duc d'orleans in the riots of versailles, had commenced some proceedings, which had given the duke the alarm, and exiled him to villers-cotterets. the queen added that the king's only object had been to assure the general tranquillity, and especially her own security, against whose life the conspiracy seemed most distinctly levelled. "'oh, princess!' continued her majesty, in a flood of tears, 'the king's love for me, and his wish to restore order to his people, have been our ruin! he should have struck off the head of d'orleans, or overlooked his crime! why did he not consult me before he took a step so important? i have lost a friend also in his wife! for, however criminal he may be, she loves him.' "i assured her majesty that i could not think the duchesse d'orleans would be so inconsiderate as to withdraw her affection on that account. "'she certainly will,' replied marie antoinette. 'she is the affectionate mother of his children, and cannot but hate those who have been the cause of his exile. i know it will be laid to my charge, and added to the hatred the husband has so long borne me; i shall now become the object of the wife's resentment' "in the midst of one of the paroxysms of her majesty's agonising agitation after leaving versailles, for the past, the present, and the future state of the royal family, when the princesse elizabeth and myself were in vain endeavouring to calm her, a deputation was announced from the national assembly and the city of paris, requesting the honour of the appearance of the king and herself at the theatre. "'is it possible, my dear princess,' cried she, on the announcement, 'that i can enjoy any public amusement while i am still chilled with horror at the blood these people have spilled, the blood of the faithful defenders of our lives? i can forgive them, but i cannot so easily forget it.' "count fersen and the austrian ambassador now entered, both anxious to know her majesty's intentions with regard to visiting the theatre, in order to make a party to ensure her a good reception; but all their persuasions were unavailing. she thanked the deputation for their friendship; but at the same time told them that her mind was still too much agitated from recent scenes to receive any pleasure but in the domestic cares of her family, and that, for a time, she must decline every other amusement. "at this moment the spanish and english ambassadors came to pay their respects to her majesty on the same subject as the others. as they entered, count fersen observed to the queen, looking around: "'courage, madame! we are as many nations as persons in this room--english, german, spanish, italian, swedish, and french; and all equally ready to form a rampart around you against aggression. all these nations will, i believe, admit that the french (bowing to the princesse elizabeth) are the most volatile of the six; and your majesty may rely on it that they will love you, now that you are more closely among them, more tenderly than ever.' "'let me live to be convinced of that, monsieur, and my happiness will be concentrated in its demonstration.' "'indeed, gentlemen,' said the princesse elizabeth, the queen has yet had but little reason to love the french.' "'where is our ambassador,' said i, 'and the neapolitan?' "'i have had the pleasure of seeing them early this morning,' replied the queen; 'but i told them, also, that indisposition prevented my going into public. they will be at our card-party in your apartment this evening, where i hope to see these gentlemen. the only parties,' continued her majesty, addressing herself to the princesse elizabeth and the ambassadors, 'the only parties i shall visit in future will be those of the princesse de lamballe, my superintendent; as, in so doing, i shall have no occasion to go out of the palace, which, from what has happened, seems to me the only prudent course.' "'come, come, madame,' exclaimed the ambassadors; i do not give way to gloomy ideas. all will yet be well.' "'i hope so,' answered her majesty; 'but till that hope is realized, the wounds i have suffered will make existence a burden to me!' "the duchesse de luynes, like many others, had been a zealous partisan of the new order of things, and had expressed herself with great indiscretion in the presence of the queen. but the duchess was brought to her senses when she saw herself, and all the mad, democratical nobility, under the overpowering weight of jacobinism, deprived of every privileged prerogative and levelled and stripped of hereditary distinction. "she came to me one day, weeping, to beg i would make use of my good offices in her favour with the queen, whom she was grieved that she had so grossly offended by an unguarded speech. "'on my knees,' continued the duchess, i am i ready to supplicate the pardon of her majesty. i cannot live without her forgiveness. one of my servants has opened my eyes, by telling me that the revolution can make a duchess a beggar, but cannot make a beggar a duchess.' "'unfortunately,' said i, 'if some of these faithful servants had been listened to, they would still be such, and not now our masters; but i can assure you, duchess, that the queen has long since forgiven you. see! her majesty comes to tell you so herself.' "the duchess fell upon her knees. the queen, with her usual goodness of heart, clasped her in her arms, and, with tears in her eyes, said: "'we have all of us need of forgiveness. our errors and misfortunes are general. think no more of the past; but let us unite in not sinning for the future: "'heaven knows how many sins i have to atone for,' replied the duchess, 'from the follies of youth; but now, at an age of discretion and in adversity, oh, how bitterly do i reproach myself for my past levities! but,' continued she, 'has your majesty really forgiven me?' "'as i hope to be forgiven!' exclaimed marie antoinette. 'no penitent in the sight of god is more acceptable than the one who makes a voluntary sacrifice by confessing error. forget and forgive is the language of our blessed redeemer. i have adopted it in regard to my enemies, and surely my friends have a right to claim it. come, duchess, i will conduct you to the king and elizabeth, who will rejoice in the recovery of one of our lost sheep; for we sorely feel the diminution of the flock that once surrounded us!' "at this token of kindness, the duchess was so much overcome that she fell at the queen's feet motionless, and it was some time before she recovered. "from the moment of her majesty's arrival at paris from versailles, she solely occupied herself with the education of her children,-excepting when she resorted to my parties, the only ones, as she had at first determined, which she ever honoured with her attendance. in order to discover, as far as possible, the sentiments of certain persons, i gave almost general invitations, whereby, from her amiable manners and gracious condescension, she became very popular. by these means i hoped to replace her majesty in the good estimation of her numerous visitors; but, notwithstanding every exertion, she could not succeed in dispelling the gloom with which the revolution had overcast all her former gaiety. though treated with ceremonious respect, she missed the cordiality to which she had been so long accustomed, and which she so much prized. from the great emigration of the higher classes of the nobility, the societies themselves were no longer what they had been. madame necker and madame de stael were pretty regular visitors. but the most agreeable company had lost its zest for marie antoinette; and she was really become afraid of large assemblies, and scarcely ever saw a group of persons collected together without fearing some plot against the king. "indeed, it is a peculiarity which has from the first marked, and still continues to distinguish, the whole conduct and distrust of my royal mistress, that it never operates to create any fears for herself, but invariably refers to the safety of his majesty. "i had enlarged my circle and made my parties extensive, solely to relieve the oppressed spirits of the queen; but the very circumstance which induced me to make them so general soon rendered them intolerable to her; for the conversations at last became solely confined to the topics of the revolution, a subject frequently the more distressing from the presence of the sons of the duc d'orleans. though i loved my sister-in-law and my nephews, i could not see them without fear, nor could my royal mistress be at ease with them, or in the midst of such distressing indications as perpetually intruded upon her, even beneath my roof, of the spirit which animated the great body of the people for the propagation of anti-monarchical principles. "my parties were, consequently, broken up; and the queen ceased to be seen in society. then commenced the unconquerable power over her of those forebodings which have clung to her with such pertinacity ever since. "i observed that her majesty would often indulge in the most melancholy predictions long before the fatal discussion took place in the assembly respecting the king's abdication. the daily insolence with which she saw his majesty's authority deprived forever of the power of accomplishing what he had most at heart for the good of his people gave her more anguish than the outrages so frequently heaped upon herself; but her misery was wrought up to a pitch altogether unutterable, whenever she saw those around her suffer for their attachment to her in her misfortunes. "the princesse elizabeth has been from the beginning an unwavering comforter. she still flatters marie antoinette that heaven will spare her for better times to reward our fidelity and her own agonies. the pious consolations of her highness have never failed to make the most serious impression on our wretched situation. indeed, each of us strives to pour the balm of comfort into the wounded hearts of the others, while not one of us, in reality, dares to flatter herself with what we all so ardently wish for in regard to our fellow-sufferers. delusions, even sustained by facts, have long since been exhausted. our only hope on this side of the grave is in our all-merciful redeemer!" section vii. editors commentary: the reader will not, i trust, be dissatisfied at reposing for a moment from the sad story of the princesse de lamballe to hear some ridiculous circumstances which occurred to me individually; and which, though they form no part of the history, are sufficiently illustrative of the temper of the times. i had been sent to england to put some letters into the postoffice for the prince de conde, and had just returned. the fashion then in england was a black dress, spanish hat, and yellow satin lining, with three ostrich feathers forming the prince of wales's crest, and bearing his inscription, 'ich dien,' ("i serve.") i also brought with me a white satin cloak, trimmed with white fur. this crest and motto date as far back, i believe, as the time of edward, the black prince. in this dress, i went to the french opera. scarcely was i seated in the bog, when i heard shouts of, "en bas les couleurs de d'empereur! en bas!" i was very busy talking to a person in the box, and, having been accustomed to hear and see partial riots in the pit, i paid no attention; never dreaming that my poor hat and feathers, and cloak, were the cause of the commotion, till an officer in the national guard very politely knocked at the door of the box, and told me i must either take them off or leave the theatre. there is nothing i more dislike than the being thought particular, or disposed to attract attention by dress. the moment, therefore, i found myself thus unintentionally the object of a whole theatre's disturbance, in the first impulse of indignation, i impetuously caught off the cloak and hat, and flung them into the pit, at the very faces of the rioters. the theatre instantly rang with applause. the obnoxious articles were carefully folded up and taken to the officer of the guard, who, when i left the box, at the end of the opera, brought them to me and offered to assist me in putting them on; but i refused them with true cavalier-like loftiness, and entered my carriage without either hat or cloak. there were many of the audience collected round the carriage at the time, who, witnessing my rejection of the insulted colours, again loudly cheered me; but insisted on the officer's placing the hat and cloak in the carriage, which drove off amidst the most violent acclamations. another day, as i was going to walk in the tuileries (which i generally did after riding on horseback), the guards crossed their bayonets at the gate and forbade my entering. i asked them why. they told me no one was allowed to walk there without the national ribbon. now, i always had one of these national ribbons about me, from the time they were first worn; but i kept it in the inside of my riding-habit; and on that day, in particular, my supply was unusually ample, for i had on a new riding-habit, the petticoat of which was so very long and heavy that i bought a large quantity to tie round my waist, and fasten up the dress, to prevent it from falling about my feet. however, i was determined to plague the guards for their impudence. my english beau, who was as pale as death, and knew i had the ribbon, kept pinching my arm, and whispering, "show it, show it; zounds, madame, show it! we shall be sent to prison! show it! show it!" but i took care to keep my interrupters in parley till a sufficient mob was collected, and then i produced my colours. the soldiers were consequently most gloriously hissed, and would have been maltreated by the mob, and sent to the guard-house by their officer, but for my intercession; on which i was again applauded all through the gardens as la brave anglaise. but my, beau declared he would never go out with me again: unless i wore the ribbon on the outside of my hat, which i never did and never would do. at that time the queen used to occupy herself much in fancy needle-works. knowing, from arrangements, that i was every day in a certain part of the tuileries, her majesty, when she heard the shout of la brave anglaise! immediately called the princesse de lamballe to know if she had sent me on any message. being answered in the negative, one of the pages was despatched to ascertain the meaning of the cry. the royal family lived in so continual a state of alarm that it was apprehended i had got into some scrape; but i had left the tuileries before the messenger arrived, and was already with the princesse de lamballe, relating the circumstances. the princess told her majesty, who graciously observed, "i am very happy that she got off so well; but caution her to be more prudent for the future. a cause, however bad, is rather aided than weakened by unreasonable displays of contempt for it. these unnecessary excitements of the popular jealousy do us no good." i was, of course, severely reprimanded by the princess for my frolic, though she enjoyed it of all things, and afterwards laughed most heartily. the princess told me, a few days after these circumstances of the national ribbon and the austrian colours had taken place at the theatre, that some one belonging to the private correspondence at the palace had been at the french opera on the night the disturbance took place there, and, without knowing the person to whom it related, had told the whole story to the king. the queen and the princesses elizabeth and de lamballe being present, laughed very heartily. the two latter knew it already from myself, the fountain head, but the princesse elizabeth said: "poor lady! what a fright she must have been in, to have had her things taken away from her at the theatre" "no fright at all," said the king; "for a young woman who could act thus firmly under such an insolent outrage will always triumph over cowards, unmanly enough to abuse their advantages by insulting her. she was not a frenchwoman, i'll answer for it." "oh, no, sire. she is an englishwoman," said the princesse de lamballe. "i am glad of it," exclaimed the king; "for when she returns to england this will be a good personal specimen for the information of some of her countrymen, who have rejoiced at what they call the regeneration of the french nation; a nation once considered the most polished in europe, but now become the most uncivil, and i wish i may never have occasion to add, the most barbarous! an insult offered, wantonly, to either sex, at any time, is the result of insubordination; but when offered to a woman, it is a direct violation of civilised hospitality, and an abuse of power which never before tarnished that government now so much the topic of abuse by the enemies of order and legitimate authority. the french princes, it is true, have been absolute; still i never governed despotically, but always by the advice of my counsellors and cabinet ministers. if they have erred, my conscience is void of reproach. i wish the national assembly may govern for the future with equal prudence, equity, and justice; but they have given a poor earnest in pulling down one fabric before they have laid the solid foundation of another. i am very happy that their agents, who, though they call themselves the guardians of public order have hitherto destroyed its course, have, in the courage of this english lady, met with some resistance to their insolence, in foolishly occupying themselves with petty matters, while those of vital import are totally neglected." it is almost superfluous to mention that, at the epoch of which i am speaking in the revolution, the royal family were in so much distrust of every one about them, and very necessarily and justly so, that none were ever confided in for affairs, however trifling, without first having their fidelity repeatedly put to the test. i was myself under this probation long before i knew that such had ever been imposed. with the private correspondence i had already been for some time entrusted; and it was only previous to employing me on secret missions of any consequence that i was subject to the severer scrutiny. even before i was sent abroad, great art was necessary to elude the vigilance of prying eyes in the royal circle; and, in order to render my activity available to important purposes, my connection with the court was long kept secret. many stratagems were devised to mislead the arguses of the police. to this end, after the disorders of the revolution began, i never entered the palaces but on an understood signal, for which i have been often obliged to attend many hours in the gardens of versailles, as i had subsequently done in that of the tuileries. to pass the time unnoticed, i used generally to take a book, and seat myself, occupied in reading, sometimes in one spot, sometimes in another; but with my man and maid servant always within call, though never where they could be seen. on one of these occasions, a person, though not totally masked yet sufficiently disguised to prevent my recognising his features, came behind my seat, and said he wished to speak to me. i turned round and asked his business. "that's coming to the point!" he answered. "walk a little way with me, and i will tell you." not to excite suspicion, i walked into a more retired part of the garden, after a secret signal to my man servant, who followed me unperceived by the stranger. "i am commissioned," said my mysterious companion, "to make you a very handsome present, if you will tell me what you are waiting for." i laughed, and was turning from him, saying, "is this all your business?" "no," he replied. "then keep it to yourself. i am not waiting here for any one or anything; but am merely occupied in reading and killing time to the best advantage." "are you a poetess?" "no." "and scarcely a woman; for your answers are very short." "very likely." "but i have something of importance to communicate-----" "that is impossible." "but listen to me-----" "you are mistaken in your person." "but surely you will not be so unreasonable as not to hear what i have to say?" "i am a stranger in this country, and can have nothing of importance with one i do not know." "you have quarrelled with your lover and are in an ill-humour. "perhaps so. well! come! i believe you have guessed the cause." "ah! it is the fate of us all to get into scrapes! but you will soon make it up; and now let me entreat your attention to what i have to offer." i became impatient, and called my servant. "madame," resumed the stranger, "i am a gentleman, and mean no harm. but i assure you, you stand in your own light. i know more about you than you think i do." "indeed!" "yes, madame, you are waiting here for an august personage." at this last sentence, my lips laughed, while my heart trembled. "i wish to caution you," continued he, "how you embark in plans of this sort." "monsieur, i repeat, you have taken me for some other person. i will no longer listen to one who is either a maniac or an officious intruder." upon this, the stranger bowed and left me; but i could perceive that he was not displeased with my answers, though i was not a little agitated, and longed to see her highness to relate to her this curious adventure. in a few hours i did so. the princess was perfectly satisfied with my manner of proceeding, only she thought it singular, she said, that the stranger should suspect i was there in attendance for some person of rank; and she repeated, three or four times, "i am heartily glad that you did not commit yourself by any decided answer. what sort of a man was he?" "very much of the gentleman; above the middle stature; and, from what i could see of his countenance, rather handsome than otherwise." "was he a frenchman?" "no. i think he spoke good french and english, with an irish accent." "then i know who it is," exclaimed she. "it is dillon: i know it from some doubts which arose between her majesty, dillon, and myself, respecting sending you upon a confidential mission. oh, come hither! come hither!" continued her highness, overwhelming me with kisses. "how glad, how very glad i am, that the queen will be convinced i was not deceived in what i told her majesty respecting you. take no notice of what i am telling you; but he was sent from the queen, to tempt you into some imprudence, or to be convinced, by your not falling into the snare, that she might rely on your fidelity." "what! doubt my fidelity?" said i. "oh, my dear, you must excuse her majesty. we live in critical times. you will be the more rewarded, and much more esteemed, for this proof of your firmness. do you think you should know him, if you were to see him again?" "certainly, i should, if he were in the same disguise. "that, i fear, will be rather difficult to accomplish. however, you shall go in your carriage and wait at the door of his sister, the marquise of desmond; where i will send for him to come to me at four o'clock to-morrow. in this way, you will have an opportunity of seeing him on horseback, as he always pays his morning visits riding." i would willingly have taken a sleeping draught, and never did i wait more anxiously than for the hour of four. i left the princess, and, in crossing from the carrousel to go to the place vendome, it rained very fast, and there glanced by me, on horseback, the same military cloak in which the stranger had been wrapped. my carriage was driving so fast that i still remained in doubt as to the wearer's person. next day, however, as appointed, i repaired to the place of rendezvous; and i could almost have sworn, from the height of the person who alighted from his horse, that he was my mysterious questioner. still, i was not thoroughly certain. i watched the princess coming out, and followed her carriage to the champs elysees and told her what i thought. "well," replied she, "we must think no more about it; nor must it ever be mentioned to him, should you by any chance meet him." i said i should certainly obey her highness. a guilty conscience needs no accuser. a few days after i was riding on horseback in the bois de boulogne, when lord edward fitzgerald came up to speak to me. dillon was passing at the time, and, seeing lord edward, stopped, took off his hat, and observed, "a very pleasant day for riding, madame!" then, looking me full in the face, he added, "i beg your pardon, madame, i mistook you for another lady with whom lord edward is often in company." i said there was no offence; but the moment i heard him speak i was no longer in doubt of his being the identical person. when i had learnt the ciphering and deciphering, and was to be sent to italy, the queen acknowledged to the princesse de lamballe that she was fully persuaded i might be trusted, as she had good reason to know that my fidelity was not to be doubted or shaken. dear, hapless princess! she said to me, in one of her confidential conversations on these matters, "the queen has been so cruelly deceived and so much watched that she almost fears her own shadow; but it gives me great pleasure that her majesty had been herself confirmed by one of her own emissaries in what i never for a moment doubted. "but do not fancy," continued the princess, laughing, "that you have had only this spy to encounter. many others have watched your motions and your conversations, and all concur in saying you are the devil, and they could make nothing of you. but that, 'mia cara piccola diavolina', is just what we want!" section viii. editor in continuation. i am compelled, with reluctance, to continue personally upon the stage, and must do so for the three ensuing chapters, in order to put my readers in possession of circumstances explanatory of the next portion of the journal of the princesse de lamballe. even the particulars i am about to mention can give but a very faint idea of the state of alarm in which the royal family lived, and the perpetual watchfulness and strange and involved expedients that were found necessary for their protection. their most trifling communications were scrutinized with so much jealousy that when any of importance were to be made it required a dexterity almost miraculous to screen them from the ever-watchful eye of espionage. i was often made instrumental in evading the curiosity of others, without ever receiving any clue to the gratification of my own, even had i been troubled with such impertinence. the anecdote i am about to mention will show how cautious a game it was thought necessary to play; and the result of my half-information will evince that over-caution may produce evils almost equal to total carelessness. some time previous to the flight of the royal family from paris, the princesse de lamballe told me she wanted some repairs made to the locks of certain dressing and writing-desks; but she would prefer having them done at my apartments, and by a locksmith who lived at a distance from the palace. when the boxes were repaired, i was sent with one of them to lisle, where another person took charge of it for the archduchess at brussels. there was something which strongly marked the kind-heartedness of the princesse de lamballe in a part of this transaction. i had left paris without a passport, and her highness, fearing it might expose me to inconvenience, sent an express after me. the express arrived three hours before i did, and the person to whom i have alluded came out of brussels in his carriage to meet me and receive the box. at the same time, he gave me a sealed letter, without any address. i asked him from whom he received it, and to whom it was to be delivered. he said he was only instructed to deliver it to the lady with the box, and he showed me the queen's cipher. i took the letter, and, after partaking of some refreshments, returned with it, according to my orders. on my arrival at paris, the princesse de lamballe told me her motive for sending the express, who, she said, informed her, on his return, that i had a letter for the queen. i said it was more than i knew. "oh, i suppose that is because the letter bears no address," replied she; "but you were shown the cipher, and that is all which is necessary." she did not take the letter, and i could not help remarking how far, in this instance, the rigour of etiquette was kept up, even between these close friends. the princess, not having herself received the letter, could not take it from my hands to deliver without her majesty's express command. this being obtained, she asked me for it, and gave it to her majesty. the circumstance convinced me that the princess exercised much less influence over the queen, and was much more directed by her majesty's authority, than has been imagined. two or three days after my arrival at paris, my servant lost the key of my writing-desk, and, to remedy the evil, he brought me the same locksmith i had employed on the repairs just mentioned. as it was necessary i should be present to remove my papers when the lock was taken off, of course i saw the man. while i was busy clearing the desk, with an air of great familiarity he said, "i have had jobs to do here before now, my girl, as your sweetheart there well knows." i humoured his mistake in taking me for my own maid and my servant's sweetheart, and i pertly answered, "very likely." "oh, yes, i have," said he; "it was i who repaired the queen's boxes in this very room." knowing i had never received anything of the sort from her majesty, and utterly unaware that the boxes the princess sent to my apartments had been the queen's, i was greatly surprised. seeing my confusion, he said, "i know the boxes as well as i know myself. i am the king's locksmith, my dear, and i and the king worked together many years. why, i know every creek and corner of the palace, aye, and i know everything that's going on in them, too--queer doings! lord, my pretty damsel, i made a secret place in the palace to hide the king's papers, where the devil himself would never find them out, if i or the king didn't tell!" though i wished him at the devil every moment he detained me from disclosing his information at the palace, yet i played off the soubrette upon him till he became so interested i thought he never would have gone. at last, however, he took his departure, and the moment he disappeared, out of the house i flew. the agitation and surprise of the princess at what i related were extreme. "wait," cried she; "i must go and inform the queen instantly." in going out of the room, "great god, what a discovery!" exclaimed her highness. it was not long before she returned. luckily, i was dressed for dinner. she took me by the hand and, unable to speak, led me to the private closet of the queen. her majesty graciously condescended to thank me for the letter i had taken charge of. she told me that for the future all letters to her would be without any superscription; and desired me, if any should be given to me by persons i had not before seen, and the cipher were shown at the same time, to receive and deliver them myself into her hands, as the production of the cipher would be a sufficient pledge of their authenticity. being desired to repeat the conversation with gamin, "there, princess!" exclaimed her majesty, "am i not the crow of evil forebodings? i trust the king will never again be credulous enough to employ this man. i have long had an extreme aversion to his majesty's familiarity with him; but he shall hear his impudence himself from your own lips, my good little englishwoman; and then he will not think it is prepossession or prejudice." a few evenings elapsed, and i thought no more of the subject, till one night i was ordered to the palace by the princess, which never happened but on very particular occasions, as she was fearful of exciting suspicion by any appearance of close intimacy with one so much about paris upon the secret embassies of the court. when i entered the apartment, the king, the queen, and the princesse elizabeth were, as if by accident, in an adjoining room; but, from what followed, i am certain they all came purposely to hear my deposition. i was presently commanded to present myself to the august party. the king was in deep conversation with the princesse elizabeth. i must confess i felt rather embarrassed. i could not form an idea why i was thus honoured. the princesse de lamballe graciously took me by the hand. "now tell his majesty, yourself, what gamin said to you." i began to revive, perceiving now wherefore i was summoned. i accordingly related, in the presence of the royal guests assembled, as i had done before her majesty and the princesse de lamballe, the scene as it occurred. when i came to that part where he said, "where the devil himself could never find them out," his majesty approached from the balcony, at which he had been talking with the princesse elizabeth, and said, "well! he is very right--but neither he nor the devil shall find them out, for they shall be removed this very night." [which was done; and these are, therefore, no doubt, the papers and portfolio of which madame campan speaks, vol. ii., p. , as having been entrusted to her care after being taken from their hiding-place by the king himself.] the king, the queen, and the princesse elizabeth most graciously said, "nous sommes bien obligis, ma petite anglaise!" and her majesty added, "now, my dear, tell me all the rest about this man, whom i have long suspected for his wickedness." i said he had been guilty of no hostile indications, and that the chief fault i had to find with him was his exceeding familiarity in mentioning himself before the king, saying, "i and the king." "go on," said her majesty; "give us the whole as it occurred, and let us form our own conclusions." "yes," cried the princess, "parlate sciolto."--"si si," rejoined the queen, "parlate tutto--yes, yes, speak out and tell us all." i then related the remainder of the conversation, which very much alarmed the royal party, and it was agreed that, to avoid suspicion, i should next day send for the locksmith and desire him, as an excuse, to look at the locks of my trunks and travelling carriage, and set off in his presence to take up my pretended mistress on the road to calais, that he might not suspect i had any connection with any one about the court. i was strictly enjoined by her majesty to tell him that the man servant had had the boxes from some one to get them repaired, without either my knowledge or that of my mistress, and, by her pretended orders, to give him a discharge upon the spot for having dared to use her apartments as a workshop for the business of other people. "now," said the princesse de lamballe, "now play the comic part you acted between your servant and gamin:" which i did, as well as i could recollect it, and the royal audience were so much amused, that i had the honour to remain in the room and see them play at cards. at length, however, there came three gentle taps at the outer door. "ora a tempo perche vene andata," exclaimed her highness at the sound, having ordered a person to call with this signal to see me out of the palace to the rue nicaise, where my carriage was in waiting to conduct me home. it is not possible for me to describe the gracious condescension of the queen and the princesse elizabeth, in expressing their sentiments for the accidental discovery i had made. amid their assurances of tender interest and concern, they both reproved me mildly for my imprudence in having, when i went to brussels, hurried from paris without my passport. they gave me prudential cautions with regard to my future conduct and residence at paris; and it was principally owing to the united persuasions and remonstrances of these three angels in human form that i took six or seven different lodgings, where the princesse de lamballe used to meet me by turns; because had i gone often to the palace, as many others did, or waited for her highness regularly in any one spot, i should, infallibly, have been discovered. "gracious god!" exclaimed her majesty in the course of this conversation, "am i born to be the misfortune of every one who shows an interest in serving me? tell my sister, when you return to brussels again--and do not forget to say i desired you to tell her--our cruel situation! she does not believe that we are surrounded by enemies, even in our most private seclusions! in our prison! that we are even thrown exclusively upon foreigners in our most confidential affairs; that in france there is scarcely an individual to whom we can look! they betray us for their own safety, which is endangered by any exertions in our favour. tell her this," repeated the queen three or four times. the next day i punctually obeyed my orders. gamin was sent for to look at the locks, and received six francs for his opinion. the man servant was reproved by me on behalf of my supposed mistress, and, in the presence of gamin, discharged for having brought suspicious things into the house. the man being tutored in his part, begged gamin to plead for my intercession with our mistress. i remained inexorable, as he knew i should. while gamin was still by i discharged the bill at the house, got into my carriage, and took the road towards calais. at saint denis, however, i feigned to be taken ill, and in two days returned to paris. even this simple act required management. i contrived it in the following manner. i walked out on the high road leading to the capital for the purpose of meeting my servant at a place which had been fixed for the meeting before i left paris. i found him on horseback at his post, with a carriage prepared for my return. as soon as i was out of sight he made the best of his way forward, went to the inn with a note from me, and returned with my carriage and baggage i had to lodgings at passy. the joy of the princess on seeing me safe again brought tears into her eyes; and, when i related the scene i played off before gamin against my servant, she laughed most heavily. "but surely," said she, "you have not really discharged the poor man?"--"oh, no," replied i; "he acted his part so well before the locksmith, that i should be very sorry to lose such an apt scholar." "you must perform this 'buffa scena'," observed her highness, "to the queen. she has been very anxious to know the result; but her spirits are so depressed that i fear she will not come to my party this evening. however, if she do not, i will see her to-morrow, and you shall make her laugh. it would be a charity, for she has not done so from the heart for many a day!" section ix. editor in continuation: every one who has read at all is familiar with the immortal panegyric of the great edmund burke upon marie antoinette. it is known that this illustrious man was not mean enough to flatter; yet his eloquent praises of her as a princess, a woman, and a beauty, inspiring something beyond what any other woman could excite, have been called flattery by those who never knew her; those who did, must feel them to be, if possible, even below the truth. but the admiration of mr. burke was set down even to a baser motive, and, like everything else, converted into a source of slander for political purposes, long before that worthy palladium of british liberty had even thought of interesting himself for the welfare of france, which his prophetic eye saw plainly was the common cause of all europe. but, keenly as that great statesman looked into futurity, little did he think, when he visited the queen in all her splendour at trianon, and spoke so warmly of the cordial reception he had met with at versailles from the duc and duchesse de polignac, that he should have so soon to deplore their tragic fate! could his suggestions to her majesty, when he was in france, have been put in force, there is scarcely a doubt that the revolution might have been averted, or crushed. but he did not limit his friendship to personal advice. it is not generally known that the queen carried on, through the medium of the princesse de lamballe, a very extensive correspondence with mr. burke. he recommended wise and vast plans; and these, if possible, would have been adopted. the substance of some of the leading ones i can recall from the journal of her highness and letters which i have myself frequently deciphered. i shall endeavour, succinctly, to detail such of them as i remember. mr. burke recommended the suppression of all superfluous religious institutions, which had not public seminaries to support. their lands, he advised, should be divided, without regard to any distinction but that of merit, among such members of the army and other useful classes of society, as, after having served the specified time, should have risen, through their good conduct, to either civil or military preferment. by calculations upon the landed interest, it appeared that every individual under the operation of this bounty would, in the course of twenty years, possess a yearly income of from five to seven hundred francs. another of the schemes suggested by mr. burke was to purge the kingdom of all the troops which had been corrupted from their allegiance by the intrigues growing out of the first meeting of the notables. he proposed that they should sail at the same time, or nearly so, to be colonized in the different french islands and madagascar; and, in their place, a new national guard created, who should be bound to the interest of the legitimate government by receiving the waste crown lands to be shared among them, from the common soldier to its generals and field-marshals. thus would the whole mass of rebellious blood have been reformed. to ensure an effectual change, mr. burke advised the enrolment, in rotation, of sixty thousand irish troops, twenty thousand always to remain in france, and forty thousand in reversion for the same service. the lynx-eyed statesman saw clearly, from the murders of the marquis de launay and m. flesselles, and from the destruction of the bastille, and of the ramparts of paris, that party had not armed itself against louis, but against the throne. it was therefore necessary to produce a permanent revolution in the army. [mr. burke was too great a statesman not to be the friend of his country's interest. he also saw that, from the destruction of the monarchy in france, england had more to fear than to gain. he well knew that the french revolution was not, like that of the americans, founded on grievances and urged in support of a great and disinterested principle. he was aware that so restless a people, when they had overthrown the monarchy, would not limit the overthrow to their own country. after mr. burke's death, mr. fox was applied to, and was decidedly of the same opinion. mr. sheridan was interrogated, and, at the request of the princesse de lamballe, he presented, for the queen's inspection, plans nearly equal to those of the above two great statesmen; and what is most singular and scarcely credible is that one and all of the opposition party in england strenuously exerted themselves for the upholding of the monarchy in france. many circumstances which came to my knowledge before and after the death of louis xvi. prove that mr. pitt himself was averse to the republican principles being organized so near a constitutional monarchy as france was to great britain. though the conduct of the duc d'orleans was generally reprobated, i firmly believe that if he had possessed sufficient courage to have usurped the crown and re-established the monarchy, he would have been treated with in preference to the republicans. i am the more confirmed in this opinion by a conversation between the princesse de lamballe and mirabeau, in which he said a republic in france would never thrive.] there was another suggestion to secure troops around the throne of a more loyal temper. it was planned to incorporate all the french soldiers, who had not voluntarily deserted the royal standard, with two-thirds of swiss, german, and low country forces, among whom were to be divided, after ten years' service, certain portions of the crown lands, which were to be held by presenting every year a flag of acknowledgment to the king and queen; with the preference of serving in the civil or military departments, according to the merit or capacity of the respective individuals. messieurs de broglie, de bouille, de luxembourg, and others, were to have been commanders. but this plan, like many others, was foiled in its birth, and, it is said, through the intrigues of mirabeau. however, all concurred in the necessity of ridding france, upon the most plausible pretexts, of the fomenters of its ruin. now arose a fresh difficulty. transports were wanted, and in considerable numbers. a navy agent in england was applied to for the supply of these transports. so great was the number required, and so peculiar the circumstances, that the agent declined interfering without the sanction of his government. a new dilemma succeeded. might not the king of england place improper constructions on this extensive shipment of troops from the different ports of france for her west india possessions? might it not be fancied that it involved secret designs on the british settlements in that quarter? all these circumstances required that some communication should be opened with the court of st. james; and the critical posture of affairs exacted that such communication should be less diplomatic than confidential. it will be recollected that, at the very commencement of the reign of louis xvi., there were troubles in britanny, which the severe governorship of the duc d'aiguillon augmented. the bretons took privileges with them, when they became blended with the kingdom of france, by the marriage of anne of brittany with charles viii., beyond those of any other of its provinces. these privileges they seemed rather disposed to extend than relinquish, and were by no means reserved in the expression of their resolution. it was considered expedient to place a firm, but conciliatory, governor over them, and the duc de penthievre was appointed to this difficult trust. the duke was accompanied to his vice-royalty by his daughter-in-law, the princesse de lamballe, who, by her extremely judicious management of the female part of the province, did more for the restoration of order than could have been achieved by armies. the remembrance of this circumstance induced the queen to regard her highness as a fit person to send secretly to england at this very important crisis; and the purpose was greatly encouraged by a wish to remove her from a scene of such daily increasing peril. for privacy, it was deemed expedient that her highness should withdraw to aumale, under the plea of ill-health, and thence proceed to england; and it was also by way of aumale that she as secretly returned, after the fatal disaster of the stoppage, to discourage the impression of her ever having been out of france. the mission was even unknown to the french minister at the court of st. james. the princess was ordered by her majesty to cultivate the acquaintance of the late duchess of gordon, who was supposed to possess more influence than any woman in england--in order to learn the sentiments of mr. pitt relative to the revolutionary troubles. the duchess, however, was too much of an englishwoman, and mr. pitt too much interested in the ruin of france, to give her the least clue to the truth. in order to fathom the sentiments of the opposition party, the princess cultivated the society also of the late duchess of devonshire, but with as little success. the opposition party foresaw too much risk in bringing anything before the house to alarm the prejudices of the nation. the french ambassador, too, jealous of the unexplained purpose of the princess, did all he could to render her expedition fruitless. nevertheless, though disappointed in some of her main objects with regard to influence and information, she became so great a favourite at the british court that she obtained full permission of the king and queen of england to signify to her royal mistress and friend that the specific request she came to make would be complied with. [the princess visited bath, windsor, brighton, and many other parts of england, and associated with all parties. she managed her conduct so judiciously that the real object of her visit was never suspected. in all these excursions i had the honour to attend her confidentially. i was the only person entrusted with papers from her highness to her majesty. i had many things to copy, of which the originals went to france. twice during the term of her highness's residence in england i was sent by her majesty with papers communicating the result of the secret mission to the queen of naples. on the second of these two trips, being obliged to travel night and day, i could only keep my eyes open by means of the strongest coffee. when i reached my destination i was immediately compelled to decipher the despatches with the queen of naples in the office of the secretary of state. that done, general acton ordered some one, i know not whom, to conduct me, i know not where, but it was to a place where, after a sound sleep of twenty-four hours, i awoke thoroughly refreshed, and without a vestige of fatigue either of mind or body. on waking, lest anything should transpire, i was desired to quit naples instantly, without seeing the british minister. to make assurance doubly sure, general acton sent a person from his office to accompany me out of the city on horseback; and, to screen me from the attack of robbers, this person went on with me as far as the roman frontier.] in the meantime, however, the troubles in france were so rapidly increasing from hour to hour, that it became impossible for the government to carry any of their plans into effect. this particular one, on the very eve of its accomplishment, was marred, as it was imagined, by the secret intervention of the friends of mirabeau. the government became more and more infirm and wavering in its purposes; the princess was left without instructions, and under such circumstances as to expose her to the supposition of having trifled with the good-will of their majesties of england. in this dilemma i was sent off from england to the queen of france. i left her highness at bath, but when i returned she had quitted bath for brighton. i am unacquainted with the nature of all the papers she received, but i well remember the agony they seemed to inflict on her. she sent off a packet by express that very night to windsor. the princess immediately began the preparations for her return. her own journal is explicit on this point of her history, and therefore i shall leave her to speak for herself. i must not, however, omit to mention the remark she made to me upon the subject of her reception in great britain. with these, let me dismiss the present chapter. "the general cordiality with which i have been received in your country," said her highness, "has made a lasting impression upon my heart. in particular, never shall i forget the kindness of the queen of england, the duchess of devonshire, and her truly virtuous mother, lady spencer. it gave me a cruel pang to be obliged to undervalue the obligations with which they overwhelmed me by leaving england as i did, without giving them an opportunity of carrying their good intentions, which, i had myself solicited, into effect. but we cannot command fate. now that the king has determined to accept the constitution (and you know my sentiments upon the article respecting ecclesiastics), i conceive it my duty to follow their majesties' example in submitting to the laws of the nation. be assured, 'inglesina', it will be my ambition to bring about one of the happiest ages of french history. i shall endeavour to create that confidence so necessary for the restoration to their native land of the princes of the blood, and all the emigrants who abandoned the king, their families, and their country, while doubtful whether his majesty would or would not concede this new charter; but now that the doubt exists no longer, i trust we shall all meet again, the happier for the privation to which we have been doomed from absence. as the limitation of the monarchy removes every kind of responsibility from the monarch, the queen will again taste the blissful sweets she once enjoyed during the reign of louis xv. in the domestic tranquillity of her home at trianon. often has she wept those times in which she will again rejoice. oh, how i long for their return! i fly to greet the coming period of future happiness to us all!" postscript: although i am not making myself the historian of france, yet it may not be amiss to mention that it was during this absence of her highness that necker finally retired from power and from france. the return of this minister had been very much against the consent of her majesty and the king. they both feared what actually happened soon afterwards. they foresaw that he would be swept away by the current of popularity from his deference to the royal authority. it was to preserve the favour of the mob that he allowed them to commit the shocking murders of m. de foulon (who had succeeded him on his first dismission as minister of louis xvi.) and of berthier, his son-in-law. the union of necker with d'orleans, on this occasion, added to the cold indifference with which barnave in one of his speeches expressed himself concerning the shedding of human blood, certainly animated the factious assassins to methodical murder, and frustrated all the efforts of la fayette to save these victims from the enraged populace, to whom both unfortunately fell a sacrifice. necker, like la fayette, when too late, felt the absurdity of relying upon the idolatry of the populace. the one fancied he could command the parisian 'poissardes' as easily as his own battalions; and the other persuaded himself that the mob, which had been hired to carry about his bust, would as readily promulgate his theories. but he forgot that the people in their greatest independence are only the puppets of demagogues; and he lost himself by not gaining over that class which, of all others, possesses most power over the million, i mean the men of the bar, who, arguing more logically than the rest of the world, felt that from the new constitution the long robe was playing a losing game, and therefore discouraged a system which offered nothing to their personal ambition or private emolument. lawyers, like priests, are never over-ripe for any changes or innovations, except such as tend to their personal interest. the more perplexed the, state of public and private affairs, the better for them. therefore, in revolutions, as a body, they remain neuter, unless it is made for their benefit to act. individually, they are a set of necessary evils; and, for the sake of the bar, the bench, and the gibbet, require to be humoured. but any legislator who attempts to render laws clear, concise, and explanatory, and to divest them of the quibbles whereby these expounders--or confounders--of codes fatten on the credulity of states and the miseries of unfortunate millions, will necessarily encounter opposition, direct or indirect, in every measure at all likely to reduce the influence of this most abominable horde of human depredators. it was necker's error to have gone so directly to the point with the lawyers that they at once saw his scope; and thus he himself defeated his hopes of their support, the want of which utterly baffled all his speculations. [the great frederick of prussia, on being told of the numbers of lawyers there were in england, said he wished he had them in his country. "why?" some one enquired. "to do the greatest benefit in my power to society."--"how so?"--"why to hang one-half as an example to the other!"] when necker undertook to re-establish the finances, and to reform generally the abuses in the government, he was the most popular minister (lord chatham, when the great pitt, excepted) in europe. yet his errors were innumerable, though possessing such sound knowledge and judgment, such a superabundance of political contrivance, diplomatic coolness, and mathematical calculation, the result of deep thought aided by great practical experience. but how futile he made all these appear when he declared the national bankruptcy. could anything be more absurd than the assumption, by the individual, of a personal instead of a national guarantee of part of a national debt?--an undertaking too hazardous and by far too ambiguous, even for a monarch who is not backed by his kingdom--flow doubly frantic, then, for a subject! necker imagined that the above declaration and his own quixotic generosity would have opened the coffers of the great body of rich proprietors, and brought them forward to aid the national crisis. but he was mistaken. the nation then had no interest in his financial system. the effect it produced was the very reverse of what was expected. every proprietor began to fear the ambition of the minister, who undertook impossibilities. the being bound for the debts of an individual, and justifying bail in a court of law in commercial matters, affords no criterion for judging of, or regulating, the pecuniary difficulties of a nation. necker's conduct in this case was, in my humble opinion, as impolitic as that of a man who, after telling his friends that he is ruined past redemption, asks for a loan of money. the conclusion is, if he obtains the loan, that "the fool and his money are soon parted." it was during the same interval of her highness's stay in england, that the discontent ran so high between the people and the clergy. i have frequently heard the princesse de lamballe ascribe the king's not sanctioning the decrees against the clergy to the influence of his aunt, the carmelite nun, madame louise. during the life of her father, louis xv., she nearly engrossed all the church benefices by her intrigues. she had her regular conclaves of all orders of the church. from the bishop to the sexton, all depended on her for preferment; and, till the revolution, she maintained equal power over the mind of louis xvi. upon similar matters. the queen would often express her disapprobation; but the king was so scrupulous, whenever the discussion fell on the topic of religion, that she made it a point not to contrast her opinion with his, from a conviction that she was unequal to cope with him on that head, upon which he was generally very animated. it is perfectly certain that the french clergy, by refusing to contribute to the exigencies of the state, created some of the primary horrors of the revolution. they enjoyed one-third the national revenues, yet they were the first to withhold their assistance from the national wants. i have heard the princesse de lamballe say, "the princesse elizabeth and myself used our utmost exertion to induce some of the higher orders of the clergy to set the example and obtain for themselves the credit of offering up a part of the revenues, the whole of which we knew must be forfeited if they continued obstinate; but it was impossible to move them." the characters of some of the leading dignitaries of the time sufficiently explain their selfish and pernicious conduct; when churchmen trifle with the altar, be their motives what they may, they destroy the faith they possess, and give examples to the flock entrusted to their care, of which no foresight can measure the baleful consequences. who that is false to his god can be expected to remain faithful to his sovereign? when a man, as a catholic bishop, marries, and, under the mask of patriotism, becomes the declared tool of all work to every faction, and is the weathercock, shifting to any quarter according to the wind,--such a man can be of no real service to any party: and yet has a man of this kind been by turns the primum mobile of them all, even to the present times, and was one of those great church fomenters of the troubles of which we speak, who disgraced the virtuous reign of louis xvi. section x. amidst the perplexities of the royal family it was perfectly unavoidable that repeated proposals should have been made at various times for them to escape these dangers by flight. the queen had been frequently and most earnestly entreated to withdraw alone; and the king, the princesse elizabeth, the princesse de lamballe, the royal children, with their little hands uplifted, and all those attached to marie antoinette, after the horrid business at versailles, united to supplicate her to quit france and shelter herself from the peril hanging over her existence. often and often have i heard the princesse de lamballe repeat the words in which her majesty uniformly rejected the proposition. "i have no wish," cried the queen, "for myself. my life or death must be encircled by the arms of my husband and my family. with them, and with them only, will i live or die." it would have been impossible to have persuaded her to leave france without her children. if any woman on earth could have been justified in so doing, it would have been marie antoinette. but she was above such unnatural selfishness, though she had so many examples to encourage her; for, even amongst the members of her own family, self-preservation had been considered paramount to every other consideration. i have heard the princess say that pope pius vi. was the only one of all the sovereigns who offered the slightest condolence or assistance to louis xvi. and his family. "the pope's letter," added she, "when shown to me by the queen, drew tears from my eyes. it really was in a style of such christian tenderness and princely feeling as could only be dictated by a pious and illuminated head of the christian church. he implored not only all the family of louis xvi., but even extended his entreaties to me [the princesse de lamballe] to leave paris, and save themselves, by taking refuge in his dominions, from the horrors which so cruelly overwhelmed them. the king's aunts were the only ones who profited by the invitation. madame elizabeth was to have been of the party, but could not be persuaded to leave the king and queen." as the clouds grew more threatening, it is scarcely to be credited how many persons interested themselves for the same purpose, and what numberless schemes were devised to break the fetters which had been imposed on the royal family, by their jailers, the assembly. a party, unknown to the king and queen, was even forming under the direction of the princesse elizabeth; but as soon as their majesties were apprised of it, it was given up as dangerous to the interests of the royal family, because it thwarted the plans of the marquis de bouille. indeed, her majesty could never be brought to determine on any plan for her own or the king's safety until their royal aunts, the princesses victoria and adelaide, had left paris. the first attempt to fly was made early in the year , at st. cloud, where the horses had been in preparation nearly a fortnight; but the scheme was abandoned in consequence of having been entrusted to too many persons. this the queen acknowledged. she had it often in her power to escape alone with her son, but would not consent. the second attempt was made in the spring of the same year at paris. the guards shut the gates of the tuileries, and would not allow the king's carriage to pass. even though a large sum of money had been expended to form a party to overpower the mutineers, the treacherous mercenaries did not appear. the expedition was, of course, obliged to be relinquished. many of the royal household were very ill-treated, and some lives unfortunately lost. at last, the deplorable journey did take place. the intention had been communicated by her majesty to the princesse de lamballe before she went abroad, and it was agreed that, whenever it was carried into effect, the queen should write to her highness from montmedi, where the two friends were once more to have been reunited. soon after the departure of the princess, the arrangements for the fatal journey to varennes were commenced, but with blamable and fatal carelessness. mirabeau was the first person who advised the king to withdraw; but he recommended that it should be alone, or, at most, with the dauphin only. he was of opinion that the overthrow of the constitution could not be achieved while the royal family remained in paris. his first idea was that the king should go to the sea-coast, where he would have it in his power instantly to escape to england, if the assembly, through his (mirabeau's), means, did not comply with the royal propositions. though many of the king's advisers were for a distinct and open rejection of the constitution, it was the decided impression of mirabeau that he ought to stoop to conquer, and temporize by an instantaneous acceptance, through which he might gain time to put himself in an attitude to make such terms as would at once neutralize the act and the faction by which it was forced upon him. others imagined that his majesty was too conscientious to avail himself of any such subterfuge, and that, having once given his sanction, he would adhere to it rigidly. this third party of the royal counsellors were therefore for a cautious consideration of the document, clause by clause, dreading the consequences of an 'ex abrupto' signature in binding the sovereign, not only against his policy, but his will. in the midst of all these distracting doubts, however, the departure was resolved upon. mirabeau had many interviews with the count fersen upon the subject. it was his great object to prevent the flight from being encumbered. but the king would not be persuaded to separate himself from the queen and the rest of the family, and entrusted the project to too many advisers. had he been guided by fersen only, he would have succeeded. the natural consequence of a secret being in so many hands was felt in the result. those whom it was most important to keep in ignorance were the first on the alert. the weakness of the queen in insisting upon taking a remarkable dressing-case with her, and, to get it away unobserved, ordering a facsimile to be made under the pretext of intending it as a present to her sister at brussels, awakened the suspicion of a favourite, but false female attendant, then intriguing with the aide-de-camp of la fayette. the rest is easily to be conceived. the assembly were apprised of all the preparations for the departure a week or more before it occurred. la fayette, himself, it is believed, knew and encouraged it, that he might have the glory of stopping the fugitive himself; but he was overruled by the assembly. when the secretary of the austrian ambassador came publicly, by arrangement, to ask permission of the queen to take the model of the dressing-case in question, the very woman to whom i have alluded was in attendance at her majesty's toilet. the paramour of the woman was with her, watching the motions of the royal family on the night they passed from their own apartments to those of the duc de villequier in order to get into the carriage; and by this paramour was la fayette instantly informed of the departure. the traitress discovered that her majesty was on the eve of setting off by seeing her diamonds packed up. all these things were fully known to the assembly, of which the queen herself was afterwards apprised by the mayor of paris. in the suite of the count fersen [alvise de pisani, the last venetian ambassador to the king, who was my husband's particular friend, and with whom i was myself long acquainted, and have been ever since to this day, as well as with all his noble family, during my many years' residence at venice, told me this circumstance while walking with him at his country-seat at stra, which was subsequently taken from him by napoleon, and made the imperial palace of the viceroy, and is now that of the german reigning prince.] there was a young swede who had an intrigue purposely with one of the queen's women, from whom he obtained many important disclosures relative to the times. the swede mentioned this to his patron, who advised her majesty to discharge a certain number of these women, among whom was the one who afterwards proved her betrayer. it was suggested to dismiss a number at once, that the guilty person might not suspect the exclusion to be levelled against her in particular. had the queen allowed herself to be directed in this affair by fersen, the chain of communication would have been broken, and the royal family would not have been stopped at varennes, but have got clear out of france, many hours before they could have been perceived by the assembly; but her majesty never could believe that she had anything to fear from the quarter against which she was warned. it is not generally known that a very considerable sum had been given to the head recruiting sergeant, mirabeau, to enlist such of the constituents as could be won with gold to be ready with a majority in favour of the royal fugitives. but the death of mirabeau, previous to this event, leaves it doubtful how far he distributed the bribes conscientiously; indeed, it is rather to be questioned whether he did not retain the money, or much of it, in his own hands, since the strongly hoped for and dearly paid majority never gave proof of existence, either before or after the journey to varennes. immense bribes were also given to the mayor of paris, which proved equally ineffective. had mirabeau lived till the affair of varennes, it is not impossible that his genius might have given a different complexion to the result. he had already treated with the queen and the princess for a reconciliation; and in the apartments of her highness had frequent evening, and early morning, audiences of the queen. it is pretty certain, however, that the recantation of mirabeau, from avowed democracy to aristocracy and royalty, through the medium of enriching himself by a 'salva regina', made his friends prepare for him that just retribution, which ended in a 'de profundis'. at a period when all his vices were called to aid one virtuous action, his thread of vicious life was shortened, and he; no doubt, became the victim of his insatiable avarice. that he was poisoned is not to be disproved; though it was thought necessary to keep it from the knowledge of the people. i have often heard her highness say, "when i reflect on the precautions which were taken to keep the interviews with mirabeau profoundly secret that he never conversed but with the king, the queen, and myself--his untimely death must be attributed to his own indiscreet enthusiasm, in having confidentially entrusted the success with which he flattered himself, from the ascendency he had gained over the court, to some one who betrayed him. his death, so very unexpectedly, and at that crisis, made a deep impression on the mind of the queen. she really believed him capable of redressing the monarchy, and he certainly was the only one of the turncoat constitutionalists in whom she placed any confidence. would to heaven that she had had more in barnave, and that she had listened to dumourier! these i would have trusted more, far more readily than the mercenary mirabeau!" i now return, once more, to the journal of the princess. section xi. "in the midst of the perplexing debates upon the course most advisable with regard to the constitution after the unfortunate return from varennes, i sent off my little english amanuensis to paris to bring me, through the means of another trusty person i had placed about the queen, the earliest information concerning the situation of affairs. on her return she brought me a ring, which her majesty had graciously, condescended to send me, set with her own hair, which had whitened like that of a person of eighty, from the anguish the varennes affair had wrought upon her mind; and bearing the inscription, 'bleached by sorrow.' this ring was accompanied by the following letter: "'my dearest friend,-- "'the king has made up his mind to the acceptance of the constitution, and it will ere long be proclaimed publicly. a few days ago i was secretly waited upon and closeted in your apartment with many of our faithful friends,--in particular, alexandre de lameth, duport, barnave, montmorin, bertrand de moleville, et cetera. the two latter opposed the king's council, the ministers, and the numerous other advisers of an immediate and unscrutinizing acceptance. they were a small minority, and could not prevail with me to exercise my influence with his majesty in support of their opinion, when all the rest seemed so confident that a contrary course must re-establish the tranquillity of the nation and our own happiness, weaken the party of the jacobins against us, and greatly increase that of the nation in our favor. "'your absence obliged me to call elizabeth to my aid in managing the coming and going of the deputies to and from the pavilion of flora, unperceived by the spies of our enemies. she executed her charge so adroitly, that the visitors were not seen by any of the household. poor elizabeth! little did i look for such circumspection in one so unacquainted with the intrigues of court, or the dangers surrounding us, which they would now fain persuade us no longer exist. god grant it may be so! and that i may once more freely embrace and open my heart to the only friend i have nearest to it. but though this is my most ardent wish, yet, my dear, dearest lamballe, i leave it to yourself to act as your feelings dictate. many about us profess to see the future as clear as the sun at noon-day. but, i confess, my vision is still dim. i cannot look into events with the security of others--who confound logic with their wishes. the king, elizabeth, and all of us, are anxious for your return. but it would grieve us sorely for you to come back to such scenes as you have already witnessed. judge and act from your own impressions. if we do not see you, send me the result of your interview at the precipice.--[the name the queen gave to mr. pitt]--'vostra cara picciolca inglesina' will deliver you many letters. after looking over the envelopes, you will either send her with them as soon as possible or forward them as addressed, as you may think most advisable at the time you receive them. "'ever, ever, and forever, "'your affectionate, "'marie antoinette! "there was another hurried and abrupt note from her majesty among these papers, obviously written later than the first. it lamented the cruel privations to which she was doomed at the tuileries, in consequence of the impeded flight, and declared that what the royal family were forced to suffer, from being totally deprived of every individual of their former friends and attendants to condole with, excepting the equally oppressed and unhappy princesse elizabeth, was utterly insupportable. "on the receipt of these much esteemed epistles, i returned, as my duty directed, to the best of queens, and most sincere of friends. my arrival at paris, though so much wished for, was totally unexpected. "at our first meeting, the queen was so agitated that she was utterly at a loss to explain the satisfaction she felt in beholding me once more near her royal person. seeing the ring on my finger, which she had done me the honour of sending me, she pointed to her hair, once so beautiful, but now, like that of an old woman, not only gray, but deprived of all its softness, quite stiff and dried up. "madame elizabeth, the king, and the rest of our little circle, lavished on me the most endearing caresses. the dear dauphin said to me, 'you will not go away again, i hope, princess? oh, mamma has cried so since you left us!' "i had wept enough before, but this dear little angel brought tears into the eyes of us all." "when i mentioned to her majesty the affectionate sympathy expressed by the king and queen of england in her sufferings, and their regret at the state of public affairs in france, 'it is most noble and praiseworthy in them to feel thus,' exclaimed marie antoinette; 'and the more so considering the illiberal part imputed to us against those sovereigns in the rebellion of their ultramarine subjects, to which, heaven knows, i never gave my approbation. had i done so, how poignant would be my remorse at the retribution of our own sufferings, and the pity of those i had so injured! no. i was, perhaps, the only silent individual amongst millions of infatuated enthusiasts at general la fayette's return to paris, nor did i sanction any of the fetes given to dr. franklin, or the american ambassadors at the time. i could not conceive it prudent for the queen of an absolute monarchy to countenance any of their newfangled philosophical experiments with my presence. now, i feel the reward in my own conscience. i exult in my freedom from a self-reproach, which would have been altogether insupportable under the kindness of which you speak.' "as soon as i was settled in my apartment, which was on the same floor with that of the queen, she condescended to relate to me every particular of her unfortunate journey. i saw the pain it gave her to retrace the scenes, and begged her to desist till time should have, in some degree, assuaged the poignancy of her feelings. 'that,' cried she, embracing me, i can never be! never, never will that horrid circumstance of my life lose its vividness in my recollection. what agony, to have seen those faithful servants tied before us on the carriage, like common criminals! all, all may be attributed to the king's goodness of heart, which produces want of courage, nay, even timidity, in the most trying scenes. as poor king charles the first, when he was betrayed in the isle of wight, would have saved himself, and perhaps thousands, had he permitted the sacrifice of one traitor, so might louis xvi. have averted calamities so fearful that i dare not name, though i distinctly foresee them, had he exerted his authority where he only called up his compassion.' "'for heaven's sake,' replied i, 'do not torment yourself by these cruel recollections!' "'these are gone by,' continued her majesty, and greater still than even these. how can i describe my grief at what i endured in the assembly, from the studied humiliation to which the king and the royal authority were there reduced in the face of the national representatives! from seeing the king on his return choked with anguish at the mortifications to which i was doomed to behold the majesty of a french sovereign humbled! these events bespeak clouds, which, like the horrid waterspout at sea, nothing can dispel but cannon! the dignity of the crown, the sovereignty itself, is threatened; and this i shall write this very night to the emperor. i see no hope of internal tranquillity without the powerful aid of foreign force. [the only difference of any moment which ever existed between the queen and the princesse de lamballe as to their sentiments on the revolution was on this subject. her highness wished marie antoinette to rely on the many persons who had offered and promised to serve the cause of the monarchy with their internal resources, and not depend on the princes and foreign armies. this salutary advice she never could enforce on the queen's mind, though she had to that effect been importuned by upwards of two hundred persona, all zealous to show their penitence for former errors by their present devotedness. "whenever," observed her highness, "we came to that point, the queen (upon seriously reflecting that these persons had been active instruments in promoting the first changes in the monarchy, for which she never forgave them from her heart) would hesitate and doubt; and never could i bring her majesty definitely to believe the profferers to be sincere. hence, they were trifled with, till one by one she either lost them, or saw them sacrificed to an attachment, which her own distrust and indecision rendered fruitless."] the king has allowed himself to be too much led to attempt to recover his power through any sort of mediation. still, the very idea of owing our liberty to any foreign army distracts me for the consequences.' "my reinstatement in my apartments at the pavilion of flora seemed not only to give universal satisfaction to every individual of the royal family, but it was hailed with much enthusiasm by many deputies of the constituent assembly. i was honoured with the respective visits of all who were in any degree well disposed to the royal cause. "one day, when barnave and others were present with the queen, 'now,' exclaimed one of the deputies, 'now that this good princess is returned to her adopted country, the active zeal of her highness, coupled with your majesty's powerful influence over the mind of the king for the welfare of his subjects, will give fresh vigour to the full execution of the constitution.' "my visitors were earnest in their invitations for me to go to the assembly to hear an interesting discussion, which was to be brought forward upon the king's spontaneous acceptance of the constitution. "i went; and amidst the plaudits for the good king's condescension, how was my heart lacerated to hear robespierre denounce three of the most distinguished of the members, who had requested my attendance, as traitors to their country! "this was the first and only assembly discussion i ever attended; and how dearly did i pay for my curiosity! i was accompanied by my 'cara inglesina', who, always on the alert, exclaimed, 'let me entreat your highness not to remain any longer in this place. you are too deeply moved to dissemble.' "i took her judicious advice, and the moment i could leave the assembly unperceived, i hastened back to the queen to beg her, for god's sake, to be upon her guard; for, from what i had just heard at the assembly, i feared the jacobins had discovered her plans with barnave, de lameth, duport, and others of the royal party. her countenance, for some minutes, seemed to be the only sensitive part of her. it was perpetually shifting from a high florid colour to the paleness of death. when her first emotions gave way to nature, she threw herself into my arms, and, for some time, her feelings were so overcome by the dangers which threatened these worthy men, that she could only in the bitterness of her anguish exclaim, 'oh! this is all on my account!' and i think she was almost as much alarmed for the safety of these faithful men, as she had been for that of the king on the th of july, when the jacobins in the champ de mars called out to have the king brought to trial--a day of which the horrors were never effaced from her memory! "the king and princesse elizabeth fortunately came in at the moment; but even our united efforts were unavailable. the grief of her majesty at feeling herself the cause of the misfortunes of these faithful adherents, now devoted victims of their earnestness in foiling the machinations against the liberty and life of the king and herself, made her nearly frantic. she too well knew that to be accused was to incur instant death. that she retained her senses under the convulsion of her feelings can only be ascribed to that wonderful strength of mind, which triumphed over every bodily weakness, and still sustains her under every emergency. "the king and the princesse elizabeth, by whom barnave had been much esteemed ever since the journey from varennes, were both inconsolable. i really believe the queen entirely owed her instantaneous recovery from that deadly lethargic state, in which she had been thrown by her grief for the destined sacrifice, to the exuberant goodness of the king's heart, who instantly resolved to compromise his own existence, to save those who had forfeited theirs for him and his family. "seeing the emotion of the queen, 'i will go myself to the assembly,' said louis xvi., 'and declare their innocence.' "the queen sprang forward, as if on the wings of an angel, and grasping the king in her arms, cried, 'will you hasten their deaths by confirming the impression of your keeping up an understanding with them? gracious heaven! oh, that i could recall the acts of attachment they have shown us, since to these they are now falling victims! i would save them,' continued her majesty, 'with my own blood; but, sire, it is useless. we should only expose ourselves to the vindictive spirit of the jacobins without aiding the cause of our devoted friends.' "'who,' asked she, i was the guilty wretch that accused our unfortunate barnave?' "'robespierre.' "'robespierre!' echoed her majesty. 'oh, god! then he is numbered with the dead! this fellow is too fond of blood to be tempted with money. but you, sire, must not interfere!' "notwithstanding these doubts, however, i undertook, at the king's and queen's most earnest desire, to get some one to feel the pulse of robespierre, for the salvation of these our only palladium to the constitutional monarchy. to the first application, though made through the medium of one of his earliest college intimates, carrier, the wretch was utterly deaf and insensible. of this failure i hastened to apprise her majesty. 'was any, sum,' asked she, 'named as a compensation for suspending this trial?'--'none,' replied i. 'i had no commands to that effect.'--'then let the attempt be renewed, and back it with the argument of a cheque for a hundred thousand livres on m. laborde. he has saved my life and the king's, and, as far as is in my power, i am determined to save his. barnave has exposed his life more than any of our unfortunate friends, and if we can but succeed in saving him, he will speedily be enabled to save his colleagues. should the sum i name be insufficient, my jewels shall be disposed of to make up a larger one. fly to your agent, dear princess! lose not a moment to intercede in behalf of these our only true friends!' "i did so, and was fortunate enough to gain over to my personal entreaties one who had the courage to propose the business; and a hundred and fifty thousand livres procured them a suspension of accusation. all, however, are still watched with such severity of scrutiny that i tremble, even now, for the result. [and with reason; for all, eventually, were sacrificed upon the scaffold. carrier was the factotum in all the cool, deliberate, sanguinary operations of robespierre; when he saw the cheque, he said to the princesse de lamballe: "madame, though your personal charms and mental virtues had completely influenced all the authority i could exercise in favour of your protege, without this interesting argument i should not have had courage to have renewed the business with the principal agent of life and death."] "it was in the midst of such apprehensions, which struck terror into the hearts of the king and queen, that the tuileries resounded with cries of multitudes hired to renew those shouts of 'vive le roi! vive la famille royale!' which were once spontaneous. "in one of the moments of our deepest affliction, multitudes were thronging the gardens and enjoying the celebration of the acceptance of the constitution. what a contrast to the feelings of the unhappy inmates of the palace! we may well say, that many an aching heart rides in a carriage, while the pedestrian is happy! "the fetes on this occasion were very brilliant. the king, the queen, and the royal family were invited to take part in this first national festival. they did so, by appearing in their carriage through the streets of paris, and the champs elysees, escorted only by the parisian guard, there being no other at the time. the mob was so great that the royal carriage could only keep pace with the foot-passengers. "their majesties were in general well received. the only exceptions were a few of the jacobin members of the assembly, who, even on this occasion, sought every means to afflict the hearts, and shock the ears, of their majesties, by causing republican principles to be vociferated at the very doors of their carriage. "the good sense of the king and queen prevented them from taking any notice of these insults while in public; but no sooner had they returned to the castle, than the queen gave way to her grief at the premeditated humiliation she was continually witnessing to the majesty of the constitutional monarchy,--an insult less to the king himself than to the nation, which had acknowledged him their sovereign. "when the royal party entered the apartment, they found m. de montmorin with me, who had come to talk over these matters, secure that at such a moment we should not be surprised. "on hearing the queen's observation, m. de montmorin made no secret of the necessity there was of their majesties dissembling their feelings; the avowal of which, he said, would only tend to forward the triumph of jacobinism, 'which,' added he, 'i am sorry to see predominates in the assembly, and keeps in subordination all the public and private clubs.' "'what!' exclaimed the princesse elizabeth, can that be possible, after the king has accepted the constitution?' "'yes,' said the queen; these people, my dear elizabeth, wish for a constitution which sanctions the overthrow of him by whom it has been granted.' "'in this,' observed m. de montmorin, 'as on some other points, i perfectly agree with your majesty and the king, notwithstanding i have been opposed by the whole council and many other honest constituent members, as well as the cabinet of vienna. and it is still, as it has ever been, my firm opinion, that the king ought, previous to the acceptance of the constitution, to have been allowed, for the security of its future organization, to have examined it maturely; which, not having been the case, i foresee the dangerous situation in which his majesty stands, and i foresee, too, the non-promulgation of this charter. malouet, who is an honest man, is of my opinion. duport, de lameth, barnave, and even la fayette are intimidated at the prevailing spirit of the jacobins. they were all with the best intentions for your majesty's present safety, for the acceptance in toto, but without reflecting on the consequences which must follow should the nation be deceived. but i, who am, and ever shall be, attached to royalty, regret the step, though i am clear in my impression as to the only course which ought to succeed it. the throne can now only be made secure by the most unequivocal frankness of proceeding on the part of the crown. it is not enough to have conceded, it is necessary also to show that the concession has some more solid origin than mere expediency. it should be made with a good grace. every motive of prudence, as well as of necessity, requires that the monarch himself, and all those most interested for his safety, should, neither in looks, manners, or conversation, seem as if they felt a regret for what has been lost, but rather appear satisfied with what has been bestowed.' "'in that case,' said the queen, 'we should lose all the support of the royalists.' "'every royalist, madame,' replied he, 'who, at this critical crisis, does not avow the sentiments of a constitutionalist, is a nail in the king's untimely coffin.' "'gracious god !' cried the queen; 'that would destroy the only hope which still flatters our drooping existence. symptoms of moderation, or any conciliatory measures we might be inclined to show, of our free will, to the constitutionalists, would be immediately considered as a desertion of our supporters, and treachery to ourselves, by the royalists.' "'it would be placed entirely out of my power, madame,' replied m. de montmorin, 'to make my attachment to the persons of your majesties available for the maintenance of your rights, did i permit the factious, overbearing party which prevails to see into my real zeal for the restoration of the royal authority, so necessary for their own future honour, security, and happiness. could they see this, i should be accused as a national traitor, or even worse, and sent out of the world by a sudden death of ignominy, merely to glut their hatred of monarchy; and it is therefore i dissemble.' "'i perfectly agree with you,' answered the queen. that cruel moment when i witnessed the humiliating state to which royalty had been reduced by the constituents, when they placed the president of their assembly upon a level with the king; gave a plebeian, exercising his functions pro tempore, prerogatives in the face of the nation to trample down hereditary monarchy and legislative authority--that cruel moment discovered the fatal truth. in the anguish of my heart, i told his majesty that he had outlived his kingly authority: here she burst into tears, hiding her face in her handkerchief. "with the mildness of a saint, the angelic princesse elizabeth exclaimed, turning to the king, 'say something to the queen, to calm her anguish!' "'it will be of no avail,' said the king; 'her grief adds to my affliction. i have been the innocent cause of her participating in this total ruin, and as it is only her fortitude which has hitherto supported me, with the same philosophical and religious resignation we must await what fate destines!' "'yes,' observed m. de montmorin; 'but providence has also given us the rational faculty of opposing imminent danger, and by activity and exertion obviating its consequences.' "'in what manner, sir?' cried the queen; 'tell me how this is to be effected, and, with the king's sanction, i am ready to do anything to avert the storm, which so loudly threatens the august head of the french nation.' "'vienna, madame,' replied he; 'vienna! your majesty's presence at vienna would do more for the king's safety, and the nation's future tranquillity, than the most powerful army.' "'we have long since suggested,' said the princesse elizabeth, 'that her majesty should fly from france and take refuge----' "'pardon me, princess,' interrupted m. de montmorin, 'it is not for refuge solely i would have her majesty go thither. it is to give efficacy to the love she bears the king and his family, in being there the powerful advocate to check the fallacious march of a foreign army to invade us for the subjection of the french nation. all these external attempts will prove abortive, and only tend to exasperate the french to crime and madness. here i coincide with my coadjutors, barnave, duport, de lameth, etc. the principle on which the re-establishment of the order and tranquillity of france depends, can be effected only by the non-interference of foreign powers. let them leave the rational resources of our own internal force to re-establish our real interests, which every honest frenchman will strive to secure, if not thwarted by the threats and menaces of those who have no right to interfere. besides, madame, they are too far from us to afford immediate relief from the present dangers internally surrounding us. these are the points of fearful import. it is not the threats and menaces of a foreign army which can subdue a nation's internal factions. these only rouse them to prolong disorders. national commotions can be quelled only by national spirit, whose fury, once exhausted on those who have aroused it, leave it free to look within, and work a reform upon itself.' "m. de montmorin, after many other prudent exhortations and remarks, and some advice with regard to the king and queen's household, took his. leave. he was no sooner gone than it was decided by the king that marie antoinette, accompanied by myself and some other ladies, and the gentlemen of the bedchamber, couriers, etc., should set out forthwith for vienna. [the princease de lamballe sent me directions that very evening, some time after midnight, to be at our place of rendezvous early in the morning. i was overjoyed at the style of the note. it was the least mysterious i had ever received from her highness. i inferred that some fortunate event had occurred, with which, knowing how deeply i was interested in the fate of her on whom my own so much depended, she was, eager to make me acquainted. but what was my surprise, on entering the church fixed on for the meeting, to see the queen's unknown confessor beckoning me to come to him. i approached. he bade me wait till after mass, when he had something to communicate from the princess. this confessor officiated in the place of the one whom mirabeau had seduced to take the constitutional oath. the queen and princess confessed to him in the private apartment of her highness on the ground floor; though it was never known where, or to whom they confessed, after the treachery of the royal confessor. this faithful and worthy successor was only known as "the known." i never heard who he was, or what was his name. the mass being over, i followed him into the sacristy. he told me that the princess, by her majesty's command, wished me to set off immediately for strasburg, and there await the arrival of her highness, to be in readiness to follow her and her majesty for the copying of the cipher, as they were going to vienna. when everything, however, had been settled for their departure, which it was agreed was to take place from the house of count fersen, the resolution was suddenly changed; but i was desired to hold myself in readiness for another journey.] "to say why this purpose was abandoned is unnecessary. the same fatality, which renders every project unattainable, threw insuperable impediments, in the way of this." section xii. "the news of the death of the emperor leopold, in the midst of the other distresses of her majesty, afflicted her very deeply; the more so because she had every reason to think he fell a victim to the active part he took in her favour. externally, this monarch certainly demonstrated no very great inclination to become a member of the coalition of pilnitz. he judged, very justly, that his brother joseph had not only defeated his own purposes by too openly and violently asserting the cause of their unfortunate sister, but had destroyed himself, and, therefore, selected what he deemed the safer and surer course of secret support. but all his caution proved abortive. the assembly knew his manoeuvres as well as he himself did. he died an untimely death; and the queen was assured, from undoubted authority, that both joseph and leopold were poisoned in their medicines. "during my short absence in england, the king's household had undergone a complete change. when the emigration first commenced, a revolution in the officers of the court took place, but it was of a nature different from this last; and, by destroying itself, left the field open to those who now made the palace so intolerable. the first change to which i refer arose as follows: "the greater part of the high offices being vacated by the secession of the most distinguished nobility, many places fell to persons who had all their lives occupied very subordinate situations. these, to retain their offices, were indiscreet enough publicly to declare their dissent from all the measures of the assembly; an absurdity, which, at the commencement, was encouraged by the court, till the extreme danger of encouraging it was discovered too late; and when once the error had been tolerated, and rewarded, it was found impossible to check it, and stop these fatal tongues. the queen, who disliked the character of capriciousness, for a long time allowed the injury to go on, by continuing about her those who inflicted it. the error, which arose from delicacy, was imputed to a very different and less honourable feeling, till the clamour became so great, that she was obliged to yield to it, and dismiss those who had acted with so much indiscretion. "the king and queen did not dare now to express themselves on the subject of the substitutes who were to succeed. consequently they became surrounded by persons placed by the assembly as spies. the most conspicuous situations were filled by the meanest persons--not, as in the former case, by such as had risen, though by accident, still regularly to their places--but by myrmidons of the prevailing power, to whom their majesties were compelled to submit, because their rulers willed it. all orders of nobility were abolished. all the court ladies, not attached to the king and queen personally, abandoned the court. no one would be seen at the queen's card-parties, once so crowded, and so much sought after. we were entirely reduced to the family circle. the king, when weary of playing with the princesse elizabeth and the queen, would retire to his apartments without uttering a word, not from sullenness, but overcome by silent grief. "the queen was occupied continually by the extensive correspondence she had to carry on with the foreign sovereigns, the princes, and the different parties. her majesty once gave me nearly thirty letters she had written in the course of two days, which were forwarded by my cara inglesina--cara indeed! for she was of the greatest service. "her majesty slept very little. but her courage never slackened; and neither her health, nor her general amiableness, was in the least affected. though few persons could be more sensible than herself to poignant mortification at seeing her former splendour hourly decrease, yet she never once complained. she was, in this respect, a real stoic. "the palace was now become, what it still remains, like a police office. it was filled with spies and runners. every member of the assembly, by some means or other, had his respective emissary. all the antechambers were peopled by inveterate jacobins, by those whose greatest pleasure was to insult the ears and minds of all whom they considered above themselves in birth, or rank, or virtue. so completely were the decencies of life abolished, that common respect was withheld even from the royal family. "i was determined to persevere in my usual line of conduct, of which the king and queen very much approved. without setting up for a person of importance, i saw all who wished for public or private audiences of their majesties. i carried on no intrigues, and only discharged the humble duties of my situation to the best of my ability for the general good, and to secure, as far as possible, the comfort of their majesties, who really were to be pitied, utterly friendless and forsaken as they were. "m. laporte, the head of the king's private police, came to me one day in great consternation. he had discovered that schemes were on foot to poison all the royal family, and that, in a private committee of the assembly, considerable pensions had been offered for the perpetration of the crime. its facility was increased, as far as regarded the queen, by the habit to which her majesty had accustomed herself of always keeping powdered sugar at hand, which, without referring to her attendants, she would herself mix with water and drink as a beverage whenever she was thirsty. "i entreated m. laporte not to disclose the conspiracy to the queen till i had myself had an opportunity of apprising her of his praiseworthy zeal. he agreed, on condition that precautions should be immediately adopted with respect to the persons who attended the kitchen. this, i assured him, should be done on the instant. "at the period i mention, all sorts of etiquette had been abolished. the custom which prevented my appearing before the queen, except at stated hours, had long since been discontinued; and, as all the other individuals who came before or after the hours of service were eyed with distrust, and i remained the only one whose access to their majesties was free and unsuspected, though it was very early when m. laporte called, i thought it my duty to hasten immediately to my royal mistress. "i found her in bed. 'has your majesty breakfasted?' said i. "'no,' replied she; 'will you breakfast with me?' "'most certainly,' said i, 'if your majesty will insure me against being poisoned.' "at the word poison her majesty started up and looked at me very earnestly, and with a considerable degree of alarm. "'i am only joking,' continued i; 'i will breakfast with your majesty if you will give me tea.' "tea was presently brought. 'in this,' said i, 'there is no danger.' "'what do you mean?' asked her majesty. "'i am ordered,' replied i, taking up a lump of sugar, 'not to drink chocolate, or coffee, or anything with powdered sugar. these are times when caution alone can prevent our being sent out of the world with all our sins upon our heads.' "'i am very glad to hear you say so; for you have reason to be particular, after what you once so cruelly suffered from poison. but what has brought that again into your mind just now?' "'well, then, since your majesty approves of my circumspection, allow me to say i think it advisable that we should, at a moment like this especially, abstain from all sorts of food by which our existence may be endangered. for my own part, i mean to give up all made dishes, and confine myself to the simplest diet.' "'come, come, princess,' interrupted her majesty; 'there is more in this than you wish me to understand. fear not. i am prepared for anything that may be perpetrated against my own life, but let me preserve from peril my king, my husband, and my children!' "my feelings prevented me from continuing to dissemble. i candidly repeated all i had heard from m. laporte. "her majesty instantly rang for one of her confidential women. 'go to the king,' said her majesty to the attendant, 'and if you find him alone, beg him to come to me at once; but, if there are any of the guards or other persons within hearing, merely say that the princesse de lamballe is with me and is desirous of the loan of a newspaper.' "the king's guard, and indeed most of those about him, were no better than spies, and this caution in the queen was necessary to prevent any jealousy from being excited by the sudden message. "when the messenger left us by ourselves, i observed to her majesty that it would be imprudent to give the least publicity to the circumstance, for were it really mere suspicion in the head of the police, its disclosure might only put this scheme into some miscreant's head, and tempt him to realize it. the queen said i was perfectly right, and it should be kept secret. "our ambassadress was fortunate enough to reach the king's apartment unobserved, and to find him unattended, so he received the message forthwith. on leaving the apartment, however, she was noticed and watched. she immediately went out of the tuileries as if sent to make purchases, and some time afterwards returned with some trifling articles in her hand. [this incident will give the reader an idea of the cruel situation in which the first sovereigns of europe then stood; and how much they appreciated the few subjects who devoted themselves to thwart and mitigate the tyranny practised by the assembly over these illustrious victims. i can speak from my own experience on these matters. from the time i last accompanied the princesse de lamballe to paris till i left it in , what between milliners, dressmakers, flower girls, fancy toy sellers, perfumers, hawkers of jewellery, purse and gaiter makers, etc., i had myself assumed twenty different characters, besides that of a drummer boy, sometimes blackening my face to enter the palace unnoticed, and often holding conversations analogous to the sentiments of the wretches who were piercing my heart with the remarks circumstances compelled me to encourage. indeed, i can safely say i was known, in some shape or other, to almost everybody, but to no one in my real character, except the princess by whom i was so graciously employed.] "the moment the king appeared, 'sire,' exclaimed her majesty, 'the assembly, tired of endeavouring to wear us to death by slow torment, have devised an expedient to relieve their own anxiety and prevent us from putting them to further inconvenience.' "'what do you mean?' said the king. i repeated my conversation with m. laporte. 'bah! bah!' resumed his majesty, 'they never will attempt it. they have fixed on other methods of getting rid of us. they have not policy enough to allow our deaths to be ascribed to accident. they are too much initiated in great crimes already.' "'but,' asked the queen, 'do you not think it highly necessary to make use of every precaution, when we are morally sure of the probability of such a plot?' "'most certainly! otherwise we should be, in the eyes of god, almost guilty of suicide. but how prevent it? surrounded as we are by persons who, being seduced to believe that we are plotting against them, feel justified in the commission of any crime under the false idea of self-defence!' "'we may prevent it,' replied her majesty, 'by abstaining from everything in our diet wherein poison can be introduced; and that we can manage without making any stir by the least change either in the kitchen arrangements or in our own, except, indeed, this one. luckily, as we are restricted in our attendants, we have a fair excuse for dumb waiters, whereby it will be perfectly easy to choose or discard without exciting suspicion.' "this, consequently, was the course agreed upon; and every possible means, direct and indirect, was put into action to secure the future safety of the royal family and prevent the accomplishment of the threat of poison." [on my seeing the princess next morning, her highness condescended to inform me of the danger to which herself and the royal family were exposed. she requested i would send my man servant to the persons who served me, to fill a moderate-sized hamper with wine, salt, chocolate, biscuits, and liquors, and take it to her apartment, at the pavilion of flora, to be used as occasion required. all the fresh bread and butter which was necessary i got made for nearly a fortnight by persons whom i knew at a distance from the palace, whither i always conveyed it myself.] etext editor's bookmarks: and scarcely a woman; for your answers are very short can make a duchess a beggar, but cannot make a beggar a duchess canvassing for a majority to set up d'orleans clergy enjoyed one-third the national revenues declaring the duke of orleans the constitutional king foolishly occupying themselves with petty matters many an aching heart rides in a carriage over-caution may produce evils almost equal to carelessness panegyric of the great edmund burke upon marie antoinette people in independence are only the puppets of demagogues revolution not as the americans, founded on grievances suppression of all superfluous religious institutions the king remained as if paralysed and stupefied these expounders--or confounders--of codes to be accused was to incur instant death who confound logic with their wishes note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) makers of history maria antoinette by john s. c. abbott with engravings new york and london harper & brothers publishers entered, according to act of congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-nine, by harper & brothers. in the clerk's office of the district court of the southern district of new york. [illustration: charles maurice de talleyrand.] [illustration: view of paris.] preface. in this history of maria antoinette it has been my endeavor to give a faithful narrative of facts, and, so far as possible, to exhibit the soul of history. a more mournful tragedy earth has seldom witnessed. and yet the lesson is full of instruction to all future ages. intelligence and moral worth combined can be the only basis of national prosperity or domestic happiness. but the simple story itself carries with it its own moral, and the _reflections_ of the writer would encumber rather than enforce its teachings. contents. chapter page i. parentage and childhood ii. bridal days iii. maria antoinette enthroned iv. the diamond necklace v. the mob at versailles vi. the palace a prison vii. the flight viii. the return to paris ix. imprisonment in the temple x. execution of the king xi. trial and execution of maria antoinette xii. the princess elizabeth, the dauphin, and the princess royal engravings. page view of paris _frontispiece._ bridal tour versailles--front view} } versailles--court-yard} fountains at versailles} } fountain of the star } little trianon gardens of marly view of the bastile gardens at versailles mob at versailles grand avenue of the tuileries palace of st. cloud capture at varennes the tuileries the tower of the temple the royal family in the temple maria antoinette in the conciergerie maria antoinette chapter i. parentage and childhood. - maria theresa.--she succeeds to the throne.--success of maria theresa's enemies.--her flight to hungary.--the queen's firmness.--the hungarian barons.--the queen's appeal.--enthusiasm of her subjects.--the queen heads her army.--she overthrows her enemies.--character of maria theresa.--character of her husband.--crowning of francis.--maria theresa's renown.--maria theresa's sternness.--anecdote.--fatal result.--death of francis.--plan of the counselors.--birth of maria antoinette.--maria antoinette's character.--affecting scene.--maria antoinette's grief.--maria theresa as a mother.--mode of education.--petty artifices.--maria's proficiency in french.--she forgets her native tongue.--maria's taste for music.--her ignorance of general literature, etc.--the french teachers.--their character.--the abbé de vermond.--he shamefully abuses his trust.--etiquette of the french court.--etiquette of the austrian court.--precepts of the teacher.--character of maria antoinette.--maria a noble girl.--her virtues and her faults.--palace of schoenbrun.--the scenes of maria's childhood.--personal appearance of maria.--description of lamartine.--maria's betrothal.--its motives.--maria's feelings on leaving schoenbrun.--her love for her home. in the year , charles vi., emperor of austria, died. he left a daughter twenty-three years of age, maria theresa, to inherit the crown of that powerful empire. she had been married about four years to francis, duke of lorraine. the day after the death of charles, maria theresa ascended the throne. the treasury of austria was empty. a general feeling of discontent pervaded the kingdom. several claimants to the throne rose to dispute the succession with maria; and france, spain, prussia, and bavaria took advantage of the new reign, and of the embarrassments which surrounded the youthful queen, to enlarge their own borders by wresting territory from austria. the young queen, harassed by dissensions at home and by the combined armies of her powerful foes, beheld, with anguish which her proud and imperious spirit could hardly endure, her troops defeated and scattered in every direction, and the victorious armies of her enemies marching almost unimpeded toward her capital. the exulting invaders, intoxicated with unanticipated success, now contemplated the entire division of the spoil. they decided to blot austria from the map of europe, and to partition out the conglomerated nations composing the empire among the conquerors. maria theresa retired from her capital as the bayonets of france and bavaria gleamed from the hill-sides which environed the city. her retreat with a few disheartened followers, in the gloom of night, was illumined by the flames of the bivouacs of hostile armies, with which the horizon seemed to be girdled. the invaders had possession of every strong post in the empire. the beleaguered city was summoned to surrender. resistance was unavailing. all europe felt that austria was hopelessly undone. maria fled from the dangers of captivity into the wilds of hungary. but in this dark hour, when the clouds of adversity seemed to be settling in blackest masses over her whole realm, when hope had abandoned every bosom but her own, the spirit of maria remained as firm and inflexible as if victory were perched upon her standards, and her enemies were flying in dismay before her. she would not listen to one word of compromise. she would not admit the thought of surrendering one acre of the dominions she had inherited from her fathers. calm, unagitated, and determined, she summoned around her, from their feudal castles, the wild and warlike barons of hungary. with neighing steeds, and flaunting banners, and steel-clad retainers, and all the paraphernalia of barbaric pomp, these chieftains, delighting in the excitements of war, gathered around the heroic queen. the spirit of ancient chivalry still glowed in these fierce hearts, and they gazed with a species of religious homage upon the young queen, who, in distress, had fled to their wilds to invoke the aid of their strong arms. maria met them in council. they assembled around her by thousands in all the imposing splendor of the garniture of war. maria appeared before these stern chieftains dressed in the garb of the deepest mourning, with the crown of her ancestors upon her brow, her right hand resting upon the hilt of the sword of the austrian kings, and leading by her left hand her little daughter maria antoinette. the pale and pensive features of the queen attested the resolute soul which no disasters could subdue. her imperial spirit entranced and overawed the bold knights, who had ever lived in the realms of romance. maria addressed the hungarian barons in an impressive speech in latin, the language then in use in the diets of hungary, faithfully describing the desperate state of her affairs. she committed herself and her children to their protection, and urged them to drive the invaders from the land or to perish in the attempt. it was just the appeal to rouse such hearts to a phrensy of enthusiasm. the youth, the beauty, the calamities of the queen roused to the utmost intensity the chivalric devotion of these warlike magnates, and grasping their swords and waving them above their heads, they shouted simultaneously, "moriamur pro rege nostro, maria theresa"--"_let us die for our king, maria theresa._" until now, the queen had preserved a demeanor perfectly tranquil and majestic. but this affectionate enthusiasm of her subjects entirely overcame her imperious spirit, and she burst into a flood of tears. but, apparently ashamed of this exhibition of womanly feeling she almost immediately regained her composure, and resumed the air of the indomitable sovereign. the war cry immediately resounded throughout hungary. chieftains and vassals rallied around the banner of maria. in person she inspected and headed the gathering army, and her spirit inspired them. with the ferocity of despair, these new recruits hurled themselves upon the invaders. a few battles, desperate and sanguinary, were fought, and the army of maria was victorious. england and holland, apprehensive that the destruction of the austrian empire would destroy the balance of power in europe, and encouraged by the successful resistance which the austrians were now making, came to the rescue of the heroic queen. the tide of battle was turned. the armies of france, germany, and spain were driven from the territory which they had overrun. maria, with untiring energy, followed up her successes. she pursued her retreating foes into their own country, and finally granted peace to her enemies only by wresting from them large portions of their territory. the renown of these exploits resounded through europe. the name of maria theresa was embalmed throughout the civilized world. under her vigorous sway austria, from the very brink of ruin, was elevated to a degree of splendor and power it had never attained before. these conflicts and victories inspired maria with a haughty and imperious spirit, and the loveliness of the female character was lost amid the pomp of martial achievements. the proud sovereign eclipsed the woman. it is not to be supposed that such a bosom could be the shrine of tenderness and affection. maria's virtues were all of the masculine gender. she really loved, or, rather, _liked_ her husband; but it was with the same kind of emotion with which an energetic and ambitious man loves his wife. she cherished him, protected him, watched over him, and loaded him with honors. he was of a mild, gentle, confiding spirit, and would have made a lovely wife. she was ambitious, fearless, and commanding, and would have made a noble husband. in fact, this was essentially the relation which existed between them. maria theresa governed the empire, while francis loved and caressed the children. the queen, by her armies and her political influence, had succeeded in having francis crowned emperor of germany. she stood upon the balcony as the imposing ceremony was performed, and was the first to shout "long live the emperor francis i." like napoleon, she had become the creator of kings. austria was now in the greatest prosperity, and maria theresa the most illustrious queen in europe. her renown filled the civilized world. through her whole reign, though she became the mother of sixteen children, she devoted herself with untiring energy to the aggrandizement of her empire. she united with russia and prussia in the infamous partition of poland, and in the banditti division of the spoil she annexed to her own dominions twenty-seven thousand square miles and two millions five hundred thousand inhabitants. from this exhibition of the character of maria theresa, the mother of maria antoinette, the reader will not be surprised that she should have inspired her children with awe rather than with affection. in truth, their imperial mother was so devoted to the cares of the empire, that she was almost a stranger to her children, and could have known herself but few of the emotions of maternal love. her children were placed under the care of nurses and governesses from their birth. once in every eight or ten days the queen appropriated an hour for the inspection of the nursery and the apartments appropriated to the children; and she performed this duty with the same fidelity with which she examined the wards of the state hospitals and the military schools. the following anecdote strikingly illustrates the austere and inflexible character of the empress. the wife of her son joseph died of the confluent small-pox, and her body had been consigned to the vaults of the royal tomb. soon after this event, josepha, one of the daughters of the empress, was to be married to the king of naples. the arrangements had all been made for their approaching nuptials, and she was just on the point of leaving vienna to ascend the neapolitan throne, when she received an order from her mother that she must not depart from the empire until she had, in accordance with the established custom, descended into the tomb of her ancestors and offered her parting prayer. the young princess, in an agony of consternation, received the cruel requisition. yet she dared not disobey her mother. she took her little sister, maria antoinette, whom she loved most tenderly, upon her knee, and, weeping bitterly, bade her farewell, saying that she was sure she should take the dreadful disease and die. trembling in every fiber, the unhappy princess descended into the gloomy sepulcher, where the bodies of generations of kings were moldering. she hurried through her short prayer, and in the deepest agitation returned to the palace, and threw herself in despair upon her bed. her worst apprehensions were realized. the fatal disease had penetrated her veins. soon it manifested itself in its utmost virulence. after lingering a few days and nights in dreadful suffering, she breathed her last, and her own loathsome remains were consigned to the same silent chambers of the dead. maria theresa commanded her child to do no more than she would have insisted upon doing herself under similar circumstances. and when she followed her daughter to the tomb, she probably allowed herself to indulge in no regrets in view of the course she had pursued, but consoled herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. the emperor francis died, , leaving maria theresa still in the vigor of life, and quite beautiful. three of her counselors of state, ambitious of sharing the throne with the illustrious queen, entered into a compact, by which they were all to endeavor to obtain her hand in marriage, agreeing that the successful one should devote the power thus obtained to the aggrandizement of the other two. the empress was informed of this arrangement, and, at the close of a cabinet council, took occasion, with great dignity and composure, to inform them that she did not intend ever again to enter into the marriage state, but that, should she hereafter change her mind, it would only be in favor of one who had no ambitious desires, and who would have no inclination to intermeddle with the affairs of state; and that, should she ever marry one of her ministers, she should immediately remove him from all office. her counselors, loving power more than all things else, immediately abandoned every thought of obtaining the hand of maria at such a sacrifice. maria antoinette, the subject of this biography, was born on the d of november, . few of the inhabitants of this world have commenced life under circumstances of greater splendor, or with more brilliant prospects of a life replete with happiness. she was a child of great vivacity and beauty, full of light-heartedness, and ever prone to look upon the sunny side of every prospect. her disposition was frank, cordial, and affectionate. her mental endowments were by nature of a very superior order. laughing at the restraints of royal etiquette, she, by her generous and confiding spirit, won the love of all hearts. maria antoinette was but slightly acquainted with her imperial mother, and could regard her with no other emotions than those of respect and awe; but the mild and gentle spirit of her father took in her heart a mother's place, and she clung to him with the most ardent affection. when she was but ten years of age, her father was one day going to inspruck upon some business. the royal cavalcade was drawn up in the court-yard of the palace. the emperor had entered his carriage, surrounded by his retinue, and was just on the point of leaving, when he ordered the postillions to delay, and requested an attendant to bring to him his little daughter maria antoinette. the blooming child was brought from the nursery, with her flaxen hair in ringlets clustered around her shoulders, and presented to her father. as she entwined her arms around his neck and clung to his embrace, he pressed her most tenderly to his bosom, saying, "adieu my dear little daughter. father wished once more to press you to his heart." the emperor and his child never met again. at inspruck francis was taken suddenly ill, and, after a few days' sickness, died. the grief of maria antoinette knew no bounds. but the tears of childhood soon dried up. the parting scene, however, produced an impression upon maria which was never effaced, and she ever spoke of her father in terms of the warmest affection. maria theresa, half conscious of the imperfect manner in which she performed her maternal duties, was very solicitous to have it understood that she did not neglect her children; that she was the best _mother_ in the world as well as the most illustrious sovereign. when any distinguished stranger from the other courts of europe visited vienna, she arranged her sixteen children around the dinner-table, towering above them in queenly majesty, and endeavored to convey the impression that they were the especial objects of her motherly care. it was not, however, the generous warmth of love, but the cold sense of duty, which alone regulated her conduct in reference to them, and she had probably convinced herself that she discharged her maternal obligations with the most exemplary fidelity. the family physician every morning visited each one of the children, and then briefly reported to the empress the health of the archdukes and the archduchesses. this report fully satisfied all the yearnings of maternal love in the bosom of maria theresa; though she still, that she might not fail in the least degree in motherly affection, endeavored to see them with her own eyes, and to speak to them with her own lips, as often as once in a week or ten days. the preceptors and governesses of the royal household, being thus left very much to themselves, were far more anxious to gratify the immediate wishes of the children, and thus to secure their love, than to urge them to efforts for intellectual improvement. maria antoinette, in subsequent life, related many amusing anecdotes illustrative of the petty artifices by which the scrutiny of the empress was eluded. the copies which were presented to the queen in evidence of the progress the children were making in hand-writing were all traced first in pencil by the governess. the children then followed with the pen over the penciled lines. drawings were exhibited, beautifully executed, to show the skill maria antoinette had attained in that delightful accomplishment, which drawings the pencil of maria had not even touched. she was also taught to address strangers of distinction in short latin phrases, when she did not understand the meaning of one single word of the language. her teacher of italian, the abbé metastasio, was the only one who was faithful in his duties, and maria made very great proficiency in that language. french being the language of the nursery, maria necessarily acquired the power of speaking it with great fluency, though she was quite unable to write it correctly. in the acquisition of french, her own mother tongue, the german, was so totally neglected, that, incredible as it may seem, she actually lost the power either of speaking or of understanding it. in after years, chagrined at such unutterable folly, she sat down with great resolution to the study of her own native tongue, and encountered all the difficulties which would tax the patience of any foreigner in the attempt. she persevered for about six weeks, and then relinquished the enterprise in despair. the young princess was extremely fond of music, and yet she was not taught to play well upon any instrument. this became subsequently a source of great mortification to her, for she was ashamed to confess her ignorance of an accomplishment deemed, in the courts of europe, so essential to a polished education, and yet she dared not sit down to any instrument in the presence of others. when she first arrived at versailles as the bride of the heir to the throne of france, she was so deeply mortified at this defect in her education, that she immediately employed a teacher to give her lessons secretly for three months. during this time she applied herself to her task with the utmost assiduity, and at the end of the time gave surprising proof of the skill she had so rapidly attained. upon all the subjects of history, science, and general literature, the princess was left entirely uninformed. the activity and energy of her mind only led her the more poignantly to feel the mortification to which this ignorance often exposed her. when surrounded by the splendors of royalty, she frequently retired to weep over deficiencies which it was too late to repair. the wits of paris seized upon these occasional developments of the want of mental culture as the indication of a weak mind, and the daughter of maria theresa, the descendant of the cæsars, was the butt, in saloon and café, of merriment and song. maria was beautiful and graceful, and winning in all her ways. but this imperfect education, exposing her to contempt and ridicule in the society of intellectual men and women, was not among the unimportant elements which conducted to her own ruin, to the overthrow of the french throne, and to that deluge of blood which for many years rolled its billows incarnadine over europe. maria theresa had sent to paris for two teachers of french to instruct her daughter in the literature of that country over which she was destined to reign. from that pleasure-loving metropolis two play actors were sent to take charge of her education, one of whom was a man of notoriously dissolute character. as the connection between maria antoinette and louis, the heir apparent to the throne of france, was already contemplated, some solicitude was felt by members of the court of versailles in reference to the impropriety of this selection, and the french embassador at vienna was requested to urge the empress to dismiss the obnoxious teachers, and make a different choice. she immediately complied with the request, and sent to the duke de choiseul, the minister of state of louis xv., to send a preceptor such as would be acceptable to the court of versailles. after no little difficulty in finding one in whom all parties could unite, the abbé de vermond was selected, a vain, ambitious, weak-minded man, who, by the most studied artifice, insinuated himself into the good graces of maria theresa, and gained a great but pernicious influence over the mind of his youthful pupil. the cabinets of france and austria having decided the question that maria antoinette was to be the bride of louis, who was soon to ascend the throne of france, the abbé de vermond, proud of his position as the intellectual and moral guide of the destined queen of france, shamefully abused his trust, and sought only to obtain an abiding influence, which he might use for the promotion of his own ambition. he carefully kept her in ignorance, to render himself more necessary to her; and he was never unwilling to involve her in difficulties, that she might be under the necessity of appealing to him for extrication. instead of endeavoring to prepare her for the situation she was destined to fill, it seemed to be his aim to train her to such habits of thought and feeling as would totally incapacitate her to be happy, or to acquire an influence over the gay but ceremony-loving assemblages of the tuileries, versailles, and st. cloud. at this time, the fashion of the french court led to extreme attention to all the punctilios of etiquette. every word, every gesture, was regulated by inflexible rule. every garment worn, and every act of life, was regulated by the requisitions of the code ceremonial. virtue was concealed and vice garnished by the inflexible observance of stately forms. an infringement of the laws of etiquette was deemed a far greater crime than the most serious violation of the laws of morality. in the court of vienna, on the other hand, fashion ran to just the other extreme. it was fashionable to despise fashion. it was etiquette to pay no regard to etiquette. the haughty austrian noble prided himself in dressing as he pleased, and looked with contempt upon the studied attitudes and foppish attire of the french. the parisian courtier, on the other hand, rejoicing in his ruffles, and ribbons, and practiced movements, despised the boorish manners, as he deemed them, of the austrian. the abbé de vermond, to ingratiate himself with the austrian court, did all in his power to inspire maria antoinette with contempt of parisian manners. he zealously conformed to the customs prevailing in vienna, and, like all new converts, to prove the sincerity of his conversion, went far in advance of his sect in intemperate zeal. maria antoinette was but a child, mirthful, beautiful, open hearted, and, like all other children, loving freedom from restraint. her preceptor ridiculed incessantly, mercilessly, the manners of the french court, where she was soon to reign as queen, and influenced her to despise that salutary regard to appearances so essential in all refined life. under this tutelage, maria became as natural, unguarded, and free as a mountain maid. she smiled or wept, as the mood was upon her. she was cordial toward those she loved, and distant and reserved toward those she despised. she cared not to repress her emotions of sadness or mirthfulness as occasions arose to excite them. she was conscientious, and unwilling to do that which she thought to be wrong, and still she was imprudent, and troubled not herself with the interpretation which others might put upon her conduct. she prided herself a little upon her independence and recklessness of the opinions of others, and thus she was ever incurring undeserved censure, and becoming involved in unmerited difficulties. she was, in heart, truly a noble girl. her faults were the excesses of a generous and magnanimous spirit. though she inherited much of the imperial energy of her mother, it was tempered and adorned with the mildness and affectionateness of her father. her education had necessarily tended to induce her to look down with aristocratic pride upon those beneath her in rank in life, and to dream that the world and all it inherits was intended for the exclusive benefit of kings and queens. still, the natural goodness of her heart ever led her to acts of kindness and generosity. she thus won the love, almost without seeking it, of all who knew her well. her faults were the unavoidable effect of her birth, her education, and all those nameless but untoward influences which surrounded her from the cradle to the grave. her virtues were all her own, the instinctive emotions of a frank, confiding, and magnanimous spirit. the childhood of maria antoinette was probably, on the whole, as happy as often falls to the lot of humanity. as she had never known a mother's love, she never felt its loss. there are few more enchanting abodes upon the surface of the globe than the pleasure palaces of the austrian kings. forest and grove, garden and wild, rivulet and lake, combine all their charms to lend fascination to those haunts of regal festivity. in the palace of schoenbrun, and in the imbowered gardens which surround that world-renowned habitation of princely grandeur, maria passed many of the years of her childhood. now she trod the graveled walk, pursuing the butterfly, and gathering the flowers, with brothers and sisters joining in the recreation. now the feet of her pony scattered the pebbles of the path, as the little troop of equestrians cantered beneath the shade of majestic elms. now the prancing steeds draw them in the chariot, through the infinitely diversified drives, and the golden leaves of autumn float gracefully through the still air upon their heads. the boat, with damask cushions and silken awning, invites them upon the lake. the strong arms of the rowers bear them with fairy motion to sandy beach and jutting headland, to island, and rivulet, and bay, while swans and water-fowl, of every variety of plumage, sport before them and around them. such were the scenes in which maria antoinette passed the first fourteen years of her life. every want which wealth could supply was gratified. "what a destiny!" exclaimed a frenchman, as he looked upon one similarly situated, "what a destiny! young, rich, beautiful, and an archduchess! ma foi! quel destiné!" the personal appearance of maria antoinette, as she bloomed into womanhood, is thus described by lamartine. "her beauty dazzled the whole kingdom. she was of a tall, graceful figure, a true daughter of the tyrol. the natural majesty of her carriage destroyed none of the graces of her movements; her neck, rising elegantly and distinctly from her shoulders, gave expression to every attitude. the woman was perceptible beneath the queen, the tenderness of heart was not lost in the elevation of her destiny. her light brown hair was long and silky; her forehead, high and rather projecting, was united to her temples by those fine curves which give so much delicacy and expression to that seat of thought, or the soul in woman; her eyes, of that clear blue which recall the skies of the north or the waters of the danube; an aquiline nose, the nostrils open and slightly projecting, where emotions palpitate and courage is evidenced; a large mouth, austrian lips, that is, projecting and well defined; an oval countenance, animated, varying, impassioned, and the _ensemble_ of these features, replete with that expression, impossible to describe, which emanates from the look, the shades, the reflections of the face, which encompasses it with an iris like that of the warm and tinted vapor, which bathes objects in full sunlight--the extreme loveliness which the ideal conveys, and which, by giving it life, increases its attraction. with all these charms, a soul yearning to attach itself, a heart easily moved, but yet earnest in desire to fix itself; a pensive and intelligent smile, with nothing of vacuity in it, because it felt itself worthy of friendships. such was maria antoinette as a woman." when but fourteen years of age she was affianced as the bride of young louis, the grandson of louis xv., and heir apparent to the throne of france. neither of the youthful couple had ever seen each other, and neither of them had any thing to do in forming the connection. it was deemed expedient by the cabinets of versailles and vienna that the two should be united, in order to promote friendly alliance between france and austria. maria antoinette had never dreamed even of questioning any of her mother's arrangements, and consequently she had no temptation to consider whether she liked or disliked the plan. she had been trained to the most unhesitating submission to maternal authority. the childish heart of the mirth-loving princess was doubtless dazzled with the anticipations of the splendors which awaited her at versailles and st. cloud. but when she bade adieu to the gardens of schoenbrun, and left the scenes of her childhood, she entered upon one of the wildest careers of terror and of suffering which mortal footsteps have ever trod. the parting from her mother gave her no especial pain, for she had ever looked up to her as to a superior being, to whom she was bound to render homage and obedience, rather than as to a mother around whom the affections of her heart were entwined. but she loved her brothers and sisters most tenderly. she was extremely attached to the happy home where her childish heart had basked in all childish pleasures, and many were the tears she shed when she looked back from the eminences which surround vienna upon those haunts to which she was destined never again to return. chapter ii. bridal days. - louis xv.--prince louis.--madame du barri.--her dissolute character.--children of louis xv.--anecdote of madame du barri.--madame du barri's beauty.--her political influence.--madame du barri's pavilion.--the duke de brissac.--madame du barri's flight.--she is betrayed.--condemnation of madame du barri.--her anguish and despair.--execution of madame du barri.--letter from maria theresa.--departure of maria for paris.--emotions of the populace.--magnificent pavilion.--singular custom.--grand procession.--the reception.--young louis's indifference.--the marriage.--insensibility of young louis.--acclamations of the parisians.--maria shows herself to the populace.--she receives their homage.--the fire-works.--awful conflagration.--scene of horror.--consternation of maria.--presents from louis xv.--malice of madame du barri.--maria's difficulties.--the countess de noailles.--laws of etiquette.--an illustration.--countess de noailles's ideas of etiquette.--an anecdote.--maria's contempt for etiquette.--the countess de noailles nicknamed.--ludicrous scene.--rage of the old ladies.--habits of maria theresa.--the dauphiness becomes unpopular.--dining in public.--how it was done.--versailles.--magnificence of the palace.--gallery of paintings, statuary, etc.--gorgeous saloons.--splendid gardens.--other palaces.--the great and the little trianon.--gardens, cascades, etc.--nature of maria's mind.--walks in the garden.--maria's want of education.--she attempts to supply it.--maria's enemies.--their malignant slanders.--visit of maximilian.--a quarrel about forms.--unexpected tenderness of louis. when maria antoinette was fifteen years of age, a light-hearted, blooming, beautiful girl, hardly yet emerging from the period of childhood, all austria, indeed all europe, was interested in the preparations for her nuptials with the destined king of france. louis xv. still sat upon the throne of charlemagne. his eldest son had died about ten years before, leaving a little boy, some twelve years of age, to inherit the crown his father had lost by death. the young louis, grandchild of the reigning king, was mild, inoffensive, and bashful, with but little energy of mind, with no ardor of feeling, and singularly destitute of all passions. he was perfectly exemplary in his conduct, perhaps not so much from inherent strength of principle as from possessing that peculiarity of temperament, cold and phlegmatic, which feels not the power of temptation. he submitted passively to the arrangements for his marriage, never manifesting the slightest emotion of pleasure or repugnance in view of his approaching alliance with one of the most beautiful and fascinating princesses of europe. louis was entirely insensible to all the charms of female beauty, and seemed incapable of feeling the emotion of love. louis xv., a pleasure-loving, dissolute man, had surrounded his throne with all the attractions of fashionable indulgence and dissipation. there was one woman in his court, madame du barri, celebrated in the annals of profligacy, who had acquired an entire ascendency over the mind of the king. the disreputable connection existing between her and the monarch excluded her from respect, and yet the king loaded her with honors, received her at his table, and forced her society upon all the inmates of the palace. the court was full of jealousies and bickerings; and while one party were disposed to welcome maria antoinette, hoping that she would espouse and strengthen their cause, the other party looked upon her with suspicion and hostility, and prepared to meet her with all the weapons of annoyance. neither morals nor religion were then of any repute in the court of france. vice did not even affect concealment. the children of louis xv. were educated, or rather not educated, in a nunnery. the princess louisa, when twelve years of age, knew not the letters of her alphabet. when the children did wrong, the sacred sisters sent them, for penance, into the dark, damp, and gloomy sepulcher of the convent, where the remains of the departed nuns were moldering to decay. here the timid and superstitious girls, in an agony of terror, were sent alone, to make expiation for some childish offense. the little princess victoire, who was of a very nervous temperament, was thrown into convulsions by this harsh treatment, and the injury to her nervous system was so irreparable, that during her whole life she was exposed to periodical paroxysms of panic terror. one day the king, when sitting with madame du barri, received a package of letters. the petted favorite, suspecting that one of them was from an enemy of hers, snatched the packet from the king's hand. as he endeavored to regain it, she resisted, and ran two or three times around the table, which was in the center of the room, eagerly pursued by the irritated monarch. at length, in the excitement of this most strange conflict, she threw the letters into the glowing fire of the grate, where they were all consumed. the king, enraged beyond endurance, seized her by the shoulders, and thrust her violently out of the room. after a few hours, however, the weak-minded monarch called upon her. the countess, trembling in view of her dismissal, with its dreadful consequences of disgrace and beggary, threw herself at his feet, bathed in tears, and they were reconciled. the remaining history of this celebrated woman is so remarkable that we can not refrain from briefly recording it. her marvelous beauty had inflamed the passions of the king, and she had obtained so entire an ascendency over his mind that she was literally the monarch of france. the treasures of the empire were emptied into her lap. notwithstanding the stigma attached to her position, the nation, accustomed to this laxity of morals, submitted to the yoke. as the idol of the king, and the dispenser of honors and powers, the clergy, the nobility, the philosophers, all did her homage. she was still young, and in all the splendor of her ravishing beauty, when the king died. for the sake of appearances, she retired for a few months into a nunnery. soon, however, she emerged again into the gay world. her limitless power over the voluptuous old monarch had enabled her to amass an enormous fortune. with this she reared and embellished for herself a magnificent retreat, adorned with more than regal splendor, in the vicinity of paris--the pavillon de luciennes, on the borders of the forest of st. germain. the old duke de brissac, who had long been an admirer of her charms, here lived with her in unsanctified union. almost universal corruption at that time pervaded the nobility of france--one of the exciting causes of the revolution. though excluded from appearing at the court of louis xvi. and maria antoinette, her magnificent saloons were crowded by those ever ready to worship at the shrine of wealth, and rank, and power. but, as the stormy days of the revolution shed their gloom over france, and an infuriated populace were wrecking their vengeance upon the throne and the nobles, madame du barri, terrified by the scenes of violence daily occurring, prepared to fly from france. she invested enormous funds in england, and one dark night went out with the duke de brissac alone, and, by the dim light of a lantern, they dug a hole under the foot of a tree in the park, and buried much of the treasure which she was unable to take away with her. in disguise, she reached the coast of france, and escaped across the channel to england. here she devoted her immense revenue to the relief of the emigrants who were every day flying in dismay from the horrors with which they were surrounded. the duke de brissac, who was commander of the constitutional guard of the king, appeared at versailles in an hour of great excitement. the mob attacked him. he was instantly assassinated. his head, covered with the white locks of age, was cut off, and planted upon one of the palisades of the palace gates, a fearful warning to all who were suspected of advocating the cause of the king. and now no one knew of the buried treasure but madame du barri herself. she, anxious to regain them, ventured, in disguise, to return to france to disinter her diamonds, and take them with her to england. a young negro servant, whom she had pampered with every indulgence, and had caressed with the fondness with which a mother fondles her child, whom she had caused to be painted by her side in her portraits, saw his mistress and betrayed her. she was immediately seized by the mob, and dragged before the revolutionary tribunal of luciennes. she was condemned as a royalist, and was hurried along in the cart of the condemned, amid the execrations and jeers of the delirious mob, to the guillotine. her long hair was shorn, that the action of the knife might be unimpeded; but the clustering ringlets, in beautiful profusion, fell over her brow and temples, and veiled her voluptuous features and bare bosom, from which the executioner had torn the veil. the yells of the infuriated and deriding populace filled the air, as they danced exultingly around the aristocratic courtesan. but the shrieks of the unhappy victim pierced shrilly through them all. she was frantic with terror. her whole soul was unnerved, and not one emotion of fortitude remained to sustain the woman of pleasure through her dreadful doom. with floods of tears, and gestures of despair, and beseeching, heart-rending cries, she incessantly exclaimed, "life--life--life! o save me! save me!" the mob jeered, and derided, and insulted her in every conceivable way. they made themselves merry with her anguish and terror. they shouted witticisms in her ear respecting the pillow of the guillotine upon which she was to repose her head. struggling and shrieking, she was bound to the plank. suddenly her voice was hushed. the dissevered head, dripping with blood, fell into the basket, and her soul was in eternity. poor woman! it is easy to condemn. it is better for the heart to pity. endowed with almost celestial beauty, living in a corrupt age, and lured, when a child, by a monarch's love, she fell. it is well to weep over her sad fate, and to remember the prayer, "lead us not into temptation." such were the characters and such the state of morals of the court into which this beautiful and artless princess, maria antoinette, but fifteen years of age, was to be introduced. as she left the palaces of vienna to encounter the temptations of the tuileries and versailles, maria theresa wrote the following characteristic letter to the future husband of her daughter. "your bride, dear dauphin, is separated from me. as she has ever been my delight, so will she be your happiness. for this purpose have i educated her; for i have long been aware that she was to be the companion of your life. i have enjoined upon her, as among her highest duties, the most tender attachment to your person, the greatest attention to every thing that can please or make you happy. above all, i have recommended to her humility toward god, because i am convinced that it is impossible for us to contribute to the happiness of the subjects confided to us without love to him who breaks the scepters and crushes the thrones of kings according to his will." the great mass of the austrian population, hating the french, with whom they had long been at war, were exceedingly averse to this marriage. as the train of royal carriages was drawn up, on the morning of her departure, to convey the bride to paris, an immense assemblage of the populace of vienna, men, women, and children, surrounded the cortège with weeping and lamentation. loyalty was then an emotion existing in the popular mind with an intensity which now can hardly be conceived. at length, in the excitement of their feelings, to save the beloved princess from a doom which they deemed dreadful, they made a rush toward the carriages to cut the traces and thus to prevent the departure. the guard was compelled to interfere, and repel, with violence, the affectionate mob. as the long and splendid train, preceded and followed by squadrons of horse, disappeared through the gate of the city, a universal feeling of sadness oppressed the capital. the people returned to their homes silent and dejected, as if they had been witnessing the obsequies rather than the nuptials of the beloved princess. the gorgeous cavalcade proceeded to kell, on the frontiers of austria and france. there a magnificent pavilion had been erected, consisting of a vast saloon, with an apartment at either end. one of these apartments was assigned to the lords and ladies of the court of vienna; the other was appropriated to the brilliant train which had come from paris to receive the bride. the two courts vied with each other in the exhibition of wealth and magnificence. it was an established law of french etiquette, always observed on such occasions, that the royal bride should receive her wedding dress from france, and should retain absolutely nothing belonging to a foreign court. the princess was, consequently, in the pavilion appropriated to the austrian suite, unrobed of all her garments, excepting her body linen and stockings. the door was then thrown open, and in this plight the beautiful and blushing child advanced into the saloon. the french ladies rushed to meet her. maria threw herself into the arms of the countess de noailles, and wept convulsively. the french were perfectly enchanted with her beauty; and the proud position of her head and shoulders betrayed to their eyes the daughter of the cæsars. she was immediately conducted to the apartment appropriated to the french court. here the few remaining articles of clothing were removed from her person, and she was re-dressed in the most brilliant attire which the wealth of the french monarchy could furnish. [illustration: bridal tour.] and now, charioted in splendor, surrounded by the homage of lords and ladies, accompanied by all the pomp of civic and military parade, and enlivened by the most exultant strains of martial bands, maria was conducted toward paris, while her austrian friends bade her adieu and returned to vienna. the horizon, by night, was illumined by bonfires, flaming upon every hill; the church bells rang their merriest peals; cities blazed with illuminations and fire-works; and files of maidens lined her way, singing their songs of welcome, and carpeting her path with roses. it was a scene to dazzle the most firm and contemplative. no dream of romance could have been more bewildering to the ardent and romantic princess, just emerging from the cloistered seclusion of the palace nursery. louis, then a young man about twenty years of age, came from paris with his grandfather, king louis xv., and a splendid retinue of courtiers, as far as compiègne, to meet his bride. uninfluenced by any emotions of tenderness, apparently entirely unconscious of all those mysterious emotions which bind loving hearts, he saluted the stranger with cold and distant respect. he thought not of wounding her feelings; he had no aversion to the connection, but he seemed not even to think of any more intimacy with maria than with any other lady who adorned the court. the ardent and warm-hearted princess was deeply hurt at this indifference; but instinctive pride forbade its manifestation, except in bosom converse to a few confiding friends. the bride and her passive and unimpassioned bridegroom were conducted to versailles. it was the th of may, , when the marriage ceremony was performed, with all the splendor with which it could be invested. the gorgeous palaces of versailles were thronged with the nobility of europe, and filled with rejoicing. the old king was charmed with the beauty and affability of the young bride. all hearts were filled with happiness, except those of the newly-married couple. louis was tranquil and contented. he was neither allured nor repelled by his bride he never sought her society alone, and ever approached her with the same distance and reserve with which he would approach any other young lady who was a visitor at the palace. he never intruded upon the privacy of her apartments, and she was his wife but in name. while all france was filled with the praises of her beauty, and all eyes were enchanted by her graceful demeanor, her husband alone was insensible to her charms. after a few days spent with the rejoicing court, amid the bowers and fountains of versailles, the nuptial party departed for paris, and entered the palace of the tuileries, the scene of future sorrows such as few on earth have ever experienced. as maria, in dazzling beauty, entered paris, the whole city was in a delirium of pleasure. triumphal arches greeted her progress. the acclamations of hundreds of thousands filled the air. the journals exhausted the french language in extolling her loveliness. poets sang her charms, and painters vied with each other in transferring her features to canvas. as maria sat in the dining saloon of the tuileries at the marriage entertainment, the shouts of the immense assemblage thronging the gardens rendered it necessary for her to present herself to them upon the balcony. she stepped from the window, and looked out upon the vast sea of heads which filled the garden and the place louis xv. all eyes were riveted upon her as she stood before the throng upon the balcony in dazzling beauty, and the air resounded with applauses. she exclaimed, with astonishment, "what a concourse!" "madame," said the governor of paris, "i may tell you, without fear of offending the dauphin, that they are so many lovers." the heir apparent to the throne of france is called the dauphin; and, until the death of louis xv., louis and maria antoinette were called the dauphin and dauphiness. louis seemed neither pleased nor displeased with the acclamations and homage which his bride received. his singularly passionless nature led him to retirement and his books, and he hardly heard even the acclamations with which paris was filled. arrangements had been made for a very brilliant display of fire-works, in celebration of the marriage, at the place louis xv. the hundreds of thousands of that pleasure-loving metropolis thronged the place and all its avenues. the dense mass was wedged as compactly as it was possible to crowd human beings together. not a spot of ground was left vacant upon which a human foot could be planted. every house top, every balcony, every embrasure of a window swarmed with the multitude. long lines of omnibuses, coaches, and carriages of every description, filled with groups of young and old, were intermingled with the countless multitude--men and horses so crowded into contact that neither could move. it was an impervious ocean of throbbing life. in the center of this place, the pride of paris, the scene of its most triumphant festivities and its most unutterable woe, vast scaffolds had been reared, and they were burdened with fire-works, intended to surpass in brilliancy and sublimity any spectacle of the kind earth had ever before witnessed. suddenly a bright flame was seen, a shriek was heard, and the whole scaffolding, by some accidental spark, was enveloped in a sheet of fire. then ensued such a scene as no pen can describe and no imagination paint. the awful conflagration converted all the ministers of pleasure into messengers of death. thousands of rockets filled the air, and, with almost the velocity of lightning, pierced their way through the shrieking, struggling, terror-stricken crowd. fiery serpents, more terrible, more deadly than the fabled dragons of old, hissed through the air, clung to the dresses of the ladies, enveloping them in flames, and mercilessly burning the flesh to the bone. mines exploded under the hoofs of the horses, scattering destruction and death on every side. every species of fire was rained down, a horrible tempest, upon the immovable mass. shrieks from the wounded and the dying filled the air; and the mighty multitude swayed to and fro, in herculean, yet unavailing efforts to escape. the horses, maddened with terror, reared and plunged, crushing indiscriminately beneath their tread the limbs of the fallen. the young bride, in her carriage, with a brilliant retinue, and eager to witness the splendor of the anticipated fête, had just approached the place, when she was struck with consternation at the shrieks of death which filled the air, and at the scene of tumult and terror which surrounded her. the horses were immediately turned, and driven back again with the utmost speed to the palace. but the awful cries of the dying followed her; and it was long ere she could efface from her distracted imagination the impression of that hour of horror. fifty-three persons were killed outright by this sad casualty, and more than three hundred were dangerously wounded. the dauphin and dauphiness immediately sent their whole income for the year to the unfortunate relatives of those who had perished on that disastrous day. the old king was exceedingly pleased with the beauty and fascinating frankness and cordiality of maria. he made her many magnificent presents, and, among others, with a magnificent collar of pearls, the smallest of which was nearly as large as a walnut, which had been brought into france by anne of austria. these praises and attentions on the part of the king excited the jealousy of the petted favorite, madame du barri. she consequently became, with the party under her influence, the relentless and unprincipled enemy of maria. she lost no opportunity to traduce her character. she spread reports every where that maria hated the french; that she was an austrian in heart; that her frankness and freedom from the restraints of etiquette were the result of an immoral and depraved mind. she exaggerated her extravagance, and accused her, by whispers and insinuations spread far and near, of the most ignoble crimes of which woman can be guilty. the young and inexperienced dauphiness soon found herself involved in most embarrassing difficulties. she had no kind friend to council her. louis still remained cold, distant, and reserved. thus, week after week, month after month, year after year passed on, and for eight years louis never approached his youthful spouse with any manifestation of confidence and affection but those with which he would regard a mother or a sister. maria was a wife but in name. she did not share his apartment or his couch. though deeply wounded by this inexplicable neglect, she seldom spoke of it even to her most intimate friends. the involuntary sigh, and the tear which often moistened her cheek, proclaimed her inward sufferings. when maria first arrived in france, the countess de noailles was assigned to her as her lady of honor. she was somewhat advanced in life, haughty and ceremonious, a perfect mistress of that art of etiquette so rigidly observed in the french court. upon her devolved the duty of instructing the dauphiness in all the punctilios of form, then deemed far more important than the requisitions of morality. the following anecdote, related by madame campan, illustrates the ridiculous excess to which these points of etiquette were carried. one winter's day, it happened that maria antoinette, who was entirely disrobed in her dressing-room, was just going to put on her body linen. madame, the lady in attendance, held it ready unfolded for her. the dame d'honneur came in. as she was of superior rank, etiquette required that she should enjoy the privilege of presenting the robe. she hastily slipped off her gloves, took the garment, and at that moment a rustling was heard at the door. it was opened, and in came the duchess d'orleans. she now must be the bearer of the garment. but the laws of etiquette would not allow the dame d'honneur to hand the linen directly to the duchess d'orleans. it must pass down the various grades of rank to the lowest, and be presented by her to the highest. the linen was consequently passed back again from one to another, till it was placed in the hands of the duchess. she was just on the point of conveying it to its proper destination, when suddenly the door opened, and the countess of provence entered. again the linen passed from hand to hand, till it reached the hands of the countess. she, perceiving the uncomfortable position of maria, who sat shivering with cold, with her hands crossed upon her bosom, without stopping to remove her gloves, placed the linen upon the shoulders of the dauphiness. she, however, was quite unable to restrain her impatience, and exclaimed, "how disagreeable, how tiresome!" another anecdote illustrates the character of madame de noailles, who exerted so powerful an influence upon the destiny of maria antoinette. she was a woman of severe manners, but etiquette was the very atmosphere she breathed; it was the soul of her existence. the slightest infringement of the rules of etiquette annoyed her almost beyond endurance. "one day," says madame campan, "i unintentionally threw the poor lady into a terrible agony. the queen was receiving, i know not whom--some persons just presented, i believe. the ladies of the bed-chamber were behind the queen. i was near the throne, with the two ladies on duty. all was right; at least i thought so. suddenly i perceived the eyes of madame de noailles fixed on mine. she made a sign with her head, and then raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead, lowered them, raised them again, and then began to make little signs with her hand. from all this pantomime, i could easily perceive that something was not as it should be; and as i looked about on all sides to find out what it was, the agitation of the countess kept increasing. maria antoinette, who perceived all this, looked at me with a smile. i found means to approach her, and she said to me, in a whisper, 'let down your lappets, or the countess will expire.' all this bustle rose from two unlucky pins, which fastened up my lappets, while the etiquette of costume said _lappets hanging down_." one can easily imagine the contempt with which maria, reared in the freedom of the austrian court, would regard these punctilios. she did not refrain from treating them with good-natured but unsparing ridicule, and thus she often deeply offended those stiff elderly ladies, who regarded these trifles, which they had been studying all their lives, with almost religious awe. she gave madame de noailles the nickname of madame etiquette, to the great merriment of some of the courtiers and the great indignation of others. the more grave and stately matrons were greatly shocked by these indiscretions on the part of the mirth-loving queen. on one occasion, when a number of noble ladies were presented to maria, the ludicrous appearance of the venerable dowagers, with their little black bonnets with great wings, and the entire of their grotesque dress and evolutions, appealed so impressively to maria's sense of the ridiculous, that she, with the utmost difficulty, refrained from open laughter. but when a young marchioness, full of fun and frolic, whose office required that she should continue standing behind the queen, being tired of the ceremony, seated herself upon the floor, and, concealed behind the fence of the enormous hoops of the attendant ladies, began to play off all imaginable pranks with the ladies' hoops, and with the muscles of her own face, the contrast between these childish frolics and the stately dignity of the old dowagers so disconcerted the fun-loving maria, that, notwithstanding all her efforts at self-control, she could not conceal an occasional smile. the old ladies were shocked and enraged. they declared that she had treated them with derision, that she had no sense of decorum, and that not one of them would ever attend her court again. the next morning a song appeared, full of bitterness which was spread through paris. the following was the chorus: "little queen! you must not be so saucy with your twenty years your ill-used courtiers soon will see you pass once more the barriers." while madame de noailles was thus torturing maria antoinette with her exactions, the abbé de vermond, on the contrary, was exerting all the strong influence he had acquired over her mind to induce her to despise these requirements of etiquette, and to treat them with open contempt. maria theresa, in the spirit of independence which ever characterizes a strong mind, ordinarily lived like any other lady, attending energetically to her duties without any ostentation. she would ride through the streets of vienna unaccompanied by any retinue; and the other members of the royal family, on all ordinary occasions, dispensed with the pomp and splendors of royalty. maria antoinette's education and natural disposition led her to adhere to the customs of the court of her ancestors. thus was she incessantly annoyed by the diverse influences crowding upon her. following, however, the bent of her own inclinations, she daily made herself more and more unpopular with the haughty dames who surrounded her. it was a very great annoyance to maria that she was compelled to dine every day as a public spectacle. it must seem almost incredible to an american reader that such a custom could ever have existed in france. the arrangement was this. the different members of the royal family dined in different apartments: the king and queen, with such as were admitted to their table, in one room, the dauphin and dauphiness in another, and other members of the royal family in another. portions of these rooms were railed off, as in court-houses, police rooms, and menageries, for spectators. the good, honest people from the country, after visiting the menageries to see the lions, tigers, and monkeys fed, hastened to the palace to see the king and queen take their soup. they were always especially delighted with the skill with which louis xv. would strike off the top of his egg with one blow of his fork. this was the most valuable accomplishment the monarch over thirty millions of people possessed, and the one in which he chiefly gloried. the spectators entered at one door and passed out at another. no respectably dressed person was refused admission. the consequence was, that during the dining hour an interminable throng was pouring through the apartment; those in the advance crowded slowly along by those in the rear, and all eyes riveted upon the royal feeders. the members of the royal family of france, accustomed to this practice from infancy, did not regard it at all. to maria antoinette it was, however, excessively annoying, and though she submitted to it while she was dauphiness, as soon as she ascended the throne she discontinued the practice. the people felt that they were thus deprived of one of their inalienable privileges, and murmurs loud and angry rose against the innovating austrian. much of the time of louis and his bride was passed at the palaces of versailles. this renowned residence of the royal family of france is situated about ten miles from paris, in the midst of an extensive plain. until the middle of the seventeenth century it was only a small village. at this time louis xiv. determined to erect upon this solitary spot a residence worthy of the grandeur of his throne. seven years were employed in completing the palace, garden, and park. no expense was spared by him or his successors to render it the most magnificent residence in europe. no regal mansion or city can boast a greater display of reservoirs, fountains, gardens, groves, cascades, and the various other embellishments and appliances of pleasure. the situation of the principal palace is on a gentle elevation. its front and wings are of polished stone, ornamented with statues, and a colonnade of the doric order is in the center. the grand hall is about two hundred and twenty feet in length, with costly decorations in marble, paintings, and gilding. the other apartments are of corresponding size and elegance. this beautiful structure is approached by three magnificent avenues, shaded by stately trees, leading respectively from paris, st. cloud, and versailles. [illustration: versailles--front view.] [illustration: versailles--court-yard.] this gorgeous mansion of the monarchs of france presents a front eight hundred feet in length, and has connected with it fifteen projecting buildings of spacious dimensions, decorated with ionic columns and pilasters, constituting almost a city in itself. one great gallery, adorned with statuary, paintings, and architectural embellishments, is two hundred and thirty-two feet long, thirty broad, and thirty-seven high, and lighted by seventeen large windows. many gorgeous saloons, furnished with the most costly splendor, a banqueting-room of the most spacious dimensions, where luxurious kings have long rioted in midnight revels, an opera house and a chapel, whose beautifully fluted pillars support a dome which is the admiration of all who look up upon its graceful beauty, combine to lend attractions to these royal abodes such as few other earthly mansions can rival, and none, perhaps, eclipse. the gardens, in the midst of which this voluptuous residence reposes, are equal in splendor to the palace they are intended to adorn. here the kings of france had rioted in boundless profusion, and every conceivable appliance of pleasure was collected in these abodes, from which all thoughts of retribution were studiously excluded. the expense incurred in rearing and embellishing this princely structure has amounted to uncounted millions. but we must not forget that these millions were wrested from the toiling multitude, who dwelt in mud hovels, and ate the coarsest food, that their proud and licentious rulers might be "clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day." such was the home to which the beautiful maria antoinette, the bride of fifteen, was introduced; and in the midst of temptations to which such voluptuousness exposed her, she entered upon her dark and gloomy career. this, however, was but one of her abodes. it was but one even of her country seats. at versailles there were other palaces, in the construction and the embellishment of which the revenues of the kingdom had been lavished and in whose luxurious chambers all the laws of god had been openly set at defiance by those earthly kings who ever forgot that there was one enthroned above them as the king of kings. [illustration: fountains at versailles.] [illustration: fountain of the star.] within the circuit of the park are two smaller palaces, called the great and the little trianon. these may be called royal residences in miniature; seats to which the king and queen retired when desirous of laying aside their rank and state. the little trianon was a beautiful palace, about eighty feet square. it was built by louis xv. for madame du barri. its architectural style was that of a roman pavilion, and it was surrounded with gardens ornamented in the highest attainments of french and english art, diversified with temples, cottages, and cascades. this was the favorite retreat of maria antoinette. this she regarded as peculiarly her home. here she was for a time comparatively happy. though living in the midst of all the jealousies, and intrigues, and bickerings of a court, and though in heart deeply pained by the strange indifference and neglect which her husband manifested toward her person, the buoyancy of her youthful spirit enabled her to triumph, in a manner, over those influences of depression, and she was the life and the ornament of every gay scene. as her mind had been but little cultivated, she had but few resources within herself to dispel that ennui which is the great foe of the votaries of fashion; and, unconscious of any other sources of enjoyment, she plunged with all the zest of novelty into an incessant round of balls, operas, theaters, and masquerades. her mind, by nature, was one of the noblest texture, and by suitable culture might have exulted in the appreciation of all that is beautiful and sublime in the world of nature and in the realms of thought. she loved the retirement of the little trianon. she loved, in the comparative quietude of that miniature palace, of that royal home, to shake off all the restraints of regal state, and to live with a few choice friends in the freedom of a private lady. unattended she rambled among the flowers of the garden; and in the bright moonlight, leaning upon the arm of a female friend, she forgot, as she gazed upon the moon, and the stars, and all the somber glories of the night, that she was a queen, and rejoiced in those emotions common to every ennobled spirit. here she often lingered in the midst of congenial joys, till the murmurs of courtiers drew her away to the more exciting, but far less satisfying scenes of fashionable pleasure. she often lamented bitterly, and even with tears, her want of intellectual cultivation, and so painfully felt her inferiority when in the society of ladies of intelligence and highly-disciplined minds, that she sought to surround herself with those whose tastes were no more intellectual than her own. "what a resource," she once exclaimed, "amid the casualties of life, is a well-cultivated mind! one can then be one's own companion, and find society in one's own thoughts." here, in her little trianon, she made several unavailing attempts to retrieve, by study, those hours of childhood which had been lost. but it was too late. for a few days, with great zeal and self-denial, she would persevere in secluding herself in the library with her books. but it was in vain for the queen of france to strive again to become a school-girl. those days had passed forever. the innumerable interruptions of her station frustrated all her endeavors, and she was compelled to abandon the attempt in sorrow and despair. we know not upon how trivial events the great destinies of the world are suspended; and had the queen of france possessed a highly-disciplined mind--had she been familiar with the teachings of history, and been capable of inspiring respect by her intellectual attainments, it is far from impossible that she might have lived and died in peace. but almost the only hours of enjoyment which shone upon maria while queen of france, was when she forgot that she was a queen, and, like a village maiden, loitered through the gardens and the groves in the midst of which the little trianon was embowered. [illustration: little trianon.] the enemies of maria had sedulously endeavored to spread the report through france that she was still in heart an austrian; that she loved only the country she had left, and that she had no affection for the country over which she was to reign as queen. they falsely and malignantly spread the report that she had changed the name of little trianon into little vienna. the rumor spread rapidly. it excited great displeasure. the indignant denials of maria were disregarded. thus the number of her enemies was steadily increasing. another unfortunate occurrence took place, which rendered her still more unpopular at court. her brother maximilian, a vain and foolish young man, made a visit to his sister at the court of versailles, not traveling in his own proper rank, but under an assumed name. it was quite common with princes of the blood-royal, for various reasons, thus to travel. the young austrian prince insisted that the first visit was due to him from the princes of the royal family in france. they, on the contrary insisted that, as he was not traveling in his own name, and in the recognition of his own proper rank, it was their duty to regard him as of the character he had assumed, and as this was of a rank inferior to that of a royal prince, it could not be their duty to pay the first visit. the dispute ran high. maria, seconded by the abbé vermond, took the part of her brother. this greatly offended many of the highest nobility of the realm. it became a family quarrel of great bitterness. a thousand tongues were busy whispering malicious accusations against maria. ribald songs to sully her name were hawked through the streets. care began to press heavily upon the brow of the dauphiness, and sorrow to spread its pallor over her cheek. her high spirit could not brook the humility of endeavoring the refutation of the calumnies urged against her. still, she was too sensitive not to feel them often with the intensest anguish. her husband was comparatively a stranger to her. he bowed to her with much civility when they met, but never addressed her with a word or gesture of tenderness, or manifested the least desire to see her alone. one evening, when walking in the garden of little trianon, he astonished the courtiers, and almost overpowered maria with delightful emotions, by offering her his arm. this was the most affectionate act with which he had ever approached her. such were the bridal days of maria antoinette. chapter iii. maria antoinette enthroned. - louis xv. seized with small-pox.--flight of the courtiers.--the marchioness du pompadour.--her dissolute character.--debauchery of louis xv.--he squanders the public revenue.--remorse of the king.--the lamp at the window.--death of louis xv.--indecent haste of the courtiers.--emotions of the young king and queen.--homage of the courtiers.--burial of louis xv.--the king and queen leave versailles.--the coronation.--enthusiasm of the people.--maria's grief.--the king's estrangement.--the little peasant boy.--becomes a monster of ingratitude.--the queen's traducers.--the heron's plume.--vile slanders.--profligate character of de lauzun.--execution of de lauzun.--a life of pleasure.--maria's imprudence.--night adventure in a hackney-coach.--the gardens of marly.--their unrivaled splendor.--maria's visits to marly.--heartless gayety.--sunrise at marly.--more food for slander.--simple habits of the queen.--horror of the courtiers and dowagers.--sleigh riding.--blind man's buff and other games.--dramatic entertainments.--increasing affection of the king.--efforts to alienate the king's affections.--agitation of the queen.--maria's children.--royal visitors.--extravagant expenditures.--rising discontents.--la fayette and franklin.--the people begin to count the costs.--letter from the empress catharine.--the clouds thicken. in the year , about four years after the marriage of maria antoinette and louis, the dissolute old king, louis xv., in his palace at versailles, surrounded by his courtiers and his lawless pleasures, was taken sick. the disease soon developed itself as the small-pox in its most virulent form. the physicians, knowing the terror with which the conscience-smitten monarch regarded death, feared to inform him of the nature of his disease. "what are these pimples," inquired the king, "which are breaking out all over my body?" "they are little pustules," was the reply, "which require three days in forming, three in suppurating, and three in drying." the dreadful malady which had seized upon the king was soon, however, known throughout the court, and all fled from the infection. the miserable monarch, hated by his subjects, despised by his courtiers, and writhing under the scorpion lash of his own conscience, was left to groan and die alone. it was a horrible termination of a most loathsome life. the vices of louis xv. sowed the seeds of the french revolution. two dissolute women, notorious on the page of history, each, in their turn, governed him and france. the marchioness du pompadour was his first favorite. ambitious, shrewd, unprincipled, and avaricious, she held the weak-minded king entirely under her control, and spread throughout the court an influence so contaminating that the whole empire was infected with the demoralization. upon this woman he squandered almost the revenues of the kingdom. the celebrated parc au cerf, the scene of almost unparalleled voluptuousness, was reared for her at an expense of twenty millions of dollars. after her charms had faded, she still contrived to retain her political influence over the pliant monarch, until she died, at the age of forty-four, universally detested. madame du barri, of whom we have before spoken, succeeded the marchioness du pompadour in this post of infamy. the king lavished upon her, in the short space of eight years, more than ten millions of dollars. for her he erected the little trianon, with its gardens, parks, and fountains, a temple of pleasure dedicated to lawless passion. the king had totally neglected the interests of his majestic empire, consecrating every moment of time to his own sensual gratification. the revenues of the realm were squandered in the profligacy and carousings of his court. the people were regarded merely as servants who were to toil to minister to the voluptuous indulgence of their masters. they lived in penury, that kings, and queens, and courtiers might revel in all imaginable magnificence and luxury. this was the ultimate cause of that terrible outbreak which eventually crushed maria antoinette beneath the ruins of the french monarchy. louis xv., in his shameless debaucheries, not only expended every dollar upon which he could lay his hands, but at his death left the kingdom involved in a debt of four hundred millions of dollars, which was to be paid from the scanty earnings of peasants and artisans whose condition was hardly superior to that of the enslaved laborers on the plantations of carolina and louisiana. but i am wandering from my story. in a chamber of the palace of the little trianon we left the king dying of the confluent small-pox. the courtiers have fled in consternation. it is the hour of midnight, the th of may, . the monarch of france is alone as he struggles with the king of terrors. no attendants linger around him. two old women, in an adjoining apartment, occasionally look in upon the mass of corruption upon the royal couch, which had already lost every semblance of humanity. the eye is blinded. the swollen tongue can not articulate. what thought of remorse or terror may be rioting through the soul of the dying king, no one knows, and--no one cares. a lamp flickers at the window, which is a signal to those at a safe distance that the king still lives. its feeble flame is to be extinguished the moment life departs. the courtiers, from the windows of the distant palace, watch with the most intense solicitude the glimmering of that midnight taper. should the king recover, they dreaded the reproach of having deserted him in the hour of his extremity. they hope, so earnestly, that he may not live. should he die, they are anxious to be the first in their congratulations to the new king and queen. the hours of the night linger wearily away as expectant courtiers gaze impatiently through the gloom upon that dim torch. the horses are harnessed in the carriages, and waiting at the doors, that the courtiers, without the loss of a moment, may rush to do homage to the new sovereign. the clock was tolling the hour of twelve at night when the lamp was extinguished. the miserable king had ceased to breathe. the ensuing scene no pen can delineate or pencil paint. the courtiers, totally forgetful of french etiquette, rushed down the stairs, crowded into their carriages, and the silence of night was disturbed by the clattering of the horses' hoofs, as they were urged, at their utmost speed, to the apartments of the dauphin. there maria antoinette and louis, with a few family friends, were awaiting the anticipated intelligence of the death of their grandfather the king. though neither of them could have cherished any feelings of affection for the dissolute old monarch, it was an hour to awaken in the soul emotions of the deepest melancholy. death had approached, in the most frightful form, the spot on earth where, probably, of all others, he was most dreaded. suddenly a noise was heard, as of thunder, in the ante-chamber of the dauphin. it was the rush of the courtiers from the dead monarch to bow at the shrine of the new dispensors of wealth and power. this extraordinary tumult, in the silence of midnight, conveyed to maria and louis the first intelligence that the crown of france had fallen upon their brows. louis was then twenty-four years of age, modest, timid, and conscientious. maria was twenty, mirthful, thoughtless, and shrinking from responsibility. they were both overwhelmed, and, falling upon their knees, exclaimed, with gushing tears, "o god! guide us, protect us; we are too young to govern." the countess de noailles was the first to salute maria antoinette as queen of france. she entered the private saloon in which they were sitting, and requested their majesties to enter the grand audience hall, where the princes and all the great officers of state were anxious to do homage to their new sovereigns. maria antoinette, leaning upon her husband's arm, and with her handkerchief held to her eyes, which were bathed in tears, received these first expressions of loyalty. there was, however, not an individual found to mourn for the departed king. no one was willing to endanger his safety by any act of respect toward his remains. the laws of france required that the chief surgeon should open the body of the departed monarch and embalm it, and that the first gentleman of the bed-chamber should hold the head while the operation was performed. "you will see the body properly embalmed?" said the gentleman of the bed-chamber to the surgeon. "certainly," was the reply; "and you will hold the head?" each bowed politely to the other, without the exchange of another word. the body, unopened and unembalmed, was placed by a few under servants in a coffin, which was filled with the spirits of wine, and hurried, without an attendant mourner, to the tomb. such was the earthly end of louis xv. in an hour he was forgotten, or remembered but to be despised. at four o'clock of that same morning, the young king and queen, with the whole court in retinue, left versailles, in their carriages, for choisy. the morning was cold, dark, and cheerless. the awful death of the king, and the succeeding excitements, had impressed the company with gloom. maria antoinette rode in the carriage with her husband, and with one or two other members of the royal family. for some time they rode in silence, maria, a child of impulse, weeping profusely from the emotions which moved her soul. but, ere long, the morning dawned. the sun rose bright and clear over the hills of france, and the whole beautiful landscape glittered in the light of the most lovely of spring mornings. insensibly the gloom of the mind departed with the gloom of night. conversation commenced. the mournful past was forgotten in anticipation of the bright future. some jocular remark of the young king's sister elicited a general burst of laughter, when, by common consent, they wiped away their tears, banished all funereal looks, and, a merry party, rode merrily along, over hill and dale, to a crown and a throne. little did they dream that these sunny hours and this flowery path but conducted them to a dungeon and the guillotine. the coronation soon took place at rheims, with the greatest display of festive magnificence. the novelty of a new reign, with a youthful king and queen, elated the versatile french, and loud and enthusiastic were the acclamations with which louis and maria antoinette were greeted whenever they appeared. they were both, for a time, very popular with the nation at large, though there was in the court a party hostile to the queen, who took advantage of every act of indiscretion to traduce her character and to expose her to ignominy. in these efforts they succeeded so effectually as to overwhelm themselves in the same ruin which they had brought upon their victim. a deep-seated but secret grief still preyed upon the heart of maria. though four years since her marriage had now passed away, she was still comparatively a stranger to her husband. he treated her with respect, with politeness, but with cold reserve, never approaching her as his wife. the queen, possessing naturally a very affectionate disposition, was extremely fond of children. despairing of ever becoming a mother herself, she thought of adopting some pleasant child to be her playmate and friend. one day, as she was riding in her carriage, a beautiful little peasant boy, about five years of age, with large blue eyes and flaxen hair, got under the feet of the horses, though he was extricated without having received any injury. as the grandmother rushed from the cottage door to take the child, the queen, standing up in her carriage, extended her arms to the old woman, and said, "the child is mine. god has given it to me to rear and to cherish. is his mother alive?" "no, madame!" was the reply of the old woman. "my daughter died last winter, and left five small children upon my hands." "i will take this one," said the queen, "and will also provide for all the rest. will you consent?" "indeed, madame," exclaimed the cottager, "they are too fortunate. but i fear jemmie will not stay with you. he is very wayward." the postillion handed jemmie to the queen in the carriage, and she, taking him upon her knee, ordered the coachman to drive immediately to the palace. the ride, however, was any thing but a pleasant one, for the ungoverned boy screamed and kicked with the utmost violence during the whole of the way. the queen was quite elated with her treasure; for the boy was extremely beautiful, and he was soon seen frolicking around her in a white frock trimmed with lace, a rose-colored sash, with silver fringe, and a hat decorated with feathers. i may here mention that the petted favorite grew up into a monster of ingratitude, and became one of the most sanguinary actors in the scenes of terror which subsequently ensued. one would think that the enemies of maria antoinette could hardly take advantage of this circumstance to her injury; but they atrociously affirmed that this child was her own unacknowledged offspring, whose ignominious birth she had concealed. they represented the whole adventure but a piece of trickery on her part, to obtain, without suspicion, possession of her own child. such accusations were borne upon the wings of every wind throughout europe, and the deeply-injured queen could only submit in silence. another little incident, equally trivial, was magnified into the grossest of crimes. the duke de lauzun appeared one evening at an entertainment with a very magnificent plume of white heron's feathers. the queen casually expressed her admiration of its beauty. a lady immediately reported to the duke the remarks of the queen, and assured him that it would be a great gratification to her majesty to receive a present of the plume. he, the next morning, sent the plume to the queen. she was quite embarrassed, being unwilling to accept the plume, and yet fearing to wound the feelings of the duke by refusing the present. she, on the whole, however, concluded to retain it, and wore it _once_, that she might not seem to scorn the present, and then laid it aside. it is difficult to conceive how the queen could have conducted more discreetly in the affair. such was the story of "the heron's plume." it was, however, maliciously reported through paris that the queen was indecently receiving presents from gentlemen as her lovers. "the heron's plume" figured conspicuously in many a satire in prose and verse. these shafts, thrown from a thousand unseen hands, pierced maria antoinette to the heart. this same duke de lauzun, a man of noted profligacy, subsequently became one of the most unrelenting foes of the queen. he followed la fayette to america, and then returned to paris, to plunge, with the most reckless gayety, into the whirlpool of human passions boiling and whirling there. in the conflict of parties he became a victim. condemned to death, he was imprisoned in the conciergerie. imbruted by atheism, he entered his cell with a merry song and a joke. he furnished a sumptuous repast for the prisoners at the hour appointed for his execution, and invited the jailers for his guests. when the executioners arrived, he smilingly accosted them. "gentlemen, i am very happy to see you; just allow me to finish these nice oysters." then, very politely taking a decanter of wine, he said, "your duties will be quite arduous to-day, gentlemen; allow me the pleasure of taking a glass of wine with you." thus merrily he ascended the cart, and beguiled the ride from the prison to the guillotine with the most careless pleasantries. gayly tripping up the steps, he placed himself in the fatal instrument, and a smile was upon his lips, and mirthful words were falling upon the ears of the executioners, when the slide fell, and he was silent in death. that soul must indeed be ignoble which can thus enter the dread unseen of futurity. there is no end to these acts of injustice inflicted upon the queen. the influences which had ever surrounded her had made her very fond of dress and gayety. she was devoted to a life of pleasure, and was hardly conscious that there was any thing else to live for. in fêtes, balls, theaters, operas, and masquerades, she passed night after night. such was the only occupation of her life. the king, on the contrary, had no taste for any of these amusements. uncompanionable and retiring, he lived with his books, and in his workshop making trinkets for children. always retiring to rest at the early hour of eleven o'clock precisely, he left the queen to pursue her pleasures until the dawn of the morning, unattended by him. it was very imprudent in maria antoinette thus to expose herself to the whispers of calumny. she was young, inexperienced, and had no judicious advisers. one evening, she had been out in her carriage, and was returning at rather a late hour, the lady of the palace being with her, when her carriage broke down at her entrance into paris. the queen and the duchess were both masked and, stepping into an adjoining shop, as they were unknown, the queen ordered one of the footmen to call a common hackney-coach, and they, both entering, drove to the opera-house, with very much the same sense of the ludicrous in being found in so plebeian a vehicle, as a new york lady would feel on passing through broadway in a hand-cart or on a wheel-barrow. the fun-loving queen was so entertained with the whimsical adventure, that she could not refrain from exclaiming, as soon as she entered the opera-house, to the intimate friends she met there, "only think! i came to the opera in a hackney-coach! was it not droll? was it not droll?" the news of the indiscretion spread. all paris was full of the adventure. rumor, with her thousand tongues, added innumerable embellishments. neither the delicacy nor the dignity of the queen would allow her seriously to attempt the refutation of the calumny that, neglected by her husband, she had been out in disguise to meet a nobleman renowned for his gallantries. nothing can be more irksome than the frivolities of fashionable life. to spend night after night, of months and years, in an incessant round of the same trivial gayeties, so exhausts all the susceptibilities of enjoyment that life itself becomes a burden. louis xiv. had created for himself a sort of elysium of voluptuousness in the celebrated gardens of marly. spread out upon the gentle declivity of an extended hill were grounds embellished in the highest style of art, and intended to rival the garden of eden itself in every conceivable attraction. pavilions of gorgeous architecture crowned the summit of the hill. flowers, groves, enchanting walks, and statues of most voluptuous beauty, fountains, lakes, cascades foaming over channels of whitest marble--all the attractions of nature and art were combined to realize the most fanciful dreams of splendor and luxury. pleasure was the only god here adored; but, like all false gods, he but rewarded his votaries with satiety and disgust. [illustration: gardens of marly.] the queen, with her brilliant retinue, made a monthly visit to these palaces and pleasure-grounds, and with music, illumination, and dances, endeavored to beguile life of its cares. a noisy concourse, glittering with diamonds and all the embellishments of wealth, thronged the embowered avenues and the sumptuous halls. and while the young, in the mazes of the dance, and in the uneasy witchery of winning and losing hearts, were all engrossed, the old, in the still deeper but ignoble passion of desperate gaming, forgot gliding time and approaching eternity. but the spirit of maria was soon weary of this heartless gayety. each succeeding visit became more irksome, and at last, in inexpressible disgust with the weary monotony of fashionable dissipation, she declared that she would never enter the gardens of marly again. but she must have some occupation. what shall she do to give wings to the lagging hours? "has your majesty," timidly suggests a lady of the court, "ever seen the sun rise?" "the sun rise!" exclaimed the queen; "no, never! what a beautiful sight it must be! what a romantic adventure! we will go to-morrow morning." the plan was immediately arranged. the prosaic king would take no part in it. he preferred quietly to slumber upon his pillow. a few hours after midnight, the queen, with several gentlemen, and her attendant ladies, all in high glee, left the palace in their carriages to ascend the lofty eminence of the gardens of marly to witness the sublime spectacle. thousands of the humbler classes had already left their beds and commenced their daily toil, as the brilliant cavalcade swept by them on this novel excursion. it was, however, a freak so strange, so unaccountable, so contrary to any thing ever known before, that this nocturnal party became the theme of universal conversation. it was whispered that there must have been some mysterious wickedness connected with an adventure so marvelous. groups upon the boulevards inquired, "why is the queen thus frolicking at midnight without her husband?" in a few days a ballad appeared, which was sung by the vilest lips in the warehouses of infamy, full of the most malignant charges against the queen. maria antoinette was imprudent, very imprudent, and that was her only crime. still, the young queen must have amusements. she is weary of parade and splendor and seeks in simplicity the novelty of enjoyment. dressed in white muslin, with a plain straw hat, and a little switch in her hand, she might often be seen walking on foot, followed by a single servant, through the embowered paths which surrounded the petit trianon. through lanes and by-ways she would chase the butterfly, and pick flowers free as a peasant girl, and lean over the fences to chat with the country maids as they milked the cows. this entire freedom from restraint was etiquette in the court of vienna; it was regarded as barbarism in the court of versailles. the courtiers were amazed at conduct so unqueenly. the ceremony-stricken dowagers were shocked. paris, france, europe, were filled with stories of the waywardness, and eccentricities, and improprieties of the young queen. the loud complaints were poured so incessantly in the ear of maria theresa, that at last she sent a special embassador to versailles, in disguise, as a spy upon her daughter. he reported, "the queen is imprudent, that is all." there happened, in a winter of unusual inclemency, a heavy fall of snow. it was a rare sight at versailles. maria antoinette, reminded of the merry sleigh rides she had enjoyed in the more northern home of her childhood, was eager to renew the pleasure. some antiquated sledges were found in the stables. new ones, gay and graceful, were constructed. the horses, with nodding plumes, and gorgeous caparisons, and tinkling bells, dazzled the eyes of the parisians as they swept through the champs elysées, drawing their loads of lords and ladies enveloped in furs. it was a new amusement--an innovation. envious and angry lips declared that "the austrian, with an austrian heart, was intruding the customs of vienna upon paris." these ungenerous complaints reached the ear of the queen, and she instantly relinquished the amusement. still the queen is weary. time hangs heavily upon her hands. all the pleasures of the court have palled upon her appetite, and she seeks novelty. she introduces into the retired apartments of the little trianon, "blind man's buff," "fox and geese," and other similar games, and joins heartily in the fun and the frolic. "a queen playing blind man's buff!" simpletons--and the world is full of simpletons--raised their hands and eyes in affected horror. private dramatic entertainments were got up to relieve the tedium of unemployed time. the queen learns her part, and appears in the character and costume of a peasant girl. her genius excites much admiration, and, intoxicated with this new pleasure, she repeats the entertainment, and alike excels in all characters, whether comic or tragic. the number of spectators is gradually increased. louis is not exactly pleased to see his queen transformed into an actress, even in the presence only of the most intimate friends of the court. half jocosely, half seriously, amid the rounds of applause with which the royal actress is greeted, he hisses. it was deemed extremely derogatory to the dignity of the queen that she should indulge in such amusements, and every gossiping tongue in paris was soon magnifying her indiscretions. eight years had now passed away since the marriage of maria antoinette, and still she was in name only, the wife of louis. she was still a young lady, for he had never yet approached her with any familiarity with which he would not approach any young lady of his court. but about this time the king gradually manifested more tenderness toward her. he began really and tenderly to love her. with tears of joy, she confided to her friends the great change which had taken place in his conduct. the various troubles and embarrassments which began now to lower about the throne and to darken their path, bound their sympathies more strongly together. strenuous efforts were made to alienate the king from the queen by exciting his jealousy. maria was accused of the grossest immoralities, and insinuations to her injury were ever whispered in to the ear of the king. one morning madame campan entered the queen's chamber when she was in bed. several letters were lying upon the bed by her side, and she was weeping as though her heart would break. she immediately exclaimed, covering her swollen eyes with her hands, "oh! i wish that i were dead! i wish that i were dead! the wretches! the monsters! what have i done that they should treat me thus! it would be better to kill me at once." then, throwing her arms around the neck of madame campan, she burst more passionately into tears. all attempts to console her were unavailing. neither was she willing to confide the cause of her heart-rending grief. after some time she regained her usual serenity, and said, with an attempted smile, "i know that i have made you very uncomfortable this morning, and i must set your poor heart at ease. you must have seen, on some fine summer's day, a black cloud suddenly appear, and threaten to pour down upon the country and lay it in waste. the lightest wind drives it away, and the blue sky and serene weather are restored. this is just the image of what has happened to me this morning." notwithstanding, however, these efforts of the malignant, the king became daily more and more strongly attached to the queen. in the embarrassments which were gathering around him, he felt the support of her energetic mind, and looked to her counsel with continually increasing confidence. it was about nine years after their marriage when their first child was born. three others were subsequently added to their family. two, however, of the children, a son and a daughter, died in early childhood, leaving two others, maria theresa and louis charles, to share and to magnify those woes which subsequently overwhelmed the whole royal family. during all these early years of their reign, versailles was their favorite and almost constant abode. they were visited occasionally by monarchs from the other courts of europe, whom they entertained with the utmost display of royal grandeur. bonfires and illuminations turned night into day in the groves and gardens of those gorgeous palaces. thousands were feasted in boundless profusion. millions of money were expended in the costly amusements of kings, and queens, and haughty nobles. the people, by whose toil the revenues of the kingdom were furnished, looked from a humble distance upon the glittering throng, gliding through the avenues, charioted in splendor, and now and then a deep thinker, struggling against poverty and want, would thus soliloquize: "why do we thus toil to minister to the useless luxury of these our imperious masters? why must i eat black bread, and be clothed in the coarsest garments, that these lords and ladies may glitter in jewelry and revel in luxury? why must my children toil like bond slaves through life, that the children of these nobles may be clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day?" the multitude were bewildered by the glare of royalty. but here and there a sullen fish-woman, leading her ragged, half-starved children, would mumble and mutter, and curse the "austrian," as the beautiful queen swept by in her gorgeous equipage. these discontents and portentous murmurs were spreading rapidly, when neither king, queen, nor courtiers dreamed of their existence. a few had heard of america, its freedom, its equality, its fame even for the poorest, its competence. la fayette had gone to help the republicans crush the crown and the throne. franklin was in paris, the embassador from america, in garb and demeanor as simple and frugal as the humblest citizen, and all paris gazed upon him with wonder and admiration. a few bold spirits began to whisper, "let us also have no king." the fires of a volcano were kindling under the whole structure of french society. it was time that the mighty fabric of corruption should be tumbled into the dust. the splendor and the extravagance of these royal festivities added but fuel to the flame. the people began to compute the expense of bonfires, palaces, equipages, crown jewels, and courtiers. it is extremely impertinent, maria thought and said, for the people to meddle in matters with which they have no concern. slaves have no right to question the conduct of their masters. it was the misfortune of her education, and of the influences which ever surrounded her, that she never imagined that kings and queens were created for any other purpose than to live in luxury. the empress catharine ii. of russia, as these discontents were loud and threatening wrote to maria antoinette a letter, in which she says, "kings and queens ought to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of the people, as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the howling of dogs." this was then the spirit of the throne. and now the days of calamity began to grow darker. intrigues were multiplied, involving maria in interminable difficulties. there were instinctive presentiments of an approaching storm. death came into the royal palace, and distorted the form of her eldest son, and by lingering tortures dragged him to the grave. and then her little daughter was taken from her. maria watched at the couch of suffering and death with maternal anguish. the glowing heart of a mother throbbed within the bosom of maria. the heartlessness and emptiness of all other pursuits had but given intensity to the fervor of a mother's love. though but twenty-three years of age, she had drained every cup of pleasure to its dregs. and now she began to enter upon a path every year more dark, dreary, and desolate. chapter iv. the diamond necklace. remark of talleyrand.--the cardinal de rohan.--rohan's smuggling operations.--he is disgraced.--the countess lamotte.--the queen's jewelry.--boehmer, the crown jeweler.--the diamond ear-rings.--change in the queen's life.--the diamond necklace.--the queen inspects the necklace.--answer of their majesties.--boehmer's embarrassment.--his interview with the queen.--the queen's remarks.--boehmer's confusion.--alleged disposal of the necklace.--present to the king's son.--boehmer's note to the queen.--the queen's perplexity.--boehmer's interview with madame campan.--the necklace again.--the cardinal de rohan.--indications of a plot.--boehmer's perplexity.--the cardinal's embarrassment.--boehmer's terror.--the queen's amazement.--the cardinal before the king and queen.--his agitation.--the queen's indignation.--the forged letter.--the cardinal's confused statements.--he is arrested.--arrest of madame lamotte.--great excitement.--the queen's anguish.--the cardinal's trial.--the cardinal's acquittal.--chagrin of the king and queen.--trial of the countess lamotte.--her cool effrontery.--the countess found guilty.--barbarous sentence.--brutal punishment of the countess.--her unhappy end.--innocence of the queen.--of de rohan's criminality.--the three suppositions.--influence of the first.--the third supposition.--probably the true one. about this time there occurred an event which, though apparently trivial, involved consequences of the most momentous importance. it was merely the fraudulent purchase of a necklace, by a profligate woman, in the name of the queen. the circumstances were such as to throw all france into agitation, and europe was full of the story. "mind that miserable affair of the necklace," said talleyrand; "i should be nowise surprised if it should overturn the french monarchy." to understand this mysterious occurrence, we must first allude to two very important characters implicated in the conspiracy. the cardinal de rohan, though one of the highest dignitaries of the church, and of the most illustrious rank, was a young man of vain and shallow mind, of great profligacy of character, and perfectly prodigal in squandering, in ostentatious pomp, all the revenues within his reach. he had been sent an embassador to the court of vienna. surrounding himself with a retinue of spendthrift gentlemen, he endeavored to dazzle the austrian capital with more than regal magnificence. expending six or seven hundred thousand dollars in the course of a few months, he soon became involved in inextricable embarrassments. in the extremity of his distress, he took advantage of his official station, and engaged in smuggling with so much effrontery that he almost inundated the austrian capital with french goods. maria theresa was extremely displeased, and, without reserve, expressed her strong disapproval of his conduct, both as a bishop and as an embassador. the cardinal was consequently recalled, and, disappointed and mortified, he hovered around the court of versailles, where he was treated with the utmost coldness. he was extremely anxious again to bask in the beams of royal favor. but the queen indignantly repelled all his advances. his proud spirit was nettled to the quick by his disgrace, and he was ripe for any desperate adventure to retrieve his ruined fortunes. there was, at the same time, at versailles a very beautiful woman, the countess lamotte. she traced her lineage to the kings of france, and, by her vices, struggled to sustain a style of ostentatious gentility. she was consumed by an insatiable thirst for recognized rank and wealth, and she had no conscience to interfere, in the slightest degree, with any means which might lead to those results. though somewhat notorious, as a woman of pleasure, to the courtiers who flitted around the throne, the queen had never seen her face, and had seldom heard even her name. versailles was too much thronged with such characters for any one to attract any special attention. maria antoinette, in her earlier days, had been extremely fond of dress, and particularly of rich jewelry. she brought with her from vienna a large number of pearls and diamonds. upon her accession to the throne, she received, of course, all the crown jewels. louis xv. had also presented her with all the jewels belonging to his daughter, the dauphiness, who had recently died, and also with a very magnificent collar of pearls, of a single row, the smallest of which was as large as a filbert. the king, her husband, had, not long before, presented her with a set of rubies and diamonds of a fine water, and with a pair of bracelets which cost forty thousand dollars. boehmer, the crown jeweler, had collected, at a great expense, six pear-formed diamonds, of prodigious size. they were perfectly matched, and of the finest water. they were arranged as ear-rings. he offered them to the queen for eighty thousand dollars. the young and royal bride could not resist the desire of adding them, costly as they were, to her casket of gems. she, however, economically removed two of the diamonds which formed the tops of the clusters, and replaced them by two of her own. the jeweler consented to this arrangement, and received the reduced price of seventy-two thousand dollars, to be paid in equal installments for five years, from the private purse of the queen. still the queen felt rather uneasy in view of her unnecessary purchase. murmurs of her extravagance began to reach her ears. satiated with gayety and weary of jewels, as a child throws aside its play-things, maria antoinette lost all fondness for her costly treasures, and began to seek novelty in the utmost simplicity of attire, and in the most artless joys of rural life. her gorgeous dresses hung neglected in their wardrobes. her gems, "of purest ray serene," slept in the darkness of the unopened casket. the queen had become a mother, and all those warm and noble affections which had been diffused and wasted upon frivolities, were now concentrated with intensest ardor upon her children. a new era had dawned upon maria antoinette. her soul, by nature exalted, was beginning to find objects worthy of its energies. rapidly she was groping her way from the gloom of the most wretched of all lives--a life of pleasure and of self-indulgence--to the true and ennobling happiness of benevolence and self-sacrifice. boehmer, the jeweler, unaware of the great change which had taken place in the character of the queen, resolved to form for her the most magnificent necklace which was ever seen in europe. he busied himself for several years in collecting the most valuable diamonds circulating in commerce, and thus composed a necklace of several rows, whose attractions, he hoped, would be irresistible to the queen. in the purchase of these brilliant gems, the jeweler had expended far more than his own fortune. for many of them he owed large sums, and his only hope of paying these debts was in effecting a sale to the queen. boehmer requested madame campan to inform the queen what a beautiful necklace he had arranged, hoping that she might express a desire to see it. this, however, madame campan declined doing, as she did not wish to tempt the queen to incur the expense of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, the price of the glittering bawble. boehmer, after endeavoring for some time in vain to get the gems exposed to the eye of the queen, induced a courtier high in rank to show the superb necklace to his majesty. the king, now loving the queen most tenderly, wished to see her adorned with this unparalleled ornament, and sent the case to the queen for her inspection. maria antoinette replied, that she had already as many beautiful diamonds as she desired; that jewels were now worn but seldom at court; that she could not think it right to encourage so great an expense for such ornaments; and that the money they would cost would be much better expended in building a man-of-war. the king concurred in this prudent decision, and the diamonds were returned to the jeweler from their majesties with this answer: "we have more need of ships than of diamonds." boehmer was in great trouble, and knew not what to do. he spent a year in visiting the other courts of europe, hoping to induce some of the sovereigns to purchase his necklace, but in vain. almost in despair, he returned again to versailles, and proposed the king should take it, and pay for it partly in instalments and partly in life annuities. the king mentioned it again to the queen. she replied, that if his majesty wished to purchase the necklace, and keep it for their daughter, he might do so. but she declared that she herself should never be willing to wear it, for she could not expose herself to those censures for extravagance which she knew would be lavished upon her. the jeweler complained loudly and bitterly of his misfortune. the necklace having been exhibited all over europe, his troubles were a matter of general conversation. after several months of great perplexity and anxiety, boehmer succeeded in gaining an audience of the queen. passionately throwing himself upon his knees before her, clasping his hands and bursting into tears, he exclaimed, "madame, i am disgraced and ruined if you do not purchase my necklace. i can not outlive my misfortunes. when i go hence i shall throw myself into the river." the queen, extremely displeased, said, "rise, boehmer! i do not like these rhapsodies; honest men have no occasion to fall upon their knees to make known their requests. if you were to destroy yourself, i should regret you as a madman in whom i had taken an interest, but i should not be responsible for that misfortune. i not only never ordered the article which causes your present despair, but, whenever you have talked to me about fine collections of jewels, i have told you that i should not add four diamonds to those i already possessed. i told you myself that i declined taking the necklace. the king wished to give it to me; i refused him in the same manner. then never mention it to me again. divide it, and endeavor to sell it piecemeal, and do not drown yourself. i am very angry with you for acting this scene of despair in my presence, and before this child. let me never see you behave thus again. go!" boehmer, overwhelmed with confusion, retired, and the queen, oppressed with a multitude of gathering cares, for some months thought no more of him or of his jewels. one day the queen was reposing listlessly upon her couch, with madame campan and other ladies of honor about her, when, suddenly addressing madame campan, she inquired, "have you ever heard what poor boehmer did with his unfortunate necklace?" "i have heard nothing of it since he left you," was the reply, "though i often meet him." "i should really like to know how the unfortunate man got extricated from his embarrassments," rejoined the queen; "and, when you next see him, i wish you would inquire, as if from your own interest in the affair, without any allusion to me, how he disposed of the article." in a few days madame campan met boehmer, and, in reply to her interrogatories, he informed her that the sultan at constantinople had purchased it for the favorite sultana. the queen was highly gratified with the good fortune of the jeweler, and yet thought it very strange how the grand seignior should have purchased his diamonds at paris. matters continued in this state for some time, until the baptism of the duke d'angoulême, maria antoinette's infant son. the king made his idolized boy a baptismal present of a diamond epaulette and buckles, which he purchased of boehmer, and directed him to deliver to the queen. as the jeweler presented them, he slipped into the queen's hand a letter, in the form of a petition, containing the following expression: "i am happy to see your majesty in the possession of the finest diamonds in europe; and i entreat your majesty not to forget me." the queen read this strange note aloud, again and again exclaiming, "what does the man mean? he must be insane!" she quietly lighted the note at a wax taper which was standing near her, and burned it, remarking that it was not worth keeping. afterward, as she reflected more upon the enigmatical nature of the communication, she deeply regretted that she had not preserved the note. she pondered the matter deeply and anxiously, and at last said to madame campan, "the next time you see that man, i wish that you would tell him that i have lost all taste for diamonds; that i never shall buy another as long as i live; and that, if i had any money to spare, i should expend it in purchasing lands to enlarge the grounds at st. cloud." a few days after this, boehmer called upon madame campan at her country house, extremely uneasy at not having received any answer from the queen, and anxiously inquired if madame campan had no commission to him from her majesty. madame campan faithfully repeated to him all that the queen had requested her to say. "but," rejoined boehmer, "the answer to the letter i presented to her! to whom must i apply for that?" "to no one," was the reply; "her majesty burned your memorial, without even comprehending its meaning." "ah, madame!" exclaimed the man, trembling with agitation, "that is impossible; the queen knows that she has money to pay me." "money, m. boehmer!" replied the lady, "your last accounts against the queen were discharged long ago." "and are you not in the secret?" he rejoined. "the queen owes me three hundred thousand dollars, and i am ruined by her neglect to pay me." "three hundred thousand dollars!" exclaimed madame campan, in amazement; "man, you have lost your senses! for what does she owe you that enormous sum?" "for the necklace, madame," replied the jeweler, now pale and trembling with the apprehension that he had been deceived. "the necklace again!" said madame campan. "how long is the queen to be teased about that necklace? did not you yourself tell me that you had sold it at constantinople?" "the queen," added boehmer, "requested me to make that reply to all who inquired upon the subject, for she was not willing to have it known that she had made the purchase. she, however, had determined to have the necklace, and sent the cardinal de rohan to me to take it in her name." "you are utterly deceived, boehmer," madame campan replied; "the queen knows nothing about your necklace. she never speaks even to the cardinal de rohan, and there is no man at court more strongly disliked by her." "you may depend upon it, madame, that you are deceived yourself," rejoined the jeweler. "she must hold private interviews with the cardinal, for she gave to the cardinal six thousand dollars, which he paid me on account, and which he assured me he saw her take from the little porcelain secretary next the fire-place in her boudoir." "did the cardinal himself assure you of this?" inquired madame campan. "yes, madame," was the reply. "what a detestable plot! there is not one word of truth in it; and you have been miserably deceived." "i confess," boehmer rejoined, now trembling in every joint, "that i have felt very anxious about it for some time; for the cardinal assured me that the queen would wear the necklace on whitsunday. i was, however, alarmed in seeing that she did not wear it, and that induced me to write the letter to her majesty. but what _shall_ i do?" "go immediately to versailles, and lay the whole matter before the king. but you have been extremely culpable, as crown jeweler, in acting in a matter of such great importance without direct orders from the king or queen, or their accredited minister." "i have not acted," the unhappy man replied, "without direct orders. i have now in my possession all the promissory notes, signed by the queen herself; and i have been obliged to show those notes to several bankers, my creditors, to induce them to extend the time of my payments." instead, however, of following madame campan's judicious advice, boehmer, half delirious with solicitude, went directly to the cardinal, and informed him of all that had transpired. the cardinal appeared very much embarrassed, asked a few questions, and said but little. he, however, wrote in his diary the following memorandum: "on this day, august , boehmer went to madame campan's country-house, and she told him that the queen had never had his necklace, and that he had been cheated." boehmer was almost frantic with terror, for the loss of the necklace was his utter and irremediable ruin. finding no relief in his interview with the cardinal, he hastened to little trianon, and sent a message to the queen that madame campan wished him to see her immediately. the queen, who knew nothing of the occurrences we have just related, exclaimed, "that man is surely mad. i have nothing to say to him, and i will not see him." madame campan, however, immediately called upon the queen, for she was very much alarmed by what she had heard, and related to her the whole occurrence. the queen was exceedingly amazed and perplexed, and feared that it was some deep-laid plot to involve her in difficulties. she questioned madame campan very minutely in reference to every particular of the interview, and insisted upon her repeating the conversation over and over again. they then went immediately to the king, and narrated to him the whole affair. he, aware of the many efforts which had been made to traduce the character of maria antoinette, and to expose her to public contumely, was at once convinced that it was a treacherous plot of the cardinal in revenge for his neglect at court. the king instantly sent a command for the cardinal to meet him and the queen in the king's closet. he was, apparently, anticipating the summons, for he, without delay, appeared before them in all the pomp of his pontifical robes, but was nevertheless so embarrassed that he could with difficulty articulate a sentence. "you have purchased diamonds of boehmer?" inquired the king. "yes, sire," was the trembling reply. "what have you done with them?" the king added. "i thought," said the cardinal, "that they had been delivered to the queen." "who commissioned you to make this purchase?" "the countess lamotte," was the reply. "she handed me a letter from the queen requesting me to obtain the necklace for her. i truly thought that i was obeying her majesty's wishes, and doing her a favor, by taking this business upon myself." "how could you imagine, sir," indignantly interrupted the queen, "that i should have selected _you_ for such a purpose, when i have not even spoken to you for eight years? and how could you suppose that i should have acted through the mediation of such a character as the countess lamotte?" the cardinal was in the most violent agitation, and, apparently hardly knowing what he said, replied, "i see plainly that i have been duped. i will pay for the necklace myself. i suspected no trick in the affair, and am extremely sorry that i have had any thing to do with it." he then took a letter from his pocket directed to the countess lamotte, and signed with the queen's name, requesting her to secure the purchase of the necklace. the king and queen looked at the letter, and instantly pronounced it a forgery. the king then took from his own pocket a letter addressed to the jeweler boehmer, and, handing it to de rohan, said, "are you the author of that letter?" the cardinal turned pale, and, leaning upon his hand, appeared as though he would fall to the floor. "i have no wish, cardinal," the king kindly replied, "to find you guilty. explain to me this enigma. account for all those maneuvers with boehmer. where did you obtain these securities and these promissory notes, signed in the queen's name, which have been given to boehmer?" the cardinal, trembling in every nerve, faintly replied, "sire, i am too much agitated now to answer your majesty. give me a little time to collect my thoughts." "compose yourself, then, cardinal," the king added. "go into my cabinet. you will there find papers, pens, and ink. at your leisure, _write_ what you have to say to me." in about half an hour the cardinal returned with a paper, covered with erasures, and alterations, and blottings, as confused and unsatisfactory as his verbal statements had been. an officer was then summoned into the royal presence, and commanded to take the cardinal into custody and conduct him to the bastile. he was, however, permitted to visit his home. the cardinal contrived, by the way, to scribble a line upon a scrap of paper, and, catching the eye of a trusty servant, he, unobserved, slipped it into his hand. it was a direction to the servant to hasten to the palace, with the utmost possible speed, and commit to the flames all of his private papers. the king had also sent officers to the cardinal's palace to seize his papers and seal them for examination. by almost superhuman exertions, the cardinal's servant first arrived at the palace, which was at the distance of several miles. his horse dropped dead in the court-yard. the important documents, which might, perhaps, have shed light upon this mysterious affair, were all consumed. the countess lamotte was also arrested, and held in close confinement to await her trial. she had just commenced living in a style of extraordinary splendor, and had vast sums at her disposal, acquired no one knew how. it is difficult to imagine the excitement which this story produced all over europe. it was represented that the queen was found engaged in a swindling transaction with a profligate woman to cheat the crown jeweler out of gems of inestimable value, and that, being detected, she was employing all the influence of the crown to shield her own reputation by consigning the innocent cardinal to infamy. the enemies of the queen, sustained by the ecclesiastics generally, rallied around the cardinal. the king and queen, feeling that his acquittal would be the virtual condemnation of maria antoinette, and firmly convinced of his guilt, exerted their utmost influence, in self-defense, to bring him to punishment. rumors and counter rumors floated through versailles, paris, and all the courts of the continent. the tale was rehearsed in saloon and café with every conceivable addition and exaggeration, and the queen hardly knew which way to turn from the invectives which were so mercilessly showered upon her. her lofty spirit, conscious of rectitude, sustained her in public, and there she nerved herself to appear with firmness and equanimity. but in the retirement of her boudoir she was unable to repel the most melancholy imaginings, and often wept with almost the anguish of a bursting heart. the sunshine of her life had now disappeared. each succeeding day grew darker and darker with enveloping glooms. the trial of the cardinal continued, with various interruptions, for more than a year. very powerful parties were formed for and against him. all france was agitated by the protracted contest. the cardinal appeared before his judges in mourning robes, but with all the pageantry of the most imposing ecclesiastical costume. he was conducted into court with much ceremony, and treated with the greatest deference. in the trying moment in which he first appeared before his judges, his courage seemed utterly to fail him. pale and trembling with emotion, his knees bent under him, and he had to cling to a support to prevent himself from falling to the floor. five or six voices immediately addressed him in tones of sympathy, and the president said, "his eminence the cardinal is at liberty to sit down, if he wishes it." the distinguished prisoner immediately took his seat with the members of the court. having soon recovered in some degree his composure, he arose, and for half an hour addressed his judges, with much feeling and dignity, repeating his protestations of entire innocence in the whole affair. at the close of this protracted trial, the cardinal was fully acquitted of all guilt by a majority of three voices. the king and queen were extremely chagrined at this result. during the trial, many insulting insinuations were thrown out against the queen which could not easily be repelled. a friend who called upon her immediately after the decision, found her in her closet weeping bitterly. "come," said maria, "come and weep for your queen, insulted and sacrificed by cabal and injustice." the king came in at the same moment, and said, "you find the queen much afflicted; she has great reason to be so. they were determined through out this affair to see only an ecclesiastical prince, a prince de rohan, while he is, in fact, a needy fellow, and all this was but a scheme to put money into his pockets. it is not necessary to be an alexander to cut this gordian knot." the cardinal subsequently emigrated to germany, where he lived in comparative obscurity till , when he died. the countess lamotte was brought to trial, but with a painfully different result. dressed in the richest and most costly robes, the dissolute beauty appeared before her judges, and astonished them all by her imperturbable self-possession, her talents, and her cool effrontery. it was clearly proved that she had received the necklace; that she had sold here and there the diamonds of which it was composed, and had thus come into possession of large sums of money. she told all kinds of stories, contradicting herself in a thousand ways, accusing now one and again another as an accomplice, and unblushingly declaring that she had no intention to tell the truth, for that neither she nor the cardinal had uttered one single word before the court which had not been false. she was found guilty, and the following horrible sentence was pronounced against her: that she should be whipped upon the bare back in the court-yard of the prison; that the letter v should be burned into the flesh on each shoulder with a hot iron; and that she should be imprisoned for life. the king and queen were as much displeased with the terrible barbarity of the punishment of the countess as they were chagrined at the acquittal of the cardinal. as the countess was a descendant of the royal family, they felt that the ignominious character of the punishment was intended as a stigma upon them. as the countess was sitting one morning in the spacious room provided for her in the prison, in a loose robe, conversing gayly with some friends, and surrounded by all the appliances of wealth, an attendant appeared to conduct her into the presence of the judges. totally unprepared for the awful doom impending over her, she rose with careless alacrity and entered the court. the terrible sentence was pronounced. immediately terror, rage, and despair seized upon her, and a scene of horror ensued which no pen can describe. before the sentence was finished, she threw herself upon the floor, and uttered the most piercing shrieks and screams. the tumult of agitation into which she was thrown, dreadful as it was, relaxed not the stern rigor of the law. the executioner immediately seized her, and dragged her, shrieking and struggling in a delirium of phrensy, into the court-yard of the prison. as her eye fell upon the instruments of her ignominious and brutal punishment, she seized upon one of her executioners with her teeth, and tore a mouthful of flesh from his arm. she was thrown upon the ground, her garments, with relentless violence, were stripped from her back, and the lash mercilessly cut its way into her quivering nerves, while her awful screams pierced the damp, chill air of the morning. the hot irons were brought, and simmered upon her recoiling flesh. the unhappy creature was then carried, mangled and bleeding, and half dead with torture, and terror, and madness, to the prison hospital. after nine months of imprisonment she was permitted to escape. she fled to england, and was found one morning dead upon the pavements of london, having been thrown from a third story window in a midnight carousal. such was the story of the diamond necklace. though no one can now doubt that maria antoinette was perfectly innocent in the whole affair, it, at the time, furnished her enemies with weapons against her, which they used with fatal efficiency. it was then represented that the countess lamotte was an accomplice of the queen in the fraudulent acquisition of the necklace, and that the cardinal de rohan was their deluded but innocent victim. the horrible punishment of madame lamotte, who boasted that royal blood circulated in her veins, was understood to be in contempt of royalty, and as the expression of venomous feeling toward the queen. both maria antoinette and louis felt it as such, and were equally aggrieved by the acquittal of the cardinal and the barbarous punishment of the countess. whether the cardinal was a victim or an accomplice is a question which never has been, and now never can be, decided. the mystery in which the affair is involved must remain a mystery until the secrets of all hearts are revealed at the great day of judgment. if he was the guilty instigator, and the poor countess but his tool and victim, how much has he yet to be accountable for in the just retributions of eternity! there were three suppositions adopted by the community in the attempt to solve the mystery of this transaction: . the first was, that the queen had really employed the countess lamotte to obtain the necklace by deceiving the cardinal. that it was a trick by which the queen and the countess were to obtain the necklace, and, by selling it piecemeal, to share the spoil, leaving the cardinal responsible for the payment. this was the view the enemies of maria antoinette, almost without exception, took of the case; and the sentence of acquittal of the cardinal, and the horrible condemnation of the countess, were intended to sustain this view. this opinion, spread through paris and france, was very influential in rousing that animosity which conducted maria antoinette to sufferings more poignant and to a doom more awful than the countess lamotte could by any possibility endure. . the second supposition was, that the cardinal and the countess forged the signature of the queen to defraud the jeweler; that they thus obtained the rich prize of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, intending to divide the spoil between them, and throw the obloquy of the transaction upon the queen. the king and queen were both fully convinced that this was the true explanation of the fraud, and they retained this belief undoubted until they died. . the third supposition, and that which now is almost universally entertained, was, that the crafty woman lamotte, by forgery, and by means of an accomplice, who very much, in figure, resembled maria antoinette, completely duped the cardinal. his anxiety was such to be restored to the royal favor, that he eagerly caught at the bait which the wily countess presented to him. but, whoever may have been the guilty ones, no one now doubts that maria antoinette was entirely innocent. she, however, experienced all the ignominy she could have encountered had she been involved in the deepest guilt. chapter v. the mob at versailles. a gathering storm.--condition of the french people.--forces assembled at versailles.--the populace rise upon the troops.--terror and confusion.--attack on the bastile.--the bastile taken.--awful tumult.--energy of the queen.--resolution of the king.--the king visits paris.--strange cavalcade.--painful suspense of the queen.--return of the king.--the banquet at versailles.--enthusiastic loyalty.--news of the banquet.--famine in paris.--the mob marches to versailles.--heroic reply of the queen.--violence of the mob.--the queen retires to rest.--peril of the queen.--her narrow escape.--the mob in the palace.--heroic conduct of the queen.--the queen appears on the balcony.--her composure.--the queen applauded.--the royal family taken to paris.--an army of vagabonds.--the royal family grossly insulted.--the royal family in the tuileries.--the queen's self-sacrificing spirit.--rioting and violence.--the dauphin's question.--the king's explanation to his son.--flight of the nobility.--inflammatory placards.--the duke of orleans.--the duke of orlean's plans frustrated.--rumors of an invasion.--the leaders of the populace.--the queen urged to attend the theater.--dignified reply of the queen.--her unpopularity increases.--the queen's vigorous action.--ultimate cause of the popular fury.--transgressors visited in their children. the year opened upon france lowering with darkness and portentous storms. the events to which we have alluded in the preceding chapters, and various others of a similar nature, conspired to foment troubles between the french monarch and his subjects, which were steadily and irresistibly increasing. the great mass of the people, ignorant, degraded, and maddened by centuries of oppression, were rising, with delirious energy, to batter down a corrupt church and a despotic throne, and to overwhelm the guilty and the innocent alike in indiscriminate ruin. the storm had been gathering for ages, but those who had been mainly instrumental in raising it were now slumbering in their graves. mobs began to sweep the streets of paris, phrensied with rum and rage, and all law was set at defiance. the king, mild in temperament, and with no force of character, was extremely averse to any measures of violence. the queen, far more energetic, with the spirit of her heroic mother, would have quelled these insurrections with the strong arm of military power. [illustration: view of the bastile.] the king at last was compelled, in order to protect the royal family from insult, to encamp his army around his palaces; and long trains of artillery and of cavalry incessantly traversed the streets of versailles, to prop the tottering monarchy. as maria antoinette, from the windows, looked down upon these formidable bands, and saw the crowd of generals and colonels who filled the saloons of the palace, her fainting courage was revived. the sight of these soldiers, called to quell the insurgent people, roused the parisians to the intensest fury. "to arms! to arms! the king's troops are coming to massacre us," resounded through the streets of paris in the gloom of night, in tones which caused the heart of every peaceful citizen to quake with terror. the infuriated populace hurled themselves upon the few troops who were in paris. many of the soldiers of the king threw down their arms and fraternized with the people. others were withdrawn, by order of louis, to add to the forces which were surrounding his person at versailles. paris was thus left at the mercy of the mob. the arsenals were ransacked, the powder magazines were broken open, pikes were forged, and in a day, as it were, all paris was in arms. thousands of the noble and the wealthy fled in consternation from these scenes of ever-accumulating peril, and bands of ferocious men and women, from all the abodes of infamy, with the aspect and the energy of demons, ravaged the streets. when the morning of the th of march, , dawned upon the city, a scene of terror and confusion was witnessed which baffles all description. in the heart of paris there was a prison of terrible celebrity, in whose dark dungeons many victims of oppression and crime had perished. the bastile, in its gloomy strength of rock and iron, was the great instrument of terror with which the kings of france had, for centuries, held all restless spirits in subjection. now, the whole population of paris seemed to be rolling like an inundation toward this apparently impregnable fortress, resolved to batter down its execrated walls. "to the bastile! to the bastile!" was the cry which resounded along the banks of the seine, and through every street of the insurgent metropolis; and men, women, and boys poured on and poured on, an interminable host, choking every avenue with the agitated mass, armed with guns, knives, swords, pikes--dragging artillery bestrode by amazons, and filling the air with the clamor of pandemonium. a conflict, fierce, short, bloody, ensued, and the exasperated multitude, many of them bleeding and maddened by wounds, clambered over the walls and rushed through the shattered gateways, and, with yells of triumph, became masters of the bastile. the heads of its defenders were stuck upon poles upon the battlements, and the mob, intoxicated with the discovery of their resistless power, were beginning to inquire in what scenes of violence they should next engage. at midnight, couriers arrived at versailles, informing the king and queen of the terrible insurrections triumphant in the capital, and that the royal troops every where, instead of being enthusiastic for the defense of the king, manifested the strongest disposition to fraternize with the populace. the tumult in paris that night was awful. the rumor had entered every ear that the king was coming with forty thousand troops to take dreadful vengeance in the indiscriminate massacre of the populace. it was a night of sleeplessness and terror--the carnival of all the monsters of crime who thronged that depraved metropolis. the streets were filled with intoxication and blasphemy. no dwelling was secure from pillage. the streets were barricaded; pavements torn up, and the roofs of houses loaded with the stones. all the energies of the queen were aroused for a vigorous and heroic resistance. she strove to inspire the king with firmness and courage. he, however, thought only of concessions. he wished to win back the love of his people by favors. he declared openly that never should one drop of blood be shed at his command; and, with the heroism of endurance, which he abundantly possessed, and to prove that he had been grossly calumniated, he left versailles in his carriage to go unprotected to paris, into the midst of the infuriated populace. just as he was entering his carriage on this dangerous expedition, he received intelligence that a plot was formed to assassinate him on the way. this, however, did not in the slightest degree shake his resolution. the agony of the queen was irrepressible as she bade him adieu, never expecting to see him again. the national assembly, consisting of nearly twelve hundred persons, was then in session at versailles, the great majority of them sympathizing with the populace, and yet were alarmed in view of the lawless violence which their own acts had awakened, and which was every where desolating the land. as, on the morning of the th of july, the king entered his carriage with a slender retinue, and with no military protection, to expose himself to the dangers of his tumultuous capital, this whole body formed in procession on foot and followed him. a countless throng of artisans and peasants flocked from all the streets of versailles, and poured in from the surrounding country, armed with scythes and bludgeons, and joined the strange cavalcade. every moment the multitude increased, and the road, both before and behind the king, was so clogged with the accumulating mass, that seven hours passed before the king arrived at the gates of the city. during all this time he was exposed to every conceivable insult. as louis was conducted to the hotel de ville, a hundred thousand armed men lined the way, and he passed along under the arch of their sabers crossed over his head. the cup of degradation he was compelled to drain to its dregs. while the king was absent from versailles on this dreadful visit, silence and the deepest gloom pervaded the palace. the queen, apprehensive that the king would be either massacred or retained a prisoner in paris, was overwhelmed with the anguish of suspense. she retired to her chamber, and, with continually gushing tears, prepared an appeal to the national assembly, commencing with these words: "gentlemen, i come to place in your hands the wife and family of your sovereign. do not suffer those who have been united in heaven to be put asunder on earth." late in the evening the king returned, to the inexpressible joy of his household. but the narrative he gave of the day's adventure plunged them all again into the most profound grief. the visit of the king had no influence in diminishing the horrors of the scenes now hourly enacted in the french capital. his friends were openly massacred in the streets, hung up at the lamp-posts, and roasted at slow fires, while their dying agonies were but the subjects of derision. the contagion of crime and cruelty spread to every other city in the empire. the higher nobility and the more wealthy citizens began very generally to abandon their homes, seeing no escape from these dangers but by precipitate flight to foreign lands. such was the state of affairs, when the officers of some of the regiments assembled at versailles for the protection of the king had a public banquet in the saloon of the opera. all the rank and elegance which had ventured yet to linger around the court graced the feast with their presence in the surrounding boxes. in the midst of their festivities, their chivalrous enthusiasm was excited in behalf of the king and queen. they drank their health--they vowed to defend them even unto death. wine had given fervor to their loyalty. the ladies showered upon them bouquets, waved their handkerchiefs, and tossed to them white cockades, the emblem of bourbon power. and now the cry arose, loud, and long, and enthusiastic, for the king and queen to come and show themselves to their defenders. the door suddenly opened, and the king and queen appeared. enthusiasm immediately rose almost to phrensy. the hall resounded with acclamations, and the king, entirely unmanned by these expressions of attachment, burst into tears. the band struck up the pathetic air, "o richard! o my king! the world abandons you." there was no longer any bounds to the transport. the officers and the ladies mingled together in a scene of indescribable enthusiasm. the tidings of this banquet spread like wildfire through paris, magnified by the grossest exaggerations. it was universally believed that the officers had contemptuously trampled the tri-colored cockade, the adopted emblem of popular power, under their feet; that they had sharpened their sabers, and sworn to exterminate the national assembly and the people of paris. all business was at a stand. no laborer was employed. the provisions in the city were nearly all consumed. no baker dared to appear with his cart, or farmer to send in his corn, for pillage was the order of the day. the exasperated and starving people hung a few bakers before their own ovens, but that did not make bread any more plenty. the populace of paris were now starving, literally and truly starving. a gaunt and haggard woman seized a drum and strode through the streets, beating it violently, and mingling with its din her shrieks of "bread! bread!" a few boys follow her--then a score of female furies--and then thousands of desperate men. the swelling inundation rolls from street to street; the alarm bells are rung; all paris composes one mighty, resistless mob, motiveless, aimless, but ripe for any deed of desperation. the cry goes from mouth to mouth "to versailles! to versailles!" why, no one knows, only that the king and queen are there. impetuously, as by a blind instinct, the monster mass moves on. la fayette, at the head of the national guard, knows not what to do, for all the troops under his command sympathize with the people, and will obey no orders to resist them. he therefore merely follows on with his thirty-five thousand troops to watch the issue of events. the king and queen are warned of the approaching danger, and louis entreats maria antoinette to take the children in the carriages and flee to some distant place of safety. others join most earnestly in the entreaty. "nothing," replies the queen, "shall induce me, in such an extremity, to be separated from my husband. i know that they seek my life. but i am the daughter of maria theresa, and have learned not to fear death." [illustration: gardens at versailles.] from the windows of their mansion the disorderly multitude were soon descried, in a dense and apparently interminable mass, pouring along through the broad avenues toward the palaces of versailles. it was in the evening twilight of a dark and rainy day. like ocean tides, the frantic mob rolled in from every direction. their shouts and revels swelled upon the night air. the rain began to fall in torrents. they broke into the houses for shelter; insulted maids and matrons; tore down every thing combustible for their watch fires; massacred a few of the body-guard of the queen, and, with bacchanalian songs, roasted their horses for food. and thus passed the hours of this long and dreary night, in hideous outrages for which one can hardly find a parallel in the annals of new zealand cannibalism. the immense gardens of versailles were filled with a tumultuous ocean of half-frantic men and women, tossed to and fro in the wildest and most reckless excitement. toward morning, the queen, worn out with excitement and sleeplessness, having received from la fayette the assurance that he had so posted the guard that she need be in no apprehension of personal danger, had retired to her chamber for rest. the king had also retired to his apartment, which was connected with that of the queen by a hall, through which they could mutually pass. two faithful soldiers were stationed at the door of the queen's chamber for her defense. hardly had the queen placed her head upon her pillow before she heard a dreadful clamor upon the stairs--the discharge of fire-arms, the clashing of swords, and the shouts of the mob rushing upon her door. the faithful guard, bleeding beneath the blows of the assailants, had only time to cry to the queen, "fly! fly for your life!" when they were stricken down. the queen sprang from her bed, rushed to the door leading to the king's apartments, when, to her dismay, she found that it was locked, and that the key was upon the other side. with the energy of despair, she knocked and called for help. fortunately, some one rushed to her rescue from the king's chamber and opened the door. the queen had just time to slip through and again turn the key, when the whole raging mob, with oaths and imprecations, burst into the room, and pierced her bed through and through with their sabers and bayonets. happy would it have been for maria if in that short agony she might have died. but she was reserved by a mysterious providence for more prolonged tortures and for a more dreadful doom. a few of the national guard, faithful to the king, rallied around the royal family, and la fayette soon appeared, and was barely able to protect the king and queen from massacre. he had no power to effectually resist the tempest of human passion which was raging, but was swept along by its violence. nearly all of the interior of the palace was ransacked and defiled by the mob. the bloody heads of the massacred guards, stuck upon pikes, were raised up to the windows of the king, to insult and to terrify the royal family with these hideous trophies of the triumph of their foes. at length the morning succeeding this dreadful night dawned lurid and cheerless. it was the th of october, . dark clouds over-shadowed the sky, showers of mist were driven through the air, and the branches of the trees swayed to and fro before the driving storm. pools of water filled the streets, and a countless multitude of drunken vagabonds, in a mass so dense as to be almost impervious, besieged the palace, having no definite plan or desire, only furious with the thought that now was the hour in which they could wreak vengeance upon aristocrats for ages of oppression. muskets were continually discharged by the more desperate, and bullets passed through the windows of the palace. maria antoinette, in these trying scenes, indeed appeared queenly. her conduct was heroic in the extreme. her soul was nerved to the very highest acts of fearlessness and magnanimity. seeing the mob in the court-yard below ready to tear in pieces some of her faithful guard whom they had captured, regardless of the shots which were whistling by her, she persisted in exposing herself at the open window to beg for their lives; and when a friend, m. luzerne, placed himself before her, that his body might be her shield from the bullets, she gently, but firmly, with her hand, pressed him away, saying, "the king can not afford to lose so faithful a servant as you are." at length the crowd began vigorously to shout, "the queen! the queen!" demanding that she should appear upon the balcony. she immediately came forth, with her children at her side, that, as a mother, she might appeal to their hearts. the sight moved the sympathies of the multitude; and execrating, as they did, maria antoinette, whom they had long been taught to hate, they could not have the heart, in cold blood, to massacre these innocent children. thousands of voices simultaneously shouted, "away with the children!" maria, apparently without the tremor of a nerve, led back her children, and again appearing upon the balcony alone, folded her arms, and, raising her eyes to heaven, stood before them, a self-devoted victim. the heroism of the act changed for a moment hatred to admiration. not a gun was fired; there was a moment of silence, and then one spontaneous burst of applause rose apparently from every lip, and shouts of "vive la reine! vive la reine!" pierced the skies. [illustration: mob at versailles.] and now the universal cry ascends, "to paris! to paris!" la fayette, with the deepest mortification, was compelled to inform the king that he had no force at his disposal sufficient to enable him to resist the demands of the mob. the king, seeing that he was entirely at the mercy of his foes, who were acting without leaders and without plan, as the caprice of each passing moment instigated, said, "you wish, my children, that i should accompany you to paris. i can not go but on condition that i shall not be separated from my wife and family." to this proposal there was a tumultuous assent. at one o'clock, the king and queen, with their two children, entered the royal carriage to be escorted by the triumphant mob as captives to paris. behind them, in a long train, followed the carriages of the king's suite and servants. then followed twenty-five carriages filled with the members of the national assembly. after them came the thirty-five thousand troops of the national guard; and before, behind, and around them all, a hideous concourse of vagabonds, male and female, in uncounted thousands, armed with every conceivable weapon, yelling, blaspheming, and crowding against the carriages so that they surged to and fro like ships in a storm. this motley multitude kept up an incessant discharge of fire-arms loaded with bullets, and the balls often struck the ornaments of the carriages, and the king and queen were often almost suffocated with the smoke of powder. the two body-guard, who had been massacred while so faithfully defending the queen at the door of her chamber, were beheaded, and, their gory heads affixed to pikes, were carried by the windows of the carriage, and pressed upon the view of the wretched captives with every species of insult and derision. la fayette was powerless. he was borne along resistlessly by this whirlwind of human passions. none were so malignant, so ferocious, so merciless, as the degraded women who mingled with the throng. they bestrode the cannon singing the most indecent and insulting songs. "we shall now have bread," they exclaimed; "for we have with us the baker, and the baker's wife, and the baker's boy." during seven long hours of agony were the royal family exposed to these insults, before the unwieldy mass had urged its slow way to paris. the darkness of night was settling down around the city as the royal captives were led into the hotel de ville. no one seemed then to know what to do, or why the king and queen had been brought from versailles. the mayor of the city received them there with the external mockery of respect and homage. he had them then conducted to the tuileries, the gorgeous city palace of the kings of france, now the prison of the royal family. soldiers were stationed at all the avenues to the palace, ostensibly to preserve the royal family from danger, but, in reality, to guard them from escape. a moment before the queen entered her carriage for this march of humiliation, she hastily retired to her private apartment, and, bursting into tears, surrendered herself to the most uncontrollable emotion. then immediately, as if relieved and strengthened by this flood of tears, she summoned all her energies, and appeared as she had ever appeared, the invincible sovereign. indeed, through all these dreadful scenes she never seemed to have a thought for herself. it was for her husband and her children alone that she wept and suffered. through all the long hours of the night succeeding this day of horror, paris was one boiling caldron of tumult and passion. rioting and violence filled all its streets, and the clamor of madness and inebriation drove sleep from every pillow. the excitement of the day had been too terrible to allow either the king or the queen to attempt repose. the two children, in utter exhaustion, found a few hours of agitated slumber from the terror with which they had so long been appalled. but in the morning, when the dauphin awoke, being but six or eight years of age, hearing the report of musketry and the turmoil still resounding in the streets, he threw his arms around his mother's neck, and, as he clung trembling to her bosom, exclaimed, "o mother! mother! is to-day yesterday again?" soon after, his father came into the room. the little prince, to whom sorrow had given a maturity above his years, contemplated his father for a moment with a pensive air, went up to him and said, "dear father, why are your people, who formerly loved you so well, now, all of a sudden so angry with you? and what have you done to irritate them so much?" [illustration: grand avenue of the tuileries.] the king thus replied. "i wished, my dear child, to render the people still happier than they were. i wanted money to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. i asked the parliament for money, as my predecessors have always done. magistrates composing the parliament opposed it, and said that the _people_ alone had a right to consent to it. i assembled the principal inhabitants of every town, whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at versailles. that is what is called the _states-general_. when they were assembled, they required concessions of me which i could not make, either with due respect for myself or with justice to you, who will be my successor. wicked men, inducing the people to rise, have occasioned the excesses of the last few days. the _people_ must not be blamed for them." while these terrific scenes were passing in paris and in france, the majority of the nobility were rapidly emigrating to find refuge in other lands. every night the horizon was illumined by the conflagration of their chateaux, burned down by mobs. many of them were mercilessly tortured to death. large numbers, however, gathering around them such treasures as could easily be carried away, escaped to germany on the frontiers of france. some fifteen hundred of these emigrants were at coblentz, organizing themselves into a military band, seeking assistance from the austrian monarchy, and threatening, with an overwhelming force of invasion, to recover their homes and their confiscated estates, and to rescue the royal family. the populace in paris were continually agitated with the rumors of this gathering army at coblentz. as maria was an austrian, she was accused of being in correspondence with the emigrants, and of striving to rouse the austrian monarchy to make war upon france, and to deluge paris with the blood of its citizens. most inflammatory placards were posted in the streets. speeches full of rancor and falsehood were made to exasperate the populace. and when the fish-women wished to cast upon the queen some epithet of peculiar bitterness, they called her "the austrian." it is confidently asserted that the mob was instigated to the march to versailles by the emissaries of the duke of orleans, the father of louis philippe. the duke hoped that the royal family, terrified by the approach of the infuriated multitude, would enter their carriages and flee to join the emigrants at coblentz. the throne would then be vacant, and the people would make the duke of orleans, who, to secure this result, had become one of the most violent of the democrats, their king. it was a deeply-laid plot and a very plausible enterprise. but the king understood the plan, and refused thus to be driven from the throne of his fathers. he, however, entreated the queen to take the children and escape. she resolutely declared that no peril should induce her to forsake her husband, but that she would live or die by his side. during all the horrors of that dreadful night, when the palace at versailles was sacked, the duke, in disguise, with his adherents, was endeavoring to direct the fury of the storm for the accomplishment of this purpose. but his plans were entirely frustrated. the caprice seized the mob to carry the king to paris. this the duke of orleans of all things dreaded; but matters had now passed entirely beyond his control. rumors of the approaching invasion were filling the kingdom with alarm. there was a large minority, consisting of the most intelligent and wealthy, who were in favor of the king, and who would eagerly join an army coming for his rescue. should the king escape and head that army, it would give the invaders a vast accession of moral strength, and the insurgent people feared a dreadful vengeance. consequently, there were great apprehensions entertained that the king might escape. the leaders of the populace were not yet prepared to plunge him into prison or to load him with chains. in fact, they had no definite plan before them. he was still their recognized king. they even pretended that he was not their captive--that they had politely, affectionately invited him, escorted him on a visit to his capital. they entreated the king and queen to show that they had no desire to escape, but were contented and happy, by entering into all the amusements of operas, and theaters, and balls. but in the mean time they doubled the guards around them, and drove away their faithful servants, to place others at their tables and in their chambers who should be their spies. but two days after these horrid outrages, in the midst of which the king and queen were dragged as captives to paris, the city sent a deputation to request the queen to appear at the theater, and thus to prove, by participating in those gay festivities, that it was with pleasure that she resided in her capital. with much dignity the queen replied, "i should, with great pleasure, accede to the invitation of the people of paris; but time must be allowed me to soften the recollection of the distressing events which have recently occurred, and from which i have suffered so severely. having come to paris preceded by the heads of my faithful guards, who perished before the door of their sovereign, i can not think that such an entry into the capital ought to be followed by rejoicings. but the happiness i have always felt in appearing in the midst of the inhabitants of paris is not effaced from my memory; and i hope to enjoy that happiness again, so soon as i shall find myself able to do so." the queen was, however, increasingly the object of especial obloquy. she was accused of urging the king to bombard the city, and to adopt other most vigorous measures of resistance. it was affirmed that she held continual correspondence with the emigrants at coblentz, and was doing all in her power to rouse austria to come to the rescue of the king. maria would have been less than the noble woman she was if she had not done all this, and more, for the protection of her husband, her child, and herself. she inherited her mother's superiority of mind and mental energy. had louis possessed her spirit, he might have perished more heroically, but probably none the less surely. maria did, unquestionably, do every thing in her power to rouse her husband to a more energetic and manly defense. generations of kings, by licentiousness, luxury, and oppression; by total disregard of the rights of the people, and by the naughty contempt of their sufferings and complaints, had kindled flames of implacable hatred against all kingly power. circumstances, over which neither louis nor maria had any control, caused these flames to burst out with resistless fury around the throne of france, at the time in which they happened to be seated upon it. though there never had been seated upon that throne more upright, benevolent, and conscientious monarchs, they were compelled to drain to the dregs the poisoned chalice which their ancestors had mingled. perhaps this world presents no more affecting illustration of that mysterious principle of the divine government, by which the transgressions of the parents are visited upon the children. louis xiv., as haughty and oppressive a monarch as ever trod an enslaved people into the dust, died peacefully in his luxurious bed. his descendant, louis xvi., as mild and benignant a sovereign as ever sat upon an earthly throne, received upon his unresisting brow the doom from which his unprincipled ancestors had escaped. it is difficult for us, in the sympathy which is excited for the comparatively innocent maria antoinette and louis, to remember the ages of wrong and outrage by which the popular exasperation had been raised to wreak itself in indiscriminating atrocities. there is but one solution to these mysteries: "after death comes the judgment." chapter vi. the palace a prison. - condition of the royal family.--ignominiously insulted.--the royal family surrounded by spies.--the queen refuses to escape.--excuse for the emigrants.--their plans.--profligate women.--their talk with the queen.--bravos of the women.--plan for the queen's escape.--letter from the queen.--her employments.--the king's unwillingness to flee.--execution of the marquis of favras.--imprudence of some of the queen's friends.--her embarrassment.--the queen weeps.--present to madame favras.--the king continues inactive.--plan of count d'inisdal.--indecision of the king.--the queen's disappointment.--displeasure of count d'inisdal.--an alarm.--attempts to assassinate the queen.--removal to st. cloud.--another plan for flight.--it is abandoned.--exhibitions of attachment.--emotions of the queen.--the assassin in the garden.--midnight interviews.--deliberations of the king's friends.--taunting gift.--the king's aunts leave france.--they are arrested.--exciting debate.--the ladies permitted to depart.--the royal family start for st. cloud.--they are compelled to return.--preparations for flight.--imprudence of the king and queen.--garments for the children.--the queen's diamonds and jewels.--the queen's dressing-case.--the faithful leonard. the king and queen now found themselves in the gorgeous apartments of the tuileries, surrounded with all the mockery of external homage, but incessantly exposed to the most ignominious insults, and guarded with sleepless vigilance from the possibility of escape. the name of the queen was the watchword of popular execration and rage. in the pride of her lofty spirit, she spurned all apologies, explanations, or attempts at conciliation. inclosing herself in the recesses of her palace, she heard with terror and resentment, but with an unyielding soul, the daily acts of violence perpetrated against royalty and all of its friends. all her trusty servants were removed, and spies in their stead occupied her parlors and her chambers. trembling far more for her husband and her children than for herself, every noise in the streets aroused her apprehensions of a new insurrection. and thus, for nearly two years of melancholy days and sorrowful nights, the very nobleness of her nature, glowing with heroic love, magnified her anguish. the terror of the times had driven nearly all the nobility from the realm. the court was forsaken, or attended only by the detested few who were forced as ministers upon the royal family by the implacable populace. every word and every action of maria antoinette were watched, and reported by the spies who surrounded her in the guise of servants. to obtain a private interview with any of her few remaining friends, or even with her husband, it was necessary to avail herself of private stair-cases, and dark corridors, and the disguise of night. the queen regretted extremely that the nobles, and others friendly to royalty, should, in these hours of gathering danger, have fled from france. when urged to fly herself from the dangers darkening around her, she resolutely refused, declaring that she would never leave her husband and children, but that she would live or die with them. the queen, convinced of the impolicy of emigration, did every thing in her power to induce the emigrants to return. urgent letters were sent to them, to one of which the queen added the following postscript with her own hand: "if you love your king, your religion, your government, and your country, return! return! return! maria antoinette." the emigrants were severely censured by many for abandoning their king and country in such a crisis. but when all law was overthrown, and the raging mob swayed hither and thither at its will, and nobles were murdered on the high way or hung at lamp-posts in the street, and each night the horizon was illumined by the conflagration of their chateaux, a husband and father can hardly be severely censured for endeavoring to escape with his wife and children from such scenes of horror. a year of gloom now slowly passed away, almost every moment of which was embittered by disappointed hopes and gathering fears. the emigrants, who were assembled at coblentz, on the frontiers of germany, were organizing an army for the invasion of france and the restoration of the regal power. the people were very fearful that the king and queen might escape, and, joining the emigrants, add immeasurably to their moral strength. there were thousands in france, overawed by the terrors of the mob, who would most eagerly have rallied around the banners of such an invading army, headed by their own king. louis, however, with his characteristic want of energy, was very unwilling to assume a hostile attitude toward his subjects, and still vainly hoped, by concessions and by the exhibition of a forgiving spirit, to reconcile his disaffected people. on the morning after the arrival of the king and queen at the tuileries, an occurrence took place highly characteristic of the times. a crowd of profligate women, the same who bestrode the cannon the day before, insulting the queen with the most abusive language, collected under the queen's windows, upon the terrace of the palace. maria, hearing their outcries, came to the window. a furious termagant addressed her, telling her that she must dismiss all such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her good city. the queen replied, "i have loved them at versailles, and will also love them at paris." "yes! yes!" answered another. "but you wanted to besiege the city and have it bombarded. and you wanted to fly to the frontiers and join the emigrants." the queen mildly replied, "you have been told so, my friends, and have believed it, and that is the cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of kings." another addressed her in german, to which the queen answered, "i do not understand you. i have become so entirely french as even to have forgotten my mother tongue." at this they all clapped their hands, and shouted, "bravo! bravo!" they then asked for the ribbons and flowers out of her hat. her majesty unfastened them herself, and then tossed them out of the window to the women. they were received with great eagerness, and divided among the party; and for half an hour they kept up the incessant shout, "maria antoinette forever! our good queen forever!" in the course of a few weeks some of the devoted friends of the queen had matured a plan by which _her_ escape could be, without difficulty, effected. the queen, whose penetrating mind fully comprehended the peril of her situation, replied, while expressing the deepest gratitude to her friends for their kindness, "i will never leave either the king or my children. if i thought that i alone were obnoxious to public hatred, i would instantly offer my life as a sacrifice. but it is the throne which is aimed at. in abandoning the king, no other advantage can be obtained than merely saving my life; and i will never be guilty of such an act of cowardice." the following letter, which she wrote at this time to a friend, in reply to a letter of sympathy in reference to the outrage which had torn her from versailles, will enable one to form a judgment of her situation and state of mind at that time. "i shed tears of affection on reading your sympathizing letter. you talk of my courage; it required much less to go through the dreadful crisis of that day than is now daily necessary to endure our situation, our own griefs, those of our friends, and those of the persons who surround us. this is a heavy weight to sustain; and but for the strong ties by which my heart is bound to my husband, my children, and my friends, i should wish to sink under it. but you bear me up. i ought to sacrifice such feelings to your friendship. but it is i who bring misfortune on you all, and all your troubles are on my account." the queen now lived for some time in much retirement. she employed the mornings in superintending the education of her son and daughter, both of whom received all their lessons in her presence, and she endeavored to occupy her mind, continually agitated as it was by ever-recurring scenes of outrage and of danger, by working large pieces of tapestry. she could not sufficiently recall her thoughts from the anxieties which continually engrossed them to engage in reading. the king was extremely unwilling to seek protection in flight, lest the throne should be declared vacant, and he should thus lose his crown. he was ever hoping that affairs would soon take such a turn that harmony would be restored to his distracted kingdom. maria antoinette, however, who had a much more clear discernment of the true state of affairs, soon felt convinced that reconciliation, unless effected by the arm of power, was hopeless, and she exerted all her influence to rouse the king to vigorous measures for escape. while firmly resolved never to abandon her husband and her family to save her own life, she still became very anxious that all should endeavor to escape together. about this time the marquis of favras was accused of having formed a plan for the rescue of the royal family. he was very hastily tried, the mob surrounding the tribunal and threatening the judges with instant death unless they should condemn him. he was sentenced to be hung, and was executed, surrounded by the insults and execrations of the populace of paris. the marquis left a wife and a little boy overwhelmed with grief and in hopeless poverty. on the following sunday morning, some extremely injudicious friends of the queen, moved with sympathy for the desolated family, without consulting the queen upon the subject, presented the widow and the orphan in deepest mourning at court. the husband and father had fallen a sacrifice to his love for the queen and her family. the queen was extremely embarrassed. what course could she with safety pursue? if she should yield to the dictates of her own heart, and give expression to her emotions of sympathy and gratitude, she would rouse to still greater fury the indignation of the populace who were accusing her of the desire to escape, and who considered this desire as one of the greatest of crimes. should she, on the other hand, surrender herself to the dictates of prudence, and neglect openly to manifest any special interest in their behalf, how severely must she be censured by the loyalists for her ingratitude toward those who had been irretrievably ruined through their love for her. the queen was extremely pained by this unexpected and impolitic presentation; for the fate of others, far dearer to her than her own life, were involved in her conduct. she withdrew from the painful scene to her private apartment, threw herself into a chair, and, weeping bitterly, said to an intimate friend, "we must perish! we are assailed by men who possess extraordinary talent, and who shrink from no crime. we are defended by those who have the kindest intentions, but who have no adequate idea of our situation. they have exposed me to the animosity of both parties by presenting to me the widow and the son of the marquis of favras. were i free to act as my heart impels me, i should take the child of the man who has so nobly sacrificed himself for us, and adopt him as my own, and place him at the table between the king and myself. but, surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his father, i did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. the royalists will blame me for not having appeared interested in this poor child. the revolutionists will be enraged at the idea that his presentation should have been thought agreeable to me." the next day the queen sent, by a confidential friend, a purse of gold to madame favras, and assured her that she would ever watch, with the deepest interest, over her fortune and that of her son. innumerable plans were now formed for the rescue of the royal family, and abandoned. the king could not be roused to energetic action. his passive courage was indomitable, but he could not be induced to act on the offensive, and, still hoping that by a spirit of conciliation he might win back the affections of his people, he was extremely reluctant to take any measures by which he should be arrayed in hostility against them. maria, on the contrary, knew that decisive action alone could be of any avail. one night, about ten o'clock, the king and queen were sitting in their private apartment of the tuileries, endeavoring to beguile the melancholy hours by a game of cards. the sister of the king, madame elizabeth, with a very pensive countenance, was kneeling upon a stool, by the side of the table, overlooking the game. a nobleman, count d'inisdal, devotedly attached to the fortunes of the royal family, entered, and, in a low tone of voice, informed the king and queen that a plan was already matured to rescue them that very night; that a section of the national guard was gained over, that sets of fleet horses were placed in relays at suitable distances, that carriages were ready, and that now they only wanted the king's consent, and the scheme, at midnight, would be carried into execution. the king listened to every word without the movement of a muscle of his countenance, and, fixing his eyes upon the cards in his hand, as if paying no attention to what had been said, uttered not a syllable. for some time there was perfect silence. at last maria antoinette, who was extremely anxious that the king should avail himself of this opportunity for escape, broke the embarrassing silence by saying, "do you hear, sir, what is said to us?" "yes," replied the king, calmly, "i hear," and he continued his game. again there was a long silence. the queen, extremely anxious and impatient, for the hour of midnight was drawing near, again interrupted the silence by saying earnestly, "but, sir, some reply must be made to this communication." the king paused for a moment, and then, still looking upon the cards in his hand, said, "_the king can not consent to be carried off._" maria antoinette was greatly disappointed at the want of decision and of magnanimity implied in this answer. she, however, said to the nobleman very eagerly, "be careful and report this answer correctly, the king can not _consent_ to be carried off." the king's answer was doubtless intended as a tacit consent while he wished to avoid the responsibility of participating in the design. the count, however, was greatly displeased at this answer, and said to his associates, "i understand it perfectly. he is willing that we should seize and carry him, as if by violence, but wishes, in case of failure, to throw all the blame upon those who are periling their lives to save him." the queen hoped earnestly that the enterprise would not be abandoned, and sat up till after midnight preparing her cases of valuables, and anxiously watching for the coming of their deliverers. but the hours lingered away, and the morning dawned, and the palace was still their prison. the queen, shortly after, remarking upon this indecision of the king, said, "we _must_ seek safety in flight. our peril increases every day. no one can tell to what extremities these disturbances will lead." la fayette had informed the king, that, should he see any alarming movement among the disaffected, threatening the exposure of the royal family to new acts of violence, he would give them an intimation of their danger by the discharge of a few cannon from the battery upon the pont neuf. one night the report of guns from some casual discharge was heard, and the king, regarding it as the warning, in great alarm flew to the apartments of the queen. she was not there. he passed hastily from room to room, and at last found her in the chamber of the dauphin, with her two children in her arms. "madame," said the king to her, "i have been seeking you. i was very anxious about you." "you find me," replied the queen pointing to her children, "at my station." several unavailing attempts were made at this time to assassinate the queen. these discoveries, however, seemed to cause maria no alarm, and she could not be induced to adopt any precautions for her personal safety. rarely did a day pass in which she did not encounter, in some form, ignominy or insult. as the heat of summer came on, the royal family removed to the palace of st. cloud without any opposition, though the national guard followed them, professedly for their protection, but, in reality, to guard against their escape. here another plan was formed for flight. the different members of the royal family, in disguise, were to meet in a wood four leagues from st. cloud. some friends of the royal family, who could be perfectly relied upon, were there to join them. a large carriage was to be in attendance, sufficient to conduct the whole family. the attendants at the palace would have no suspicion of their escape until nine o'clock in the evening, as the royal carriages were frequently out until that hour, and it would then take some time to send to paris to call together the national assembly at midnight, and to send couriers to overtake the fugitives. thus, with fleet horses and fresh relays, and having six or seven hours the start, the king and queen might hope to escape apprehension. the queen very highly approved of this plan, and was very anxious to have it carried into execution. but for some unknown reason, the attempt was relinquished. there were occasional exhibitions of strong individual attachment for the king and queen which would, for a moment, create the illusion that a reaction had commenced in the public mind. one day the queen was sitting in her apartment at st. cloud, in the deepest dejection of spirits, mechanically working upon some tapestry to occupy the joyless and lingering hours. it was four o'clock in the afternoon. the palace was deserted and silent. the very earth and sky seemed mourning in sympathy with the mourning queen. suddenly, an unusual noise, as of many persons conversing in an under tone, was heard beneath the window. the queen immediately rose and went to the window; for every unaccustomed sound was, in such perilous times, an occasion of alarm. below the balcony, she saw a group of some fifty persons, men and women, from the country, apparently anxious to catch a glimpse of her. they were evidently humble people, dressed in the costume of peasants. as soon as they saw the queen, they gave utterance to the most passionate expressions of attachment and devotion. the queen, who had long been accustomed only to looks and words of defiance and insult, was entirely overpowered by these kind words, and could not refrain from bursting into tears. the sight of the weeping queen redoubled the affectionate emotions of the loyal group, and, with the utmost enthusiasm, they reiterated their assurances of love and their prayers for her safety. a lady of the queen's household, apprehensive that the scene might arrest the attention of the numerous spies who surrounded them, led her from the window. the affectionate group, appreciating the prudence of the measure, with tears of sympathy expressed their assent, and with prayers, tears, and benedictions retired. maria was deeply touched by these unwonted tones of kindness, and, throwing herself into her chair, sobbed with uncontrollable emotion. it was long before she could regain her accustomed composure. many unsuccessful attempts were made at this time to assassinate the queen. a wretch by the name of rotondo succeeded one day in scaling the walls of the garden, and hid himself in the shrubbery, intending to stab the queen as she passed in her usual solitary promenade. a shower prevented the queen from going into the garden, and thus her life was saved. and yet, though the assassin was discovered and arrested, the hostility of the public toward the royal family was such that he was shielded from punishment. the king and queen occasionally held private interviews at midnight, with chosen friends, secretly introduced to the palace, in the apartment of the queen. and there, in low tones of voice, and fearful of detection by the numerous spies which infested the palace, they would deliberate upon their peril, and upon the innumerable plans suggested for their extrication. some recommended the resort to violence; that the king should gather around him as many of his faithful subjects as possible, and settle the difficulties by an immediate appeal to arms. others urged further compromise, and the spirit of conciliation, hoping that the king might thus regain his lost popularity, and re-establish his tottering throne. others urged, and maria coincided most cordially in this opinion, that it was necessary for the royal family to escape from paris immediately, which was the focus of disaffection, and at a safe distance, surrounded by their armed friends, to treat with their enemies and to compel them to reasonable terms. the indecision of the king, however, appeared to be an insuperable obstacle in the way of any decisive action. one day a delegation appeared before the royal family from the _conquerors of the bastile_, with a new year's gift for the young dauphin. the present consisted of a box of dominoes curiously wrought from the stone of which that celebrated state prison was built. it was an ingenious plan to insult the royal family under the pretense of respect and affection, for on the lid of the box there was engraved the following sentiment: "_these stones, from the walls which inclosed the innocent victims of arbitrary power, have been converted into a toy, to be presented to you, monseigneur, as an homage of the people's love, and to teach you the extent of their power._" about this time, the two aunts of the king left france, ostensibly for the purpose of travelling, but, in reality, as an experiment, to see what opposition would be made to prevent members of the royal family from leaving the kingdom. as soon as their intention was known, it excited the greatest popular ferment. a vast crowd of men and women assembled at the palace, to prevent, if possible, with lawless violence, their departure. it was merely two elderly ladies who wished to leave france, but the excitement pervaded even the army, and many of the soldiers joined the mob in the determination that they should not be permitted to depart. the traces of the carriages were cut, and the officers, who tried to protect the princesses, were nearly murdered. the whole nation was agitated by the attempts of these two peaceful ladies to visit rome. when at some distance from paris, they were arrested, and the report of their arrest was sent to the national assembly. the king found the excitement so great, that he wrote a letter to the assembly, informing them that his aunts wished to leave france to visit other countries, and that, though he witnessed their separation from him and his family with much regret, he did not feel that he had any right to deprive them of the privilege which the humblest citizens enjoyed, of going whenever and wherever they pleased. the question of their detention was for a long time debated in the assembly. "what right," said one, "have we to prohibit these ladies from traveling." "we have a law," another indignantly replied, "paramount to all others--the law which commands us to take care of the public safety." the debate was finally terminated by the caustic remark of a member who was ashamed of the protracted discussion. "europe," said he, "will be greatly astonished, no doubt, on hearing that the national assembly spent four hours in deliberating upon the departure of two ladies who preferred hearing mass at rome rather than at paris." the debate was thus terminated, and the ladies were permitted to depart. [illustration: palace of st. cloud.] early in the spring of , the king and queen, who had been passing some time in paris at the tuileries, wished to return to their country seat at st. cloud. many members of the household had already gone there, and dinner was prepared for the royal family at the palace for their reception. the carriages were at the door, and, as the king and queen were descending, a great tumult in the yard arrested their attention. they found that the guard, fearful that they might escape, had mutinied, and closed the door of the palace, declaring that they would not let them pass. some of the personal friends of the king interposed in favor of the insulted captives, and endeavored to secure for them more respectful treatment. they were, however, seized by the infuriated soldiers, and narrowly escaped with their lives. the king and queen returned in humiliation to their apartments, feeling that their palace was indeed a prison. they, however, secretly did not regret the occurrence, as it made more public the indignities to which they were exposed, and would aid in justifying before the community any attempts they might hereafter make to escape. the king had at length become thoroughly aroused to a sense of the desperate position of his affairs. but the royal family was watched so narrowly that it was now extremely difficult to make any preparations for departure; and the king and queen, both having been brought up surrounded by the luxuries and restraints of a palace, knew so little of the world, and yet were so accustomed to have their own way, that they were entirely incapable of forming any judicious plan for themselves, and, at the same time, they were quite unwilling to adopt the views of their more intelligent friends. they began, however, notwithstanding the most earnest remonstrances, to make preparations for flight by providing themselves with every conceivable comfort for their exile. in vain did their friends assure them that they could purchase any thing they desired in any part of europe; that such quantities of luggage would be only an encumbrance; that it was dangerous, under the eyes of their vigilant enemies, to be making such extensive preparations. neither the king nor queen would heed such monitions. the queen persisted in her resolution to send to brussels, piece by piece, all the articles of a complete and extensive wardrobe for herself and her children, to be ready for them there upon their arrival. madame campan, the intimate friend and companion of the queen, was extremely uneasy in view of this imprudence; but, as she could not dissuade the queen, she went out again and again, in the evening and in disguise, to purchase the necessary articles and have them made up. she adopted the precaution of purchasing but few articles at any one shop, and of employing various seamstresses, lest suspicion should be excited. she had the garments made for the daughter of the queen, cut by the measure of another young lady who exactly resembled her in size. gradually they thus filled one large trunk with clothing, which was sent to the dwelling of a lady, one of the friends of the queen, who was to convey it to brussels. the queen had a very magnificent dressing-case, which cost twelve hundred dollars. this she also determined that she could not leave behind. it could not be taken from the palace, and sent away out of the country, without attracting attention, and leading at once to the conviction that the queen was to follow it. the queen, in her innocent simplicity of mankind, thought that the people could be blinded like children, by telling them that she intended to send it as a present to the archduchess christina. however, by the most earnest remonstrances of her friends, she was induced only so far to change her plan as to consent that the _chargé d'affaires_ from vienna should ask her at her toilet, and in the presence of all around her, to have just such a dressing-case made for the archduchess. this plan was carried into execution, and the dressing-case was thus publicly made; but, as it could not be finished in season, the queen sent her own dressing-case, saying that she would keep the new one herself. it, however, did not deceive the spies who surrounded the queen. they noticed all these preparations, and communicated them to the authorities. she also very deliberately collected all her diamonds and jewels in her private boudoir, and beguiled the anxious hours in inclosing them in cotton and packing them away. these diamonds, carefully boxed, were placed in the hands of the queen's hair-dresser, a man in whom she could confide, to be carried by him to brussels. he faithfully fulfilled his trust. but one of the women of the queen, whom she did not suspect of treachery, but who was a spy of the assembly, entered her boudoir by false keys when the queen was absent, and reported all these proceedings. the hair-dresser perished upon the scaffold for his fidelity. let the name of leonard be honored. the infamous informer has gone to oblivion, and we will not aid even to embalm her name in contempt. chapter vii. the flight. increasing excitement.--inflammatory speech of marat.--the king and queen resolve to fly.--effort's of the king's brother.--exasperation of the people.--intention of the king.--deliberations of the emigrants.--dangers thicken.--the plan of flight.--the marquis de bouillé.--the king refuses to change his plan.--the marquis d'agoult.--the count de fersen.--his noble character.--the king and queen leave the palace.--the queen loses her way.--departure from paris.--arrival at bondy.--departure of the count de fersen.--the passport.--appearance of the fugitives.--an accident.--the journey renewed.--emotions of the fugitives.--suspicions excited.--failure of the guard.--the king recognized.--the dragoons and national guard.--the post-master's son.--he forms an ambush.--arrival at varennes.--alarm of the king.--the royal family arrested.--the alarm given.--the king discovers himself.--his affecting appeal.--an affecting scene.--the royal group.--appeal of the queen.--telegraphic dispatch to paris.--intense agony of the queen.--consternation in paris.--the palace forced.--insults to the royal family.--measures to arrest the king.--the tumult subsides. the ferment in the national assembly was steadily and strongly increasing. every day brought new rumors of the preparation of the emigrants to invade france, aided by the armies of monarchical europe, and to desolate the rebellious empire with fire and sword. tidings were floating upon every breeze, grossly exaggerated, of the designs of the king and queen to escape, to join the avenging army, and to wreak a terrible vengeance upon their country. furious speeches were made in the assembly and in the streets, to rouse to madness the people, now destitute of work and of bread. "citizens," ferociously exclaimed marat, "watch, with an eagle eye, that palace, the impenetrable den where plots are ripening against the people. there a perfidious queen lords it over a treacherous king, and rears the cubs of tyranny. lawless priests there consecrate the arms which are to be bathed in the blood of the people. the genius of austria is there, guided by the austrian antoinette. the emigrants are there stimulated in their thirst for vengeance. every night the nobility, with concealed daggers, steal into this den. they are knights of the poniard--assassins of the people. why is not the property of emigrants confiscated--their houses burned--a price set upon their heads? the king is ready for flight. watch! watch! a great blow is preparing--is ready to burst; if you do not prevent it by a counter blow more sudden, more terrible, the people and liberty are annihilated." the king and queen, in the apartments where they were virtually imprisoned, read these angry and inflammatory appeals, and both now felt that no further time was to be lost in attempting to effect their escape. it was known that the brother of the king, subsequently charles x., was going from court to court in europe, soliciting aid for the rescue of the illustrious prisoners. it was known that the king of austria, brother of maria antoinette, had promised to send an army of thirty-five thousand men to unite with the emigrants at coblentz in their march upon paris. every monarch in europe was alarmed, in view of the instability of his own throne, should the rebellion of the people against the throne in france prove triumphant; and spain, prussia, sardinia, naples, and switzerland had guaranteed equal forces to assist in the re-establishment of the french monarchy. it is not strange that the exasperation of the people should have been aroused, by the knowledge of these facts, beyond all bounds. and their leaders were aware that they were engaged in a conflict in which defeat was inevitable death. the king had now resolved, if possible, to escape. he, however, declared that it never was his intention to join the emigrants and invade france with a foreign force. that, on the contrary, he strongly disapproved of the measures adopted by the emigrants as calculated only to increase the excitement against the throne, and to peril his cause. he declared that it was only his wish to escape from the scenes of violence, insult, and danger to which he was exposed in paris, and somewhere on the frontiers of his kingdom to surround himself by his loyal subjects, and there endeavor amicably to adjust the difficulties which desolated the empire. the character of the king renders it most probable that such was his intention, and such has been the verdict of posterity. but there was another source of embarrassment which extremely troubled the royal family. the emigrants were deliberating upon the expediency of declaring the throne vacant by default of the king's liberty, and to nominate his brother m. le comte d'artois regent in his stead. the king greatly feared this moral forfeiture of the throne with which he was menaced under the pretense of delivering him. he was justly apprehensive that the advance of an invading army, under the banners of his brother, would be the signal for the immediate destruction of himself and family. flight, consequently, had become his only refuge; and flight was encompassed with the most fearful perils. long and agonizing were the months of deliberation in which the king and queen saw these dangers hourly accumulating around them, while each day the vigilance of their enemies were redoubled, and the chances of escape diminished. the following plan was at last adopted for the flight. the royal family were to leave paris at midnight in disguise, in two carriages, for montmédy, on the frontiers of france and germany, about two hundred miles from paris. this town was within the limits of france, so that the king could not be said to have fled from his kingdom. the nearest road and the great public thoroughfare led through the city of rheims; but, as the king had been crowned there, he feared that he might meet some one by whom he would be recognized, and he therefore determined to take a more circuitous route, by by-roads and through small and unfrequented villages. relays of horses were to be privately conveyed to all these villages, that the carriages might be drawn on with the greatest rapidity, and small detachments of soldiers were to be stationed at important posts, to resist any interruption which might possibly be attempted by the peasantry. the king also had a large carriage built privately, expressly for himself and his family, while certain necessary attendants were to follow in another. the marquis de bouillé, who commanded a portion of the troops still faithful to the king, was the prime confidant and helper in this movement. he earnestly, but in vain, endeavored to induce the king to make some alterations in this plan. he entreated him, in the first place, not to excite suspicion by the use of a peculiar carriage constructed for his own use, but to make use of common carriages such as were daily seen traversing the roads. he also besought him to travel by the common high way, where relays of horses were at all times ready by night and by day. he represented to the king that, should he take the unfrequented route, it would be necessary to send relays of horses beforehand to all these little villages; that so unusual an occurrence would attract attention and provoke inquiry. he urged also upon the king that detachments of troops sent along these solitary roads would excite curiosity, and would inevitably create suspicion. the king, however, self-willed, refused to heed these remonstrances, and persisted in his own plan. he, however, consented to take with him the marquis d'agoult, a man of great firmness and energy, to advise and assist in the unforeseen accidents which might embarrass the enterprise. he also reluctantly consented to ask the emperor of austria to make a threatening movement toward the frontier, which would be an excuse for the movement through these villages of detachments of french troops. these arrangements made, the marquis de bouillé sent a faithful officer to take an accurate survey of the road, and present a report to the king. he then, under various pretexts, removed to a distance those troops who were known to be disaffected to the royal cause, and endeavored to gather along the line of flight those in whose loyalty he thought he could confide. at the palace of the tuileries, the secret of the contemplated flight had been confided only to the king, the queen, the princess elizabeth, sister of the king, and two or three faithful attendants. the count de fersen, a most noble-spirited young gentleman from sweden, most cheerfully periled his life in undertaking the exterior arrangements of this hazardous enterprise. he had often been admitted, in the happy days of maria antoinette, to the parties and fêtes which lent wings to the hours at the little trianon, and chivalrous admiration of her person and character induced him to consecrate himself with the most passionate devotion to her cause. three soldiers of the body-guard, valorg, monstrei, and maldan, were also received into confidence, and unhesitatingly engaged in an enterprise in which success was extremely problematical, and failure was certain death. they, disguised as servants, were to mount behind the carriages, and protect the royal family at all risks. the night of the th of june at length arrived, and the hearts of the royal inmates of the tuileries throbbed violently as the hour approached which was to decide their destiny. at the hour of eleven, according to their custom, they took leave of those friends who were in the habit of paying their respects to them at that time, and dismissed their attendants as if to retire to their beds. as soon as they were alone, they hastily, and with trembling hands, dressed themselves in the disguises which had been prepared for their journey, and by different doors and at different times left the palace. it was the dark hour of midnight. the lights glimmered feebly from the lamps, but still there was the bustle of crowds coming and going in those ever-busy streets. the queen, in her traveling dress, leaning upon the arm of one of the body-guard, and leading her little daughter maria theresa by the hand, passed out at a door in the rear of the palace, and hastened through the place du carrousel, and, losing her way, crossed the seine by the pont royal, and wandered for some time through the darkest and most obscure streets before she found the two hackney-coaches which were waiting for them at the quai des théatins. the king left the palace in a similar manner, leading his son louis by the hand. he also lost his way in the unfrequented streets through which it was necessary for him to pass. the queen waited for half an hour in the most intense anxiety before the king arrived. at last, however, all were assembled, and, entering the hackney-coaches, the count de fersen, disguised as a coachman, leaped up on the box, and the wheels rattled over the pavements of the city as the royal family fled in this obscurity from their palace and their throne. the emotions excited in the bosoms of the illustrious fugitives were too intense, and the perils to which they were exposed too dreadful, to allow of any conversation. grasping each other's hands, they sat in silence through the dark hours, with the gloomy remembrance of the past oppressing their spirits, and with the dread that the light of morning might introduce them to new disasters. a couple of hours of silence and gloom passed slowly away, and the coaches arrived at bondy, the first stage from paris. the gray dawn of the morning was just appearing in the east as they hurriedly changed their coaches for the large traveling carriage the king had ordered and another coach which there awaited them. count de fersen kissed the hands of the king and queen, and leaving them, according to previous arrangements, with their attendants, hastened the same night by another route to brussels, in order to rejoin the royal family at a later period. the king's carriages now rolled rapidly on toward chalons, an important town on their route. the queen had assumed the title and character of a german baroness returning to frankfort with her two children; the king was her valet de chambre, the princess elizabeth, the king's sister, was her waiting-maid. the passport was made out in the following manner: "permit to pass madame the baroness of korf, who is returning to frankfort with her two children, her waiting-maid, her valet de chambre, and three domestics. "the minister of foreign affairs. "montmorin." at each post-house on the road relays of eight horses were waiting for the royal carriages. when the sun rose over the hills of france they were already many leagues from the capital, and as the carriages rattled furiously along over hill and dale, the unwonted spectacle on that unfrequented road attracted much attention. at every little village where they stopped for an exchange of horses, the villagers gathered in groups around the carriages, admiring the imposing spectacle. the king was fully aware that the knowledge of his escape could not long be concealed from the authorities at paris, and that all the resources of his foes would immediately be put into requisition to secure his arrest. they therefore pressed on with the utmost speed, that they might get as far as possible on their way before the pursuit should commence. the remarkable size and structure of the carriage which the king had caused to be constructed, the number of horses drawing the carriages, the martial figures and commanding features of the three body-guard strangely contrasting with the livery of menials, the portly appearance and kingly countenance of louis, who sat in a corner of the carriage in the garb of a valet de chambre, all these circumstances conspired to excite suspicion and to magnify the dangers of the royal family. they, however, proceeded without interruption until they arrived at the little town of montmirail, near chalons, where, unfortunately, one of the carriages broke down, and they were detained an hour in making repairs. it was an hour of intense anxiety, for they knew that every moment was increasing the probability of their capture. the carriage, however, was repaired, and they started again on their flight. the sun shone brightly upon the fields, which were blooming in all the verdure of the opening summer. the seclusion of the region through which they were passing was enchanting to their eyes, weary of looking out upon the tumultuous mobs of paris. the children, worn out by the exhaustion of a sleepless night, were peacefully slumbering in their parents' arms. each revolution of the wheels was bringing them nearer to the frontier, where their faithful friend, m. de bouillé, was waiting, with his loyal troops, to receive them. a gleam of hope and joy now rose in their bosoms; and, as they entered the town of chalons, at half past three o'clock in the afternoon, smiles of joy lighted their countenances, and they began to congratulate themselves that they were fast approaching the end of their dangers and their sufferings. as the horses were changing, a group of idlers gathered around the carriages. the king, emboldened by his distance from the capital, imprudently looked out at the window of the carriage. the post-master, who had been in paris, instantly recognized the king. he, however, without the manifestation of the least surprise, aided in harnessing the horses, and ordered the postillion to drive on. he would not be an accomplice in arresting the escape of the king. at the next relay, at point sommeville, quite a concourse gathered around the carriages, and the populace appeared uneasy and suspicious. they watched the travelers very narrowly, and were observed to be whispering with one another, and making ominous signs. no one, however, ventured to make any movement to detain the carriages, and they proceeded on their way. a detachment of fifty hussars had been appointed to meet the king at this spot. they were there at the assigned moment. the breaking down of the carriage, however, detained the king, and the hussars, observing the suspicions their presence was awaking, departed half an hour before the arrival of the carriages. had the king arrived but one half hour sooner, the safety of the royal family would have been secured. the king was surprised and alarmed at not meeting the guard he had anticipated, and drove rapidly on to the next relay at sainte menehould. it was now half past seven o'clock of a beautiful summer's evening. the sun was just sinking below the horizon, but the broad light still lingered upon the valleys and the hills. as they were changing the horses, the king, alarmed at not meeting the friends he expected, put his head out of the window to see if any friend was there who could inform him why the detachments were detained. the son of the post-master instantly recognized the king by his resemblance to the imprint upon the coins in circulation. the report was immediately whispered about among the crowd, but there was not sufficient force, upon the spur of the moment, to venture to detain the carriages. there was in the town a detachment of troops, friendly to the king, who would immediately have come to his rescue had the people attempted to arrest him. it was whispered among the dragoons that the king was in the carriage, and the commandant immediately ordered the troops to mount their horses and follow to protect the royal family; but the national guard in the place, far more numerous, surrounded the barracks, closed the stables, and would not allow the soldiers to depart. the king, entirely unconscious of these movements, was pursuing his course toward the next relay. young drouet, however, the post-master's son, had immediately, upon recognizing the king, saddled his fleetest horse, and started at his utmost speed for the post-house at varennes, that he might, before the king's arrival, inform the municipal authorities of his suspicions, and collect a sufficient force to detain the travelers. one of the dragoons, witnessing the precipitate departure of drouet, and suspecting its cause, succeeded in mounting his horse, and pursued him, resolved to overtake him, and either detain him until the king had passed, or take his life. drouet, however, perceiving that he was pursued, plunged into the wood, with every by-path of which he was familiar, and, in the darkness of the night, eluded his pursuer, and arrived at varennes, by a very much shorter route than the carriage road, nearly two hours before the king. he immediately communicated to a band of young men his suspicions, and they, emulous of the glory of arresting their sovereign, did not inform the authorities or arouse the populace, but, arming themselves, they formed an ambush to seize the persons of the travelers. it was half past seven o'clock of a cold, dark, and gloomy night, when the royal family, exhausted with twenty-four hours of incessant anxiety and fatigue, arrived at the few straggling houses in the outskirts of the village of varennes. they there confidently expected to find an escort and a relay of horses provided by their careful friend, m. bouillé. a small river passes through the little town of varennes, dividing it into two portions, the upper and lower town, which villages are connected by a bridge crossing the stream. the king, by some misunderstanding, expected to find the relay upon the side of the river before crossing the bridge. but the fresh horses had been judiciously placed upon the other side of the river, so that the carriages, having crossed the bridge at full speed, could more easily, with a change of horses, hasten unmolested on their way. the king and queen, greatly alarmed at finding no horses, left the carriage, and wandered about in sad perplexity for half an hour, through the dark, silent, and deserted streets. in most painful anxiety, they returned to their carriages, and decided to cross the river, hoping to find the horses and their friends in the upper town. the bridge was a narrow stone structure, with its entrance surmounted by a gloomy, massive arch, upon which was reared a tower, a relic of the feudal system, which had braved the storms of centuries. here, under this dark archway, drouet and his companions had formed their ambuscade. the horses had hardly entered the gloomy pass, when they were stopped by a cart which had been overturned, and five or six armed men, seizing their heads, ordered the travelers to alight and exhibit their passports. the three body-guard seized their arms, and were ready to sacrifice their lives in the attempt to force the passage, but the king would allow no blood to be shed. the horses were turned round by the captors, and the carriages were escorted by drouet and his comrades to the door of a grocer named sausse, who was the humble mayor of this obscure town. at the same time, some of the party rushed to the church, mounted the belfry, and rang the alarm bell. the solemn booming of that midnight bell roused the affrighted inhabitants from their pillows, and soon the whole population was gathered around the carriages and about the door of the grocer's shop. it was in vain for the king to deny his rank. his marked features betrayed him. clamor and confusion filled the night air. men, women, and children were running to and fro; the populace were arming, to be prepared for any emergency; and the royal family were worn out by sleeplessness and toil. at last louis made a bold appeal to the magnanimity of his foes. taking the hand of sausse, he said, "yes! i am your king, and in your hands i place my destiny, and that of my wife, my sister, and my children. our lives and the fate of the empire depend upon you. permit me to continue my journey. i have no design of leaving the country. i am but going to the midst of a part of the army, and in a french town, to regain my real liberty, of which the factions at paris deprive me. from thence i wish to make terms with the assembly, who, like myself, are held in subjection through fear. i am not about to destroy, but to save and to secure the constitution. if you detain me, i myself, france, all, are lost. i conjure you, as a father, as a man, as a citizen, leave the road free to us. in an hour we shall be saved, and with us france is saved. and, if you have any respect for one whom you profess to regard as your master, i command you, as your king, to permit us to depart." [illustration: capture at varennes.] the appeal touched the heart of the grocer and the captors by whom the king was surrounded. tears came into the eyes of many, they hesitated; the expression of their countenances showed that they would willingly, if they dared to consult the dictates of their own hearts, let the king pass on. a more affecting scene can hardly be imagined. it was midnight. torches and flambeaux were gleaming around. men, women, and children were hurrying to and fro in the darkness. the alarm bell was pealing out its hurried sounds through the still air. a crowd of half-dressed peasants and artisans was rapidly accumulating about the inn. the king stood pleading with his subjects for liberty and life, far more moved by compassion for his wife and children than for himself. the children, weary and terrified, and roused suddenly from the sleep in which they had been lost in their parents' arms, gazed upon the strange scene with undefined dread, unconscious of the magnitude of their peril. the queen, seated upon a bale of goods in the shop, with her two children clinging to her side, plead, at times with the tears of despair, and again with all the majesty of her queenly nature, for pity or for justice. she hoped that a woman's heart throbbed beneath the bosom of the wife of the mayor, and made an appeal to her which one would think that, under the circumstances, no human heart could have resisted. "you are a mother, madame," said the queen, in most imploring accents, "you are a wife! the fate of a wife and mother is in your hands. think what i must suffer for these children--for my husband. at one word from you i shall owe them to you. the queen of france will owe you more than her kingdom--more than life." "madame," coldly replied the selfish and calculating woman, "i should be happy to help you if i could without danger. you are thinking of your husband, i am thinking of mine. it is a wife's first duty to think of her own husband." the queen saw that all appeals to such a spirit must be in vain, and, taking her two children by the hand, with madame elizabeth ascended the stairs which conducted from the grocer's shop to his rooms above, where she was shielded from the gaze of the crowd. she threw herself into a chair, and, overwhelmed with anguish, burst into a flood of tears. the alarm bell continued to ring; telegraphic dispatches were sent to paris, communicating tidings of the arrest; the neighboring villagers flocked into town; the national guard, composed of people opposed to the king, were rapidly assembled from all quarters, and the streets barricaded to prevent the possibility of any rescue by the soldiers who advocated the royal cause. thus the dreadful hours lingered away till the morning dawned. the increasing crowd stimulated one another to ferocity and barbarity. insults, oaths, and imprecations incessantly fell upon the ears of the captives. the queen probably endured as much of mental agony that night as the human mind is capable of enduring. the conflict of indignation, terror, and despair was so dreadful, that her hair, which the night previous had been auburn, was in the morning white as snow. this extraordinary fact is well attested, and indicates an enormity of woe almost incomprehensible. there was no knowledge in paris of the king's departure until seven o'clock in the morning, when the servants of the palace entered the apartments of the king and queen, and found the beds undisturbed and the rooms deserted. the alarm spread like wildfire through the palace and through the city. the alarm bells were rung, cannon were fired, and the cry resounded through the streets, "the king has fled! the king has fled!" the terrified populace were expecting almost at the next moment to see him return with an avenging army to visit his rebellious subjects with the most terrible retribution. from all parts of the city, every lane, and street, and alley leading to the tuileries was thronged with the crowd, pouring on, like an inundation, toward the deserted palace. the doors were forced open, and the interior of the palace was instantly filled with the swarming multitudes. the mob from the streets polluted the sanctuaries of royalty with every species of vulgarity and obscenity. an amazon market-woman took possession of the queen's bed, and, spreading her cherries upon it, she took her seat upon the royal couch, exclaiming, "to-day it is the nation's turn to take their ease." one of the caps of the queen was placed in derision upon the head of a vile girl of the street. she exclaimed that it would sully her forehead, and trampled it under her feet with contempt. every conceivable insult was heaped upon the royal family. placards, posted upon the walls, offered trivial rewards to any one who would bring back the noxious animals which had fled from the palace. the metropolis was agitated to its very center, and the most vigorous measures immediately adopted to arrest the king, if possible, before he should reach the friends who could afford him protection. this turmoil continued for many hours, till the cry passed from mouth to mouth, and filled the streets, "he is arrested! he is arrested!" chapter viii. the return to paris. - despair of the king.--lovely character of madame elizabeth.--return to paris.--insults of the mob.--massacre of m. dampierre.--commissioners from paris.--noble character of barnave.--brutality of pétion.--approach to paris.--appalling violence.--sufferings of the royal family.--arrival at the tuileries.--exertions of la fayette.--roar of the multitude.--spirit of the queen.--embarrassing position of la fayette.--the palace rigorously guarded.--the queen grossly insulted.--despair of the king.--supremacy of the mob.--a brutal assemblage.--ferocious inscriptions.--attack upon the palace.--the mob force an entrance.--fearlessness of the king.--the mob awed.--courage of madame elizabeth.--cries of the mob.--the red bonnet.--first glimpse of napoleon.--the queen's apartments invaded.--insulted by abandoned women.--the queen's children.--the young girl.--meeting of the national assembly.--the king's friends derided.--the president of the assembly.--the mob retires.--deputies visit the royal family.--unfeeling remark.--hopeless condition of the royal family.--breast-plate for the king.--dagger-proof corset for the queen.--fête in the champ de mars.--the last appearance of the royal family in public. during all the long hours of the night, while the king was detained in the grocer's shop at varennes, he was, with anxiety indescribable, looking every moment for soldiers to appear, sent by m. bouillé for his rescue. but the national guard, which was composed of those who were in favor of the revolution, were soon assembled in such numbers as to render all idea of rescue hopeless. the sun rose upon varennes but to show the king the utter desperation of his condition, and he resigned himself to despair. the streets were filled with an infuriated populace, and from every direction the people were flocking toward the focus of excitement. the children of the royal family, utterly exhausted, had fallen asleep. madame elizabeth, one of the most lovely and gentle of earthly beings, the sister of the king, who, through all these trials, and, indeed, through her whole life, manifested peculiarly the spirit of heaven, was, regardless of herself, earnestly praying for support for her brother and sister. preparations were immediately made to forward the captives to paris, lest the troops of m. bouillé, informed of their arrest, should come to their rescue. the king did every thing in his power to delay the departure, and one of the women of the queen feigned sudden and alarming illness at the moment all of the rest had been pressed into the carriages. but the impatience of the populace could not thus be restrained. with shouts and threats they compelled all into the carriages, and the melancholy procession, escorted by three or four thousand of the national guard, and followed by a numerous and ever-increasing concourse of the people, moved slowly toward paris. hour after hour dragged heavily along as the fugitives, drinking the very dregs of humiliation, were borne by their triumphant and exasperated foes back to the horrors from which they had fled. the road was lined on either side by countless thousands, insulting the agonized victims with derision, menaces, and the most ferocious gestures. varennes is distant from paris one hundred and eighty miles, and for this whole distance, by night and by day, with hardly an hour's delay for food or repose, the royal family were exposed to the keenest torture of which the spiritual nature is in this world susceptible. every revolution of the wheels but brought them into contact with fresh vociferations of calumny. the fury of the populace was so great that it was with difficulty that the guard could protect their captives from the most merciless massacre. again and again there was a rush made at the carriages, and the mob was beaten back by the arms of the soldiers. one old gentleman, m. dampierre, ever accustomed to venerate royalty, stood by the road side, affected by the profoundest grief in view of the melancholy spectacle. uncovering his gray hairs, he bowed respectfully to his royal master, and ventured to give utterance to accents of sympathy. the infuriated populace fell upon him like tigers, and tore him to pieces before the eyes of the king and queen. the wheels of the royal carriage came very near running over his bleeding corpse. the procession was at length met by commissioners sent from the assembly to take charge of the king. ashamed of the brutality of the people, barnave and pétion, the two commissioners, entered the royal carriage to share the danger of its inmates. they shielded the prisoners from death, but they could not shield them from insult and outrage. an ecclesiastic, venerable in person and in character, approached the carriages as they moved sadly along, and exhibited upon his features some traces of respect and sorrow for fallen royalty. it was a mortal offense. the brutal multitude would not endure a _look_ even of sympathy for the descendant of a hundred kings. they rushed upon the defenseless clergyman, and would have killed him instantly had not barnave most energetically interfered. "frenchmen!" he shouted, from the carriage windows, "will you, a nation of brave men, become a people of murderers!" barnave was a young man of much nobleness of character. his polished manners, and his sympathy for the wrecked and ruined family of the king, quite won their gratitude. pétion, on the contrary, was coarse and brutal. he was a _democrat_ in the worst sense of that abused word. he affected rude and rough familiarity with the royal family, lounged contemptuously upon the cushions, ate apples and melons, and threw the rind out of the window, careless whether or not he hit the king in the face. in all his remarks, he seemed to take a ferocious pleasure in wounding the feelings of his victims. as the cavalcade drew near to paris, the crowds surrounding the carriages became still more dense, and the fury of the populace more unmeasured. the leaders of the national assembly were very desirous of protecting the royal family from the rage of the mob, and to shield the nation from the disgrace of murdering the king, the queen, and their children in the streets. it was feared that, when the prisoners should enter the thronged city, where the mob had so long held undisputed sway, it would be impossible to restrain the passions of the multitude, and that the pavements would be defaced with the blood of the victims. placards were pasted upon the walls in every part of the city, "whoever applauds the king shall be beaten; whoever insults him shall be hung." as the carriages approached the suburbs of the metropolis, the multitudes which thronged them became still more numerous and tumultuous, and the exhibitions of violence more appalling. all the dens of infamy in the city vomited their denizens to meet and deride, and, if possible, to destroy the captured monarch. it was a day of intense and suffocating heat. ten persons were crowded into the royal carriage. not a breath of air fanned the fevered cheeks of the sufferers. the heat, reflected from the pavements and the bayonets, was almost insupportable. clouds of dust enveloped them, and the sufferings of the children were so great that the queen was actually apprehensive that they would die. the queen dropped the window of the carriage, and, in a voice of agony, implored some one to give her a cup of water for her fainting child. "see, gentlemen," she exclaimed, "in what a condition my poor children are! one of them is choking." "we will yet choke them and you," was the brutal reply, "in another fashion." several times the mob broke through the line which guarded the carriages, pushed aside the horses, and, mounting the steps, stretched their clenched fists in at the windows. the procession moved perseveringly along in the midst of the clashing of sabers, the clamor of the blood-thirsty multitude, and the cries of men trampled under the hoofs of the horses. it was the th of june, , at seven o'clock in the evening, when this dreadful procession, passing through the barrier de l'Étoile, entered the city, and traversed the streets, through double files of soldiers, to the tuileries. at length they arrived, half dead with exhaustion and despair, at the palace. the crowd was so immense that it was with the utmost difficulty that an entrance could be effected. at that moment, la fayette, who had been adopting the most vigorous measures for the protection of the persons of the royal family, came to meet them. the moment maria antoinette saw him, forgetful of her own danger, and trembling for the body-guard who had periled their lives for her family, she exclaimed, "monsieur la fayette, save the body-guard." the king and queen alighted from the carriage. some of the soldiers took the children, and carried them through the crowd into the palace. a member of the assembly, who had been inimical to the king, came forward, and offered his arm to the queen for her protection. she looked him a moment in the face, and indignantly rejected the proffered aid of an enemy. then, seeing a deputy who had been their friend, she eagerly accepted his arm, and ascended the steps of the palace. a prolonged roar, as of thunder, ascended from the multitudinous throng which surrounded the palace when the king and queen had entered, and the doors of their prison were again closed against them. [illustration: the tuileries.] la fayette was at the head of the national guard. he was a strong advocate for the rights of the people. at the same time, he wished to respect the rights of the king, and to sustain a constitutional monarchy. as soon as they had entered the palace, maria antoinette, with that indomitable spirit which ever characterized her, approached la fayette, and offered to him the keys of her casket, as if he were her jailer. la fayette, deeply wounded, refused to receive them. the queen indignantly, with her own hands, placed them in his hat. "your majesty will have the goodness to take them back," said the marquis, "for i certainly shall not touch them." the position of la fayette at this time was about as embarrassing as it could possibly have been; and he was virtually the jailer of the royal family, answerable with his life for their safe keeping. he had always been a firm friend of civil and religious liberty. he was very anxious to see france blessed with those free institutions and that recognition of popular rights which are the glory of america, but he also wished to protect the king and queen from outrage and insult; and a storm of popular fury had now risen which he knew not how to control or to guide. he, however, resolved to do all in his power to protect the royal family, and to watch the progress of events with the hope of establishing constitutional liberty and a constitutional throne over france. the palace was now guarded, by command of the assembly, with a degree of rigor unknown before. the iron gates of the courts and garden of the tuileries were kept locked. a list of the persons who were to be permitted to see the royal family was made out, and none others were allowed to enter. at every door sentinels were placed, and in every passage, and in the corridor which connected the chambers of the king and queen, armed men were stationed. the doors of the sleeping apartments of the king and queen were kept open night and day, and a guard was placed there to keep his eye ever upon the victims. no respect was paid to female modesty, and the queen was compelled to retire to her bed under the watchful eye of an unfeeling soldier. it seems impossible that a civilized people could have been guilty of such barbarism. but all sentiments of humanity appear to have fled from france. one of the queen's women, at night, would draw her own bed between that of the queen and the open door, that she might thus partially shield the person of her royal mistress. the king was so utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the calamities in which he was now involved, that his mind, for a season, seemed to be prostrated and paralyzed by the blow. for ten days he did not exchange a single word with any member of his family, but moved sadly about in the apathy of despair, or sat in moody silence. at last the queen threw herself upon her knees before him, and, presenting to him her children, besought him, for her sake and that of their little ones, to rouse his fortitude. "we may all perish," she said, "but let us, at least, perish like sovereigns, and not wait to be strangled unresistingly upon the very floor of our apartments." the long and dreary months of the autumn, the winter, and the spring thus passed away, with occasional gleams of hope visiting their minds, but with the storm of revolution, on the whole, growing continually more black and terrific. general anarchy rioted throughout france. murders were daily committed with impunity. there was no law. the mob had all power in their hands. neither the king nor queen could make their appearance any where without exposure to insult. violent harangues in the assembly and in the streets had at length roused the populace to a new act of outrage. the immediate cause was the refusal of the king to give his sanction to a bill for the persecution of the priests. it was the th of june, . a tumultuous assemblage of all the miserable, degraded, and vicious, who thronged the garrets and the cellars of paris, and who had been gathered from all lands by the lawlessness with which crime could riot in the capital, were seen converging, as by a common instinct, toward the palace. they bore banners fearfully expressive of their ferocity, and filled the air with the most savage outcries. upon the end of a pike there was affixed a bleeding heart, with the inscription, "the heart of the aristocracy." another bore a doll, suspended to a frame by the neck, with this inscription, "to the gibbet with the austrian." with the ferocity of wolves, they surrounded the palace in a mass impenetrable. the king and queen, as they looked from their windows upon the multitudinous gathering, swaying to and fro like the billows of the ocean in a storm, and with the clamor of human passions, more awful than the voice of many waters, rending the skies, instinctively clung to one another and to their children in their powerlessness. madame elizabeth, with her saint-like spirit, and her heaven-directed thoughts, was ever unmindful of her own personal danger in her devotion to her beloved brother. the king hoped that the soldiers who were stationed as a guard within the inclosures of the palace would be able to protect them from violence. the gates leading to the place du carrousel were soon shattered beneath the blows of axes, and the human torrent poured in with the resistlessness of a flood. the soldiers very deliberately shook the priming from their guns, as the emphatic expression to the mob that they had nothing to fear from them, and the artillery men coolly directed their pieces against the palace. axes and iron bars were immediately leveled at the doors, and they flew from their hinges; and the drunken and infuriated rabble, with clubs, and pistols, and daggers, poured, an interminable throng, through the halls and apartments where kings, for ages, had reigned in inapproachable pomp and power. the servants of the king, in terror, fled in every direction. still the crowd came rushing and roaring on, crashing the doors before them, till they approached the apartment in which the royal family was secluded. the king, who, though deficient in active energy, possessed passive fearlessness in the most eminent degree, left his wife, children, and sister clinging together, and entered the adjoining room to meet his assailants. just as he entered the room, the door, which was bolted, fell with a crash, and the mob was before him. for a moment the wretches were held at bay by the calm dignity of the monarch, as, without the tremor of a nerve, he gazed steadily upon them. the crowd in the rear pressed on upon those in the advance, and three friends of the king had just time to interpose themselves between him and the mob, when the whole dense throng rushed in and filled the room. a drunken assassin, with a sharp iron affixed to a long pole, aimed a thrust violently at the king's heart. one blow from an heroic citizen laid him prostrate on the floor, and he was trampled under the feet of the throng. oaths and imprecations filled the room; knives and sabers gleamed, and yet the majesty of royalty, for a few brief moments, repelled the ferocity of the assassins. a few officers of the national guard, roused by the peril of the king, succeeded in reaching him, and, crowding him into the embrasure of a window, placed themselves as a shield before him. the king seemed only anxious to withdraw the attention of the mob from the room in which his family were clustered, where he saw his sister, madame elizabeth, with extended arms and imploring looks, struggling to come and share his fate. "it is the queen!" was the cry, and a score of weapons were turned toward her. "no! no!" exclaimed others, "it is madame elizabeth." her gentle spirit, even in these degraded hearts, had won admiration, and not a blow fell upon her. "ah!" exclaimed madame elizabeth, "why do you undeceive them? gladly would i die in her place, if i might thus save the queen." by the surging of the crowd she was swept into the embrasure of another window, where she was hemmed in without any possibility of extrication. by this time the crowds were like locusts, climbing up the balconies, and pouring in at the windows, and every foot of ground around the palace was filled with the excited throng. shouts of derision filled the air, while the mob without were incessantly crying, "have you killed them yet? throw us out their heads." almost miraculously, the friends surrounding the king succeeded in warding off the blows which were aimed at him. one of the mob thrust out to the king, upon the end of a pike, a _red bonnet_, the badge of the jacobins, and there was a general shout, "let him put it on! let him put it on! it is a sign of patriotism. if he is a patriot he will wear it." the king, smiling, took the bonnet and put it upon his head. instantly there rose a shout from the fickle multitude, "_vive le roi!_" the mob had achieved its victory, and placed the badge of its power upon the brow of the humbled monarch. there was at that time standing in the court-yard of the palace a young man, with the blood boiling with indignation in his veins, in view of the atrocities of the mob. the ignominious spectacle of the red bonnet upon the head of the king, as he stood in the recess of the window, seemed more than this young man could endure, and, turning upon his heel, he hastened away, exclaiming, "the wretches! the wretches! they ought to be mown down by grape-shot." this is the first glimpse the revolution presents of napoleon bonaparte. but while the king was enduring their tortures in one apartment, the queen was suffering indignities and outrages equally atrocious in another. maria antoinette was, in the eyes of the populace, the personification of every thing to be hated. they believed her to be _infamous_ as a wife; proud, tyrannical, and treacherous; that, as an austrian, she hated france; that she was doing all in her power to induce foreign armies to invade the french empire with fire and sword; and that she had instigated the king to attempt escape, that he might head the armies. maria, conscious of this hatred, was aware that her presence would only augment the tide of indignation swelling against the king, and she therefore remained in the bed-chamber with her children. but her sanctuary was instantly invaded. the door of her apartment had been, by some friend, closed and bolted. its stout oaken panels were soon dashed in, and the door driven from its hinges. a crowd of miserable women, abandoned to the lowest depths of degradation and vulgarity, rushed into the apartment, assailing her ears with the most obscene and loathsome epithets the language could afford. the queen stood in the recess of a window, with queenly pride curbing her mortal apprehension. a few friends had gathered around her, and placed a table before her as a partial protection. her daughter, an exceedingly beautiful girl of fourteen years of age, with her light brown hair floating in ringlets over her fair brow and shoulders, clung to her mother's bosom as if she thought not of herself, but would only, with her own body, shield her mother's heart from the dagger of the assassin. her son, but seven years old, clung to his mother's hand, gazing with a bewildered look of terror upon the hideous spectacle. the vociferations of the mob were almost deafening. but the aspect of the group, so lovely and so helpless, seemed to disarm the hand of violence. now and then, in the endless crowd defiling through the room, those in the advance pressed resistlessly on by those in the rear, some one more tender hearted would speak a word of sympathy. a young girl came crowded along, neatly dressed, and with a pleasing countenance. she, however, immediately began to revile the queen in the coarsest language of vituperation. "why do you hate me so, my friend?" said the queen, kindly; "have i ever done any thing to injure or to offend you?" "no! you have never injured me," was the reply, "but it is you who cause the misery of the nation." "poor child!" rejoined the queen, "you have been told so, and have been deceived. why should i make the people miserable? i am the wife of the king--the mother of the dauphin; and by all the feelings of my heart, as a wife and mother, i am a frenchwoman. i shall never see my own country again. i can only be happy or unhappy in france. i was happy when you loved me." the heart of the girl was touched. she burst into tears, and exclaimed, "pardon me, good queen, i did not know you; but now i see that i have indeed been deceived, and you are truly good." hour after hour of humiliation and agony thus rolled away. the national assembly met, and in vain the friends of the king urged its action to rescue the royal family from the insults and perils to which they were exposed. but these efforts were met by the majority only with derision. they hoped that the terrors of the mob would compel the king hereafter to give his assent to any law whatever which they might frame. at last the shades of night began to add their gloom to this awful scene, and even the most bitter enemies of the king did not think it safe to leave forty thousand men, inflamed with intoxication and rage, to riot, through the hours of the night, in the parlors, halls, and chambers of the tuileries. the president of the assembly, at that late hour, crowded his way into the apartment where, for several hours, the king had been exposed to every conceivable indignity. the mysterious authority of law opened the way through the throng. "i have only just learned," said the president, "the situation of your majesty." "that is very astonishing," replied the king, indignantly, "for it is a long time that it has lasted." the president, mounted upon the shoulders of four grenadiers, addressed the mob and urged them to retire, and they, weary with the long hours of outrages, slowly sauntered through the halls and apartments of the palace, and at eight o'clock silence reigned, with the gloom of night, throughout the tuileries. the moment the mob became perceptibly less, the king received his sister into his arms, and they hastened to the apartment of the queen. during all the horrors of this awful day, her heroic soul had never quailed; but, now that the peril was over, she threw herself upon the bosom of her husband, and wept in all the bitterness of inconsolable grief. as the family were locked in each other's arms in silent gratitude for their preservation, the king accidentally beheld in a mirror the red bonnet, which he had forgotten to remove from his head. he turned red with mortification, and, casting upon the floor the badge of his degradation, turned to the queen, with his eyes filled with tears, and exclaimed, "ah, madame, why did i take you from your country, to associate you with the ignominy of such a day as this!" after the withdrawal of the mob, several of the deputies of the national assembly were in the apartment with the royal family, and, as the queen recounted the horrors of the last five hours, one of them, though bitterly hostile to the royal family, could not refrain from tears. "you weep," said she to him, "at seeing the king and his family so cruelly treated by a people whom he always wished to make happy." "true, madame," unfeelingly replied the deputy, "i weep for the misfortunes of a beautiful and sensitive woman, the mother of a family. but do not mistake; not one of my tears falls for either king or queen. i hate kings and queens. it is the only feeling they inspire me with. it is my religion." but time stops not. the hours of a dark and gloomy night, succeeding this terrible day, lingered slowly along, but no sleep visited the eyelids of the inmates of the tuileries. scowling guards still eyed them malignantly, and the royal family could not unbosom to one another their sorrows but in the presence of those who were hostile spies upon every word and action. escape was now apparently hopeless. the events of the past day had taught them that they had no protection against popular fury. and they were filled with the most gloomy forebodings of woes yet to come. these scenes occurred on the th of june, . on the th of july of the same year there was to be a magnificent fête in the champ de mars, as the anniversary of the independence of the nation. the king and queen were compelled to be present to grace the triumph of the people, and to give the royal oath. it was anticipated that there would be many attempts on that day to assassinate the king and queen. some of the friends of the royal family urged that they should each wear a breast-plate which would guard against the first stroke of a dagger, and thus give the king's friends time to defend him. a breast-plate was secretly made for the king. it consisted of fifteen folds of italian taffeta, and was formed into an under waistcoat and a wide belt. its impenetrability was tried, and it resisted all thrusts of the dagger, and several balls were turned aside by it. madame campan wore it for three days as an under petticoat before an opportunity could be found for the king to try it on unperceived. at length, one morning, in the queen's chamber, a moment's opportunity occurred, and he slipped it on, saying, at the same time, to madame campan, "it is to satisfy the queen that i submit to this inconvenience. they will not assassinate me. their scheme is changed. they will put me to death in another way." a dagger-proof corset had also been prepared for the queen without her knowledge. she, however, could not be persuaded to wear it. "if they assassinate _me_," she said, "it will be a most happy event. it will release me from the most sorrowful existence, and may save from a cruel death the rest of the family." the th of july arrived. the king, queen, and dauphin were marched, like captives gracing an oriental triumph, at the head of the procession, from the palace to the champ de mars. with pensive features and saddened hearts they passed along through the single file of soldiers, who were barely able to keep at bay the raging mob, furious for their blood, and maledictions fell heavily upon their ears from a thousand tongues. the fountain of tears was dry, and despair had nerved them with stoicism. they returned to the palace in the deepest dejection, and never again appeared in the streets of paris till they were borne to their execution. chapter ix. imprisonment in the temple. apprehension of poison.--the queen daily insulted.--an assassin in the queen's chamber.--the allied army.--parties in france.--the royalists, girondists, and jacobins.--consternation in paris.--the king's dethronement.--scene from the palace.--gathering of the mob.--the queen with her children.--brutal remarks of the troops.--rising of the sun.--disaffection of the troops.--extremity of the royal family.--spirit of the queen.--the king's calmness.--the mother and the queen.--the royal family take refuge in the assembly.--the king's speech.--the square box.--the king's serenity.--the mob at the palace.--brutal massacre of the king's friends.--the mob sack the palace.--the dead bodies of the royalists burned.--the king dethroned.--the royal family removed to the feuillants.--bitter sufferings of the royal family.--taken back to the assembly.--the royal family consigned to the temple.--advance of the allies.--inhuman massacre.--description of the temple.--tower of the temple.--apartments of the royal family.--obscene pictures.--resources of the prison.--employments of the royal family.--severe restrictions.--manner of obtaining news.--the princess lamballe.--maria's letter to the princess de lamballe.--she rejoins the queen.--the princess separated from the queen.--she is thrown into prison.--trial of the princess.--she refuses to swear.--assassination of the princess.--brutality of the mob.--dreadful apprehensions.--increased severities.--the queen grossly insulted.--the king separated from his family.--wretched state of the king.--the queen's anguish at the separation.--the king sees his family occasionally.--condition of the captives. every day now added to the insults and anguish the royal family were called to endure. they were under such apprehension of having their food poisoned, that all the articles placed upon the table by the attendants, provided by the assembly, were removed untouched, and they ate and drank nothing but what was secretly provided by one of the ladies of the bed-chamber. one day the queen stood at her window, looking out sadly into the garden of the tuileries, when a soldier, standing under the window, with his bayonet upon his gun, looked up to her and said, "i wish, austrian woman, that i had your head upon my bayonet here, that i might pitch it over the wall to the dogs in the street." and this man was placed under her window ostensibly for her protection! whenever the queen made her appearance in the garden, she encountered insults often too outrageous to be related. an assassin, one night, with his sharpened dagger, endeavored to penetrate her chamber. she was awoke by the noise of the struggle with the guard at the door. the assassin was arrested. "what a life!" exclaimed the queen. "insults by day, and assassins by night! but let him go. he came to murder me. had he succeeded, the jacobins would have borne him to-morrow in triumph through the streets of paris." the allied army, united with the emigrants, in a combined force of nearly one hundred and fifty thousand men, now entered the frontiers of france, to rescue, by military power, the royal family. they issued a proclamation, in which it was stated that "the allied sovereigns had taken up arms to stop the anarchy which prevailed in france--to give liberty to the king, and restore him to the legitimate authority of which he had been deprived." the proclamation assured the people of paris that, if they did not immediately liberate the king and return to their allegiance, the city of paris should be totally destroyed, and that the enemies of the king should forfeit their heads. this proclamation, with the invasion of the french territory by the allied army, fanned to the intensest fury the flames of passion already raging in all parts of the empire. thousands of young men from all the provinces thronged into the city, breathing vengeance against the royal family. in vain did the king declare his disapproval of these violent measures on the part of the allies. in vain did he assert his readiness to head the armies of france to repel invasion. there were now three important parties in france struggling for power. the first was that of the king, and the nobles generally, wishing for the re-establishment of the monarchy. the second was that of the girondists, wishing for the dethronement of the king and the establishment of a republic, with the power in the hands of the most influential citizens in intelligence and wealth. the third was that of the ultra democrats or jacobins, who wished to raise the multitude from degradation, penury, and infamy, into power, by the destruction of the throne, and the subjection of the middling classes, and the entire subversion of all the distinctions of wealth and rank. the approach of the allies united both of these latter classes against the throne. a motion was immediately introduced into the assembly that the monarchy be entirely abolished, and a mob rioting through paris threatened the deputies with death unless they dethroned the king. but an army of one hundred and fifty thousand men were marching upon paris, and the deputies feared a terrible retribution if this new insult were heaped upon their sovereign. no person can describe the confusion and consternation with which the metropolis of france was filled. the mob declared, on the th of august, that, unless the dethronement were that day pronounced, they would that night sack the palace, and bear the heads of the royal family through the streets upon their pikes. the assembly, undecided, and trembling between the two opposing perils, separated without the adoption of any resolve. all knew that a night of dreadful tumult and violence must ensue. some hundreds of gentlemen collected around the king and queen, resolved to perish with them. several regiments of soldiers were placed in and around the palace to drive back the mob, but it was well known that the troops would more willingly fraternize with the multitude than oppose them. the sun went down, and the street lamps feebly glimmered through the darkness of the night. the palace was filled with armed men. the gentlemen surrounding the king were all conscious of their utter inability to protect him. they had come but to share the fate of their sovereign. the queen and the princess elizabeth ascended to an upper part of the palace, and stepped from a low window into the dark shadow of a balcony to look out upon the tumultuous city. the sound, as of the gathering of a resistless storm, swept through all the streets, and rose loud and threatening above the usual roar of the vast metropolis. the solemn tones of the alarm bells, pealing through the night air, summoned all the desperadoes of france to their several places of rendezvous, to march upon the palace. the rumbling of artillery wheels, and the frequent discharge of musketry, proclaimed the determination and the desperation of the intoxicated mob. in darkness and silence, the queen and her sister stood listening to these fearful sounds, and their hearts throbbed violently in view of the terrible scene through which they knew that they must pass. the queen, pale but tearless, and nerved to the utmost by queenly pride, descended to the rooms below. she walked into the chamber where her beautiful son was sleeping, gazed earnestly upon him for a moment, bent over him, and imprinted upon his cheek a mother's kiss--and yet without a tear. she entered the apartment of her daughter--lovely, surpassingly lovely in all the blooming beauty of fifteen. the princess, comprehending the peril of the hour, could not sleep. maria pressed her child to her throbbing heart, and the pride of the queen was soon vanquished by the tenderness of the mother, as with convulsive energy she embraced her, and wept in anguish almost unendurable. shouts of unfeeling derision arose from the troops below, stationed for the protection of the royal family, and their ears were assailed by remarks of the most brutal barbarity. hour after hour of the night lingered along, the clamor without incessantly increasing, and the crowds surrounding the palace augmenting. the excitement within the palace was so awful that no words could give it utterance. the few hundred gentlemen who had come so heroically to share the fate of their sovereign were aware that no resistance could be made to the tens of thousands who were thirsting for their blood. midnight came. it was fraught with horror. the queen, in utter exhaustion, threw herself upon a sofa. at that moment a musket shot was fired in the court-yard. "there is the first shot," said the queen, with the calmness of despair, "but it will not be the last. let us go and be with the king." at length, from the windows of their apartment, a few gleams of light began to redden the eastern sky. "come," said the princess elizabeth, "and see the rising sun." maria went mournfully to the window, gazed long and steadfastly upon the rising luminary, feeling that, before that day's sun should go down, she and all whom she loved would be in another world. it was an awful spectacle which the light of day revealed. all the avenues to the palace were choked with intoxicated thousands. the gardens, and the court-yard surrounding the palace, were filled with troops, placed there for the protection of the sovereign, but evidently sympathizing with the mob, with whom they exchanged badges and friendly greetings. the queen, apprehensive that the children might be massacred in their beds, had them dressed, and placed by the side of herself and the king. it was recommended to the king that he should go down into the court-yard, among the troops stationed there for his defense; that his presence might possibly awaken sympathy and enthusiasm in his behalf. the king and queen, with their son and daughter, and madame elizabeth, went down with throbbing hearts to visit the ranks of their defenders. they were received with derisive insults and hootings. some of the gunners left their posts, and thrust their fists into the face of the king, insulting him with menaces the most brutal. they instantly returned to the palace, pallid with indignation and despair. soon an officer came in and informed the king that all resistance was hopeless; that six pieces of artillery were already pointed against the main door of the palace; that a mob of countless thousands, well armed, and dragging with them twelve heavy cannon, were rapidly approaching the scene of conflict; that the whole populace of paris were up in arms against the king, and that no reliance whatever could be placed in the soldiers stationed for his defense. "there is not," said he, "a single moment to lose. you will all inevitably and immediately perish, unless you hasten to the hall where the assembly is in session, and place yourself under the protection of that body." the pride of the queen was intensely aroused in view of appealing to the assembly, their bitterest enemy, for succor, and she indignantly replied, "i would rather be nailed to the walls of the palace than leave it to take refuge in the assembly." and the heroism of maria theresa instinctively inspiring her bosom, she seized, from the belt of an officer, two pistols, and, presenting them to the king, exclaimed, "now, sire, is the time to show yourself, and if we must perish, let us perish with glory." the king calmly received the pistols, and silently handed them back to the officer. "madame," said the messenger, "are you prepared to take upon yourself the responsibility of the death of the king, of yourself, of your children, and of all who are here to defend you? all paris is on the march. time presses. in a few moments it will be too late." the queen cast a glance upon her daughter, and a mother's fears prevailed. the crimson blood mounted to her temples. then, again, she was pale as a corpse. then, rising from her seat, she said, "let us go." it was seven o'clock in the morning. the king and queen, with their two children, madame elizabeth, and a few personal friends, descended the great stair-case of the tuileries, to pass out through the bands of soldiers and the tumultuous mob to the hall of the assembly. at the stair-case there was a large concourse of men and women, gesticulating with fury, who refused to permit the royal family to depart. the tumult was such that the members of the royal family were separated from each other, and thus they stood for a moment mingled with the crowd, listening to language of menace and insult, when a deputy assured the mob that an order of the assembly had summoned the royal family to them. the rioters then gave way, and the mournful group passed out of the door into the garden. they forced their way along, surrounded by a few friends, through imprecations, insults, gleaming daggers, and dangers innumerable, until they arrived at the hall of the assembly, which the king was with difficulty enabled to enter, in consequence of the immense concourse which crowded him, thirsting for his blood, and yet held back by an unseen hand. as the king entered the hall, he said, with dignity, to the president, "i have come here to save the nation from the commission of a great crime. i shall always consider myself, with my family, safe in your hands." the royal family sat down upon a bench. mournful silence pervaded the hall. a more sorrowful, heart-rending sight mortal eyes have seldom seen. the father, the mother, the saint-like sister, the innocent and helpless children, had found but a momentary refuge from cannibals, who were roaring like wolves around the hall, and battering at the doors to break in and slake their vengeance with blood. it was seriously apprehended that the mob would make a rush, and sprinkle the blood of the royal family upon the very floor of the sanctuary where they had sought a refuge. behind the seat of the president there was a box about ten feet square, constituting a seat reserved for reporters, guarded by an iron railing. into this box the royal family were crowded for safety. a few friends of the king gathered around the box. the heat of the day was almost insupportable. not a breath of air could penetrate the closely-packed apartment; and the heat, as of a furnace, glowed in the room. scarcely had the royal family got into this frail retreat, when the noise without informed them that their friends were falling before the daggers of assassins, and the greatest alarm was felt lest the doors should be driven in by the merciless mob. in this awful hour, the king appeared as calm, serene, and unconcerned as if he were the spectator of a scene in which he had no interest. the countenance of the queen exhibited all the unvanquished firmness of her soul, as with flushed cheek and indignant eye she looked upon the drama of terror and confusion which was passing. the young princess wept, and her cheeks were marked with the furrows which her tears, dried by the heat, had left. the young dauphin appeared as cool and self-possessed as his father. the rattling fire of artillery, and the report of musketry at the palace, proclaimed to the royal family and the affrighted deputies the horrid conflict, or, rather, massacre which was raging there. immediately after the king and queen had left the tuileries, the mob broke in at every avenue. a few hundred swiss soldiers left there remained faithful to the king. the conflict was short--the massacre awful. the infuriated multitude rushed through the halls and the apartments of the spacious palace, murdering, without mercy and without distinction of age or sex, all the friends of the king whom they encountered. the mutilated bodies were thrown out of the windows to the mob which filled the garden and the court. the wretched inmates of the palace fled, pursued in every direction. but concealment and escape were alike hopeless. some poor creatures leaped from the windows and clambered up the marble monuments. the wretches refrained from firing at them, lest they should injure the statuary, but pricked them with their bayonets till they compelled them to drop down, and then murdered them at their feet. a pack of wolves could not have been more merciless. the populace, now rioting in their resistless power, with no law and no authority to restrain them, gave loose rein to vengeance, and, having glutted themselves with blood, proceeded to sack the palace. its magnificent furniture, and splendid mirrors, and costly paintings, were dashed to pieces and thrown from the windows, when the fragments were eagerly caught by those below and piled up for bonfires. drunken wretches staggered through all the most private apartments, threw themselves, with blood-soaked boots, upon the bed of the queen, ransacked her drawers, made themselves merry over her notes, and letters, and the various articles of her toilet, and polluted the very air of the palace by their vulgar and obscene ribaldry. as night approached, huge fires were built, upon which the dead bodies of the massacred royalists were thrown, and all were consumed. during all the long hours of that dreadful day, and until two o'clock the ensuing night, the royal family remained, almost without a change of posture, in the narrow seat which had served them for an asylum. who can measure the amount of their endurance during these fifteen hours of woe? an act was passed, during this time, in obedience to the demands of the mob, dethroning the king. the hour of midnight had now come and gone, and still the royal sufferers were in their comfortless imprisonment, half dead with excitement and exhaustion. the young dauphin had fallen asleep in his mother's arms. madame elizabeth and the princess, entirely unnerved, were sobbing with uncontrollable grief. the royal family were then transferred, for the remainder of the night, to some deserted and unfurnished rooms in the old monastery of the feuillants. some beds and mattresses were hastily collected, and a few coarse chairs for their accommodation. as soon as they had entered these cheerless rooms, and were alone, the king prostrated himself upon his knees, with his family clinging around him, and gave utterance to the prayer, "thy trials, o god! are dreadful. give us courage to bear them. we adore the hand which chastens, as that which has so often blessed us. have mercy on those who have died fighting in our defense." utter exhaustion enabled the unhappy family to find a few hours of agitated sleep. the sun arose the ensuing morning with burning rays, and, as they fell upon the eyelids of the queen, she looked wildly around her for a moment upon the cheerless scene, and then, with a shudder, exclaiming, "oh! i hoped it was all a dream," buried her face again in her pillow. the attendants around her burst into tears. "you see, my unhappy friends," said maria, "a woman even more unhappy than yourselves, for she has caused all your misfortunes." the queen wept bitterly as she was informed of the massacre of her friends the preceding day. already the royal family felt the pressure of poverty. they were penniless, and had to borrow some garments for the children. the king and queen could make no change in their disordered dress. at ten o'clock in the morning, a guard came and conducted the royal family again to the assembly. immediately the hall was surrounded by a riotous mob, clamoring for their blood. at one moment the outer doors were burst open, and the blood-thirsty wretches made a rush for the interior. the king, believing that their final hour had come, begged his friends to seek their own safety, and abandon him and his family to their fate. the day of agitation and terror, however, passed away, and, as the gloom of night again darkened the city, the illustrious sufferers were reconveyed to the feuillants. all their friends were driven from them, and guards were placed over them, who, by rudeness and insults, did what they could to add bitterness to their captivity. it was decided by the assembly that they should all be removed to the prison of the temple. at three o'clock the next day two carriages were brought to the door, and the royal family were conveyed through the thronged streets and by the most popular thoroughfares to the prison. the enemies of royalty appeared to court the ostentatious display of its degradation. as the carriages were slowly dragged along, an immense concourse of spectators lined the way, and insults and derision were heaped upon them at every step. at last, after two hours, in which they were constrained to drain the cup of ignominy to its dregs, the carriages rolled under the gloomy arches of the temple, and their prison doors were closed against them. in the mean time the allied army was advancing with rapid strides toward the city. the most dreadful consternation reigned in the metropolis. the populace rose in its rage to massacre all suspected of being in favor of royalty. the prisons were crowded with the victims of suspicion. the rage of the mob would not wait for trial. the prison doors were burst open, and a general and awful massacre ensued. there was no mercy shown to the innocence of youth or to female helplessness. the streets of paris were red with the blood of its purest citizens, and the spirit of murder, with unrestrained license, glutted its vengeance. in one awful day and night many thousands perished. the walls of rock and iron of the temple alone protected the royal family from a similar fate. the temple was a dismal fortress which stood in the heart of paris, a gloomy memorial of past ages of violence and crime. it was situated not far from the bastile, and inclosed within its dilapidated yet massive walls a vast space of silence and desolation. in former ages cowled monks had moved with noiseless tread through its spacious corridors, and their matins and vespers had vibrated along the stone arches of this melancholy pile. but now weeds choked its court-yard, and no sounds were heard in its deserted apartments but the shrieking of the wind as it rushed through the grated windows and whistled around the angles of the towers. the shades of night were adding to the gloom of this wretched abode as the captives were led into its deserted and unfurnished cells. it was after midnight before the rooms for their imprisonment were assigned to them. it was a night of egyptian darkness. soldiers with drawn swords guarded them, as, by the light of a lantern, they picked their way through the rank weeds of the castle garden, and over piles of rubbish, to a stone tower, some thirty feet square and sixty feet high, to whose damp, cheerless, and dismal apartments they were consigned. "where are you conducting us?" inquired a faithful servant who had followed the fortunes of his royal master. the officer replied, "thy master has been used to gilded roofs, but now he will see how the assassins of the people are lodged." [illustration: the tower of the temple.] madame elizabeth was placed in a kind of kitchen, or wash-room, with a truckle bed in it, on the ground floor. the second floor of the tower was assigned to the attendants of the household. one common wooden bedstead and a few old chairs were the only furniture of the room. the third floor was assigned to the king, and queen, and the two children. a footman had formerly slept in the room, and had left suspended upon the walls some coarse and vulgar prints. the king, immediately glancing at them, took them down and turned their faces to the wall, exclaiming, "i would not have my daughter see such things." the king and the children soon fell soundly asleep; but no repose came to the agitated mind of maria antoinette. her lofty and unbending spirit felt these indignities and atrocities too keenly. she spent the night in silent tears, and indulging in the most gloomy forebodings of the fate which yet awaited them. the morning sun arose, but to show still more clearly the dismal aspect of the prison. but few rays could penetrate the narrow windows of the tower, and blinds of oaken plank were so constructed that the inmates could only look out upon the sky. a very humble breakfast was provided for them, and then they began to look about to see what resources their prison afforded to beguile the weary hours. a few books were found, such as an odd volume of horace, and a few volumes of devotional treatises, which had long been slumbering, moth-eaten, in these deserted cells, where, in ages that were past, monks had performed their severe devotions. the king immediately systematized the hours, and sat down to the regular employment of teaching his children. the son and the daughter, with minds prematurely developed by the agitations and excitements in the midst of which they had been cradled, clung to their parents with the most tender affection, and mitigated the horrors of their captivity by manifesting the most engaging sweetness of disposition, and by prosecuting their studies with untiring vigor. the queen and madame elizabeth employed themselves with their needles. they breakfasted at nine o'clock, and then devoted the forenoon to reading and study. at one o'clock they were permitted to walk for an hour, for exercise, in the court-yard of the prison, which had long been consigned to the dominion of rubbish and weeds. but in these walks they were daily exposed to the most cruel insults from the guards that were stationed over them. at two o'clock they dined. during the long hours of the evening the king read aloud. at night, the queen prepared the children for bed, and heard them repeat their prayers. every day, however, more severe restrictions were imposed upon the captives. they were soon deprived of pens and paper; and then scissors, knives, and even needles were taken away, under the pretense that they might be the instruments of suicide. they were allowed no communication of any kind with their friends without, and were debarred from all acquaintance with any thing transpiring in the world. in that gloomy tower of stone and iron they were buried. a faithful servant, however, adroitly opened communication with a news boy, who, under the pretense of selling the daily papers, recounted under their prison windows, in as loud a voice as he could, the leading articles of the journals he had for sale. the servant listened at the window with the utmost care, and then privately communicated the information to the king and queen. [illustration: the royal family in the temple.] the fate of the princess lamballe, who perished at this time, is highly illustrative of the horrors in the midst of which all the royalists lived. this lovely woman, left a widow at eighteen, was attracted to the queen by her misfortunes, and became her most intimate and devoted friend. she lodged in an apartment adjoining to the queen's, that she might share all her perils. occasionally the princess was absent to watch over and cheer an aged friend, the duke de penthièvre, her father-in-law, who resided at the château de vernon. she had gone a short time before the th of june to visit the aged duke, and maria antoinette, who foresaw the terrible storm about to burst upon them, wrote the following touching letter to her friend, urging her not to return to the sufferings and dangers of the tuileries. the letter was found in the hair of the princess de lamballe after her assassination. "do not leave vernon, my dear lamballe, before you are perfectly recovered. the good duke de penthièvre would be sorry and distressed, and we must all take care of his advanced age and respect his virtues. i have so often told you to take heed of yourself, that, if you love me, you must think of yourself; we shall require all of our strength in the times in which we live. oh! do not return, or return as late as possible. your heart would be too deeply wounded; you would have too many tears to shed over my misfortunes--you, who loved me so tenderly. this race of tigers which infests the kingdom would cruelly enjoy itself if it knew all the sufferings we undergo. adieu, my dear lamballe; i am always thinking of you, and you know i never change." the princess, notwithstanding this advice, hastened to join her friend and to share her fate. she stood by the side of the queen during the sleeplessness of the night preceding the th of june, and clung to her during all those long and terrific hours in which the mob filled her apartment with language of obscenity, menace, and rage. she accompanied the royal family to the assembly, shared with them the cheerless night in the old monastery of the feuillants, and followed them to the gloomy prison of the temple. the stern decree of the assembly, depriving the royal family of the presence of any of their friends, excluded the princess from the prison. she still, however, lived but to weep over the sorrows of those whom she so tenderly loved. she was soon arrested as a loyalist, and plunged, like the vilest criminal, into the prison of la force. for the crime of loving the king and queen she was summoned to appear before the revolutionary tribunal. the officers found her lying upon her pallet in the prison, surrounded by other wretched victims of lawless violence, scarcely able to raise her head from her pillow. she entreated them to leave her to die where she was. one of the officers leaned over her bed, and whispered to her that they were her friends, and that her life depended upon her entire compliance with their directions. she immediately arose and accompanied the guard down the prison stairs to the door. there two brutal-looking wretches, covered with blood, stood waiting to receive her. as they grasped her arms, she fainted. it was long before she recovered. as soon as she revived she was led before the judges. "swear," said one of them, "that you love liberty and equality; and swear that you hate all kings and queens." "i am willing to swear the first," she replied, "but as to hatred of kings and queens, i can not swear it, for it is not in my heart." another judge, moved with pity by her youth and innocence, bent over her and whispered, "swear any thing, or you are lost." she still remained silent. "well," said one, "you may go, but when you get into the street, shout _vive la nation!_" the court-yard was filled with assassins, who cut down, with pikes and bludgeons, the condemned as they were led out from the court, and the mutilated and gory bodies of the slain were strewn over the pavement. two soldiers took her by the arm to lead her out. as she passed from the door, the dreadful sight froze her heart with terror, and she exclaimed, forgetful of the peril, "o god! how horrible!" one of the soldiers, by a friendly impulse, immediately covered her mouth, with his hand, that her exclamations might not be heard. she was led into the street, filled with assassins thirsting for the blood of the royalists, and had advanced but a few steps, when a journeyman barber, staggering with intoxication and infuriated with carnage, endeavored, in a kind of brutal jesting, to strike her cap from her head with his long pike. the blow fell upon her forehead, cutting a deep gash, and the blood gushed out over her face. the assassins around, deeming this the signal for their onset, fell upon her. a blow from a bludgeon laid her dead upon the pavement. one, seizing her by the hair, with a saber cut off her head. others tore her garments from her graceful limbs, and, cutting her body into fragments, paraded the mutilated remains upon their pikes through the streets. the dissevered head they bore into an ale house, and drank and danced around the ghastly trophy in horrid carousal. the rioting multitude then, in the phrensy of intoxication, swarmed through the streets to the temple, to torture the king and queen with the dreadful spectacle. the king, hearing the shoutings and tumultuous laughter of the mob, went to the window, and recognized, in the gory head thrust up to him upon the point of a pike, the features of his much-loved friend. he immediately led the queen to another part of the room, that she might be shielded from the dreadful spectacle. such were the flashes of terror which were ever gleaming through the bars of their windows. the horrors of each passing moment were magnified by the apprehension of still more dreadful evils to come. there was, however, one consolation yet left them. they were permitted to cling together. locked in each other's arms, they could bow in prayer, and by sympathy and love sustain their fainting hearts. it was soon, however, thought that these indulgences were too great for dethroned royalty to enjoy. but a few days of their captivity had passed away, when, at midnight, they were aroused by an unusual uproar, and a band of brutal soldiers came clattering into their room with lanterns, and, in the most harsh and insulting manner, commanded the immediate expulsion of all the servants and attendants of the royal family. expostulation and entreaty were alike unavailing. the captives were stripped of all their friends, and passed the remainder of the night in sleeplessness and in despair. with the light of the morning they endeavored to nerve themselves to bear with patience this new trial. the king performed the part of a nurse in aiding to wash and dress the children. for the health of the children, they went into the court-yard of the prison before dinner for exercise and the fresh air. a soldier, stationed there to guard them, came up deliberately to the queen, and amused his companions by puffing tobacco smoke from his pipe into her face. the parents read upon the walls the names of their children, described as "whelps who ought to be strangled." six weeks of this almost unendurable agony passed away, when, one night, as the unhappy captives were clustered together, finding in their mutual and increasing affection a solace for all their woes, six municipal officers entered the tower, and read a decree ordering the entire separation of the king from the rest of his family. no language can express the consternation of the sufferers in view of this cruel measure. without mercy, the officers immediately executed the barbarous command, by tearing the king from the embraces of his agonized wife and his grief-distracted children. the king, overwhelmed with anguish in view of the sufferings which his wife and children must endure, most earnestly implored them not to separate him from his family. they were inflexible and, hardly allowing the royal family one moment for their parting adieus, hurried the king away. it was the dark hour of a gloomy night. the few rays of light from the lanterns guided them through narrow passages, and over piles of rubbish to a distant angle of the huge and dilapidated fortress, where they thrust the king into an unfurnished cell, and, locking the door upon him, they left him with one tallow candle to make visible the gloom and the solitude. there was, in one corner, a miserable pallet, and heaps of moldering bricks and mortar were scattered over the damp floor. the king threw himself, in utter despair, upon this wretched bed, and counted, till the morning dawned, the steps of the sentinel pacing to and fro before his door. at length a small piece of bread and a bottle of water were brought him for his breakfast. the anguish of the queen in the endurance of this most cruel separation was apparently as deep as human nature could experience. her woe amounted to delirium. pale and haggard, she walked to and fro, beseeching her jailers that they would restore to her and to her children the husband and the father. her pathetic entreaties touched even their hearts of stone. "i do believe," said one of them, "that these infernal women will make even me weep." after some time, they consented that the king should occasionally be permitted to partake his meals with his family, a guard being always present to hear what they should say. immediately after the meal, he was to be taken back to his solitary imprisonment. such was the condition of the royal family during a period of about four months, varied by the capricious mercy or cruelty of the different persons who were placed as guards over them. their clothes became soiled, threadbare, and tattered; and they were deprived of all means of repairing their garments, lest they should convert needles and scissors into instruments of suicide. the king was not allowed the use of a razor to remove his beard; and the luxury of a barber to perform that essential part of his toilet was an expense which his foes could not incur. it was the studied endeavor of those who now rode upon the crested yet perilous billows of power, to degrade royalty to the lowest depths of debasement and contempt--that the beheading of the king and the queen might be regarded as merely the execution of a male and a female felon dragged from the loathsome dungeons of crime. chapter x. execution of the king. - ominous preparations.--the king summoned before the convention.--the king before the convention.--charges brought against him.--the king begs for a morsel of bread.--he is taken back to prison.--advance of the allies.--clamor for the king's life.--the king condemned to death.--emotion of malesherbes.--the king's demands.--the abbé edgeworth.--the last interview.--anguish of the royal family.--the last embrace.--the separation.--the king receives the sacrament.--mementoes to his family.--the king summoned to execution.--brutality of the officers.--the brutal jailer.--the king conducted to execution.--a sad procession.--admirable calmness of the king.--attempt to rescue the king.--its failure.--the guillotine.--associations.--the king's thoughtfulness.--he undresses himself.--the king ascends the scaffold.--his speech.--the last act in the tragedy.--burial of the king's body.--the blood-red obelisk.--character of louis. on the th of december, , just four months after the royal family had been consigned to the temple, as the captives were taking their breakfast, a great noise of the rolling of drums, the neighing of horses, and the tramp of a numerous multitude was heard around the prison walls; soon some one entered, and informed the king that these were the preparations which were making to escort him to his trial. the king knew perfectly well that this was the step which preceded his execution, and, as he thought of the awful situation of his family, he threw himself into his chair and buried his face in his hands, and for two hours remained in that attitude immovable. he was roused from his painful revery by the entrance of the officers to conduct him to the bar of his judges, from whom he was aware he could expect no mercy. "i follow you," said the king, "not in obedience to the orders of the convention, but because my enemies are the more powerful." he put on his brown great-coat and hat, and, silently descending the stairs to the door of the tower, entered a carriage which was there awaiting him. as he had long been deprived of his razors, his chin and cheeks were covered with masses of hair. his garments hung loosely around his emaciated frame, and all dignity of aspect was lost in the degraded condition to which designing cruelty had reduced him. the captive monarch was escorted through the streets by regiments of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, every man furnished with fifteen rounds of ammunition to repel any attempts at a rescue. a countless throng of people lined the streets through which the illustrious prisoner was conveyed. the multitude gazed upon the melancholy procession in profound silence. he soon stood before the bar of the convention. "louis," said the president, "the french nation accuses you. you are about to hear the charges which are to be preferred. louis, be seated." the king listened with perfect tranquillity and self-possession to a long catalogue of accusations, in which his efforts to sustain the falling monarchy, and his exertions to protect himself and family from insults and death, were construed into crimes against the nation. the examination of the king was long, minute, and was conducted by those who were impatient for his blood. at its close, the king, perfectly exhausted by mental excitement and the want of refreshment, was led back into the waiting-room of the convention. he was scarcely able to stand for faintness. he saw a soldier eating a piece of bread. he approached, and, in a whisper, begged him for a piece, and ate it. here was the monarch of thirty millions of people, in the heart of his proud capital, and with all his palaces around him, actually begging bread of a poor soldier. the king was again placed in the carriage, and conveyed back to his prison in the temple. as the cortège passed slowly by the palace of the tuileries, the scene of all his former grandeur and happiness, the king gazed long and sadly on the majestic pile, so lost in thought that he heeded not, and apparently heard not the insulting cries which were resounding around him. as the king entered the temple, he raised his eyes most wistfully to the queen's apartment, but the windows were so barred that no glances could be interchanged. the king was conducted to his apartment, and was informed that he could no longer be permitted to hold any communication whatever with the other members of his family. he contrived, however, by means of a tangle of thread, in which was inclosed a piece of paper, perforated by a needle, to get a note to the queen, and to receive a few words in return. he, however, felt that his doom was sealed, and began from that hour to look forward to his immortality. he made his will, in which he spoke in most affecting terms of his wife, and his children, and his enemies, commending them all to the protection of god. an indescribable gloom now reigned throughout paris. the allied armies on the frontiers were gradually advancing. the french troops were defeated. it was feared that the royalists would rise, and join the invaders, and rescue the king. desperadoes rioted through the streets, clamoring for the blood of their monarch. with knives and bludgeons they surrounded the convention, threatening the lives of all if they did not consign the king to the guillotine. the day for the final decision came--shall the king live or die? on that day the heart of the metropolis throbbed as never before. it was the th of january, . the convention had already been in uninterrupted session for fifteen hours. the clamor of the tumultuous and threatening mob gave portentous warning of the doom which awaited the members of the assembly should they dare to spare the life of the king. one by one the deputies mounted the tribune as their names were called in alphabetical order, and gave their vote. for some time death and exile seemed equally balanced. the results of the vote were read. the convention comprised seven hundred and twenty-one voters, three hundred and thirty-four of whom voted for exile, and three hundred and eighty-seven for death. louis sat alone in his prison, calmly awaiting the decision. he laid down that night knowing that his doom was sealed, and yet not knowing what that doom was. malesherbes, the venerable friend who had volunteered for his defense, came to communicate the mournful tidings. he fell at the king's feet so overcome with emotion that he could not speak. the king understood the language of his silence and his tears, and uttered himself the sentence "death." but a few moments elapsed before the officers of the convention came, in all the pomp and parade of the land, to communicate to the king his doom to the guillotine in twenty-four hours. with perfect calmness, and fixing his eye immovably upon his judges he heard the reading of the sentence. the reading concluded, the king presented a paper to the deputies, which he first read to them in the clear and commanding tones of a monarch upon his throne, demanding a respite of three days, in order to prepare to appear before god; also permission to see his family, and to converse with a priest. the convention, angry at these requests, informed the king that he might see any priest he pleased, and that he might see his family, but that the execution must take place in twenty-four hours from the time of the sentence. darkness had again fallen upon the city, when the minister of religion, m. edgeworth, was led through the gloomy streets, to administer the consolations of piety to the condemned monarch. as he entered the apartment of the king, he fell at his feet and burst into tears. louis for a moment wept, when, recovering himself, he said, "pardon me this momentary weakness. i have so long lived among enemies, that habit has rendered me insensible to hatred. the sight of a faithful friend restores my sensibility, and moves me to tears in spite of myself." a long conversation ensued, in which the king inquired, with the greatest interest, respecting the fate of his numerous friends. he read his will with the utmost deliberation, his voice faltering only when he alluded to his wife, children, and sister. at seven o'clock he was to have his last agonizing interview with his beloved family, and the thought of this agitated him far more than the prospect of the scaffold. the hour for the last sad meeting arrived. the king, having prepared his heart by prayer for the occasion, descended into a small unfurnished room, where he was to meet his family. the door opened. the queen, leading his son, and madame elizabeth, leading his daughter, with trembling, fainting steps, entered the room. not a word was uttered. the king threw himself upon a bench, drew the queen to his right side, his sister to the left, and their arms encircled his neck, and their heads hung upon his breast. the son climbed upon his father's knee, clinging with his arms frantically to his bosom; and the daughter, throwing herself at his feet, buried her head in his lap, her beautiful hair, in disordered ringlets, falling over her shoulders. a long half hour thus passed, in which not one single articulate word was spoken, but the anguish of these united hearts was expressed in cries and lamentations which pierced through the stone walls of their prison, and were heard by passers by in the streets. but human nature could not long endure this intensity of agony. total exhaustion ensued. their tears dried upon their cheeks; embraces, kisses, whispers of tenderness and love, and woe ensued, which lasted for two hours. the king then clasped them each in a long embrace, pressing his lips to their cheeks, and prepared to retire. clinging to each other in an inseparable group, they approached the stair-case which the king was to ascend, when their piercing, heart-rending cries were renewed. the king, summoning all his fortitude to his aid, tore himself from them, and, in most tender accents, cried "_adieu! adieu!_" hastily ascended the stairs and disappeared, having partially promised that he would see them again in the morning. the princess royal fell fainting upon the floor, and was borne insensible to her room. the king, reaching his apartment, threw himself into a chair, and exclaimed, "what an interview i have had! why do i love so fondly? alas! why am i so fondly loved? but we have now done with time, let us occupy ourselves with eternity." the hour of midnight had now arrived. the king threw himself upon his bed, and slept as calmly, as peacefully, as though he had never known a sorrow. at five o'clock he was awakened, and received the sacrament of the lord's supper. then, taking a small parcel from his bosom, and removing his wedding ring from his finger, he said to an attendant, "after my death, i wish you to give this seal to my son, this ring to the queen. say to the queen, my dear children, and my sister, that i had promised to see them this morning, but that i desired to spare them the agony of this bitter separation twice over. how much it has cost me to part without receiving their last embraces!" here his utterance was impeded by sobs. he then called for some scissors, that he might cut off locks of hair for his family. as he soon after stood by the stove, warming himself, he exclaimed, "how happy am i that i maintained my christian faith while on the throne! what would have been my condition now, were it not for this hope!" soon faint gleams of the light of day began to penetrate through the iron bars and planks which guarded his windows. it was the signal for the beating of drums, the tramp of armed men, the rolling of heavy carriages of artillery, and the clattering of horses' hoofs. as the escort were arriving at their stations in the court-yard of the temple, a great noise was heard upon the stair-case. "they have come for me," said the king; and, rising with perfect calmness and without a tremor, he opened the door. it was a false summons. again and again, under various pretexts, the door was opened, until nine o'clock, when a tumultuous noise upon the stair-case announced the approach of a body of armed men. twelve municipal officers and twelve soldiers entered the apartment. the soldiers formed in two lines. the king, with a serene air, placed himself between the double lines, and, looking to one of the municipal officers, said, presenting to him a roll of paper, which was his last will and testament, "i beg of you to transmit this paper to the queen." the municipal brutally replied, "that is no affair of mine. i am here to conduct you to the scaffold." "true," the king replied, and gave the paper to another, who received it. the king then, taking his hat and declining his coat, notwithstanding the severity of the cold, said, with a dignified gesture and a tone of command, "let us go." the king led the way, followed rather than conducted by his escort. descending the stairs, he met the turnkey, who had been disrespectful to him the night before, and whom the king had reproached for his insolence. louis immediately approached the unfeeling jailer, and said to him, "mathey, i was somewhat warm with you yesterday; forgive me, for the sake of this hour." the imbruted monster turned upon his heel without any reply. as he crossed the court-yard of the temple, he anxiously gazed upon the windows of the apartment where the queen, his sister, and his children were imprisoned. the windows were so guarded by plank shutters that no glances from the loved ones within could meet his eye. as the heart of the king dwelt upon the scenes of anguish which he knew must be passing there, it seemed for a moment that his fortitude would fail him. but, with a violent effort, he recovered his composure and passed on. at the entrance of the temple a carriage awaited the king. two soldiers entered the carriage, and took seats by his side. the king's confessor also rode in the carriage. it was the st of january, , a gloomy winter's day. dark clouds lowered in the sky. fog and smoke darkened the city. the atmosphere was raw, and cold in the extreme. nature seemed in harmony with man's deed of cruelty and crime. the shops were all closed, the markets were empty. no citizens were allowed to cross the streets on the line of march, or even to show themselves at the windows. sixty drums kept up a deafening clamor as the vast procession of cavalry, infantry, and artillery marched before, behind, and on each side of the carriage. cannon, loaded with grape-shot, with matches lighted, guarded the main street on the line of march, to prevent the possibility of an attempt even at rescue. the noise of the drums, the clatter of the iron hoofs of the horses, and the rumbling of the heavy pieces of artillery over the pavements prevented all discourse, and the king, leaning back in his carriage, surrendered himself to such reflections as the awful hour would naturally suggest. the perfect calmness of the king excited the admiration of those who were near his person, and a few hearts in the multitude, touched with pity, gave utterance to the cry of "pardon! pardon!" the sounds, however, died away in the throng, awakening no sympathetic response. as the procession moved along, no sound proceeded from human lips. a feeling of awe appeared to have taken possession of the whole city. the sentiment of loyalty had, for so many centuries, pervaded the bosoms of the french people, that they could not conduct their monarch to the scaffold without the deepest emotions of awe. a feeling of consternation oppressed every heart in view of the deed now to be perpetrated. but it was too late to retract. perhaps there was not an individual in that vast throng who did not shudder in view of the crime of that day. at one spot on the line of march, seven or eight young men, in the spirit of desperate heroism which the occasion excited, hoping that the pity of the multitude would cause them to rally for their aid, broke through the line, sword in hand, and, rushing toward the carriage, shouted, "help for those who would save the king." three thousand young men had enrolled themselves in the conspiracy to respond to this call. but the preparations to resist such an attempt were too formidable to allow of any hopes of success. the few who heroically made the movement were instantly cut down. at the place de la revolution, one hundred thousand people were gathered in silence around the scaffold. the instrument of death, with its blood-red beams and posts, stood prominent above the multitudinous assemblage in the damp, murky air. the guillotine was erected in the center of the place de la revolution, directly in the front of the garden of the tuileries. this celebrated instrument of death was invented in italy by a physician named guillotin, and from him received its name. a heavy ax, raised by machinery between two upright posts, by the touching of a spring fell, gliding down between two grooves, and severed the head from the body with the rapidity of lightning. the palace in which louis had passed the hours of his infancy, and his childhood, and the days of his early grandeur; the magnificent gardens of the palace, where he had so often been greeted with acclamations; the spacious elysian fields, the pride of paris, were all spread around, as if in mockery of the sacrifice which was there to be offered. this whole space was crowded with a countless multitude, clustered upon the house tops, darkening the windows, swinging upon the trees, to witness the tragic spectacle of the beheading of their king. arrangements had been made to have the places immediately around the scaffold filled by the unrelenting foes of the monarch, that no emotions of pity might retard the bloody catastrophe. as the carriage approached the place of execution, the hum of the mighty multitude was hushed, and a silence, as of death, pervaded the immense throng. at last the carriage stopped at the foot of the scaffold. the king raised his eyes, and said to his confessor, in a low but calm tone, "we have arrived, i think." by a silent gesture the confessor assented. the king, ever more mindful of others than of himself, placed his hand upon the knee of the confessor, and said to the officers and executioners who were crowded around the coach, "gentlemen, i recommend to your protection this gentleman. see that he be not insulted after my death. i charge you to watch over him." as no one made any reply, the king repeated the admonition in tones still more earnest. "yes! yes!" interrupted one, jeeringly, "make your mind easy about that; we will take care of him. let us alone for that." three of the executioners then approached the king to undress him. he waved them from him with an authoritative gesture, and himself took off his coat, his cravat, and turned down his shirt collar. the executioners then came with cords to bind him to a plank. "what do you intend to do?" he exclaimed, indignantly. "we intend to bind you," they replied, as they seized his hands. to be bound was an unexpected indignity, at which the blood of the monarch recoiled. "no! no!" he exclaimed, "i will never submit to that. do your business, but you shall not bind me." the king resisted. the executioners called for help. a scene of violence was about to ensue. the king turned his eye to his confessor, as if for counsel. "sire," said the abbé edgeworth, "submit unresistingly to this fresh outrage, as the last resemblance to the savior who is about to recompense your sufferings." louis raised his eyes to heaven, and said, "assuredly there needed nothing less than the example of the savior to induce me to submit to such an indignity." he then reached his hands out to the executioners, and said, "do as you will; i will drink the cup to the dregs." leaning upon the arm of his friend, he ascended the steep and slippery steps of the guillotine; then, walking across the platform firmly, he looked for a moment intently upon the sharp blade of the ax, and turning suddenly to the populace, exclaimed, in a voice clear and distinct, which penetrated to the remotest extremities of the square, "people, i die innocent of all the crimes laid to my charge. i pardon the authors of my death, and pray god that the blood you are about to shed may never fall again upon france. and you, unhappy people--" here the drums were ordered to beat, and the deafening clamor drowned his words. the king turned slowly to the guillotine and surrendered himself to the executioners. he was bound to the plank. "the plank sunk. the blade glided. the head fell." one of the executioners seized the severed head of the monarch by the hair, and, raising the bloody trophy of their triumph, showed it to the shuddering throng, while the blood dripped from it on the scaffold. a few desperadoes dipped their sabers and the points of their pikes in the blood, and, waving them in the air, shouted "vive la republique!" the multitude, however, responded not to the cry. explosions of artillery announced to the distant parts of the city that the sacrifice was consummated. the remains of the monarch were conveyed on a covered cart to the cemetery of the madeleine, and lime was thrown into the grave that the body might be speedily and entirely consumed. over the grave where he was buried napoleon subsequently began the splendid temple of glory, in commemoration of the monarch and other victims who fell in the revolution. the completion of the edifice was frustrated by the fall of napoleon. the bourbons, however, on their restoration to the throne, finished the building, and it is now called the church of the madeleine, and it constitutes one of the most beautiful structures of paris. the spot on which the monarch fell is now marked by a colossal obelisk of blood-red granite, which the french government, in , transported from thebes, in upper egypt. louis was unquestionably one of the most conscientious and upright sovereigns who ever sat upon a throne. he loved his people, and earnestly desired to do every thing in his power to promote their welfare. and it can hardly be doubted that he was guided through life, and sustained through the awful trial of his death, by the principle of sincere piety. the tidings of his execution sent a thrill of horror through europe, and fastened such a stigma upon republicanism as to pave the way for the re-erection of the throne. chapter xi. trial and execution of maria antoinette. sufferings of the queen.--announcement of her husband's death.--cruel decree.--maria's defense of her boy.--the dauphin's cell.--the queen summoned to the conciergerie.--painful partings.--the conciergerie.--loathsome apartments of the queen.--the jailer's wife.--the jailer's daughter.--the garter.--dignity of the queen during her trial.--she is condemned to death.--the queen dressed for the guillotine.--her hands bound.--car of the condemned.--indignities heaped upon the queen.--arrival at the guillotine.--the queen's composure.--the queen's prayer.--maternal love.--the last adieu.--end of the tragedy. while the king was suffering upon the guillotine, the queen, with madame elizabeth and the children, remained in their prison, in the endurance of anguish as severe as could be laid upon human hearts. the queen was plunged into a continued succession of swoons, and when she heard the booming of the artillery, which announced that the fatal ax had fallen and that her husband was headless, her companions feared that her life was also, at the same moment, to be extinguished. soon the rumbling of wheels, the rolling of heavy pieces of cannon, and the shouts of the multitude penetrating through the bars of her cell, proclaimed the return of the procession from the scene of death. the queen was extremely anxious to be informed of all the details of the last moments of the king, but her foes refused her even this consolation. days and nights now lingered slowly along while the captives were perishing in monotonous misery. the severity of their imprisonment was continually increased by new deprivations. no communications from the world without were permitted to reach their ears. shutters were so arranged that even the sky was scarcely visible, and no employment whatever was allowed them to beguile their hours of woe. about four months after the death of the king, a loud noise was heard one night at the door of their chamber, and a band of armed men came tumultuously in, and read to the queen an order that her little son should be entirely separated from her, and imprisoned by himself. the poor child, as he heard this cruel decree, was frantic with terror, and, throwing himself into his mother's arms, shrieked out, "o mother! mother! mother! do not abandon me to those men. they will kill me as they did papa." the queen was thrown into a perfect delirium of mental agony. she placed her child upon the bed, and, stationing herself before him, with eyes glaring like a tigress, and with almost superhuman energy, declared that they should tear her in pieces before they should touch her poor boy. the officers were subdued by this affecting exhibition of maternal love, and forbore violence. for two hours she thus contended against all their solicitations, until, entirely overcome by exhaustion, she fell in a swoon upon the floor. the child was then hurried from the apartment, and placed under the care of a brutal wretch, whose name, simon, inhumanity has immortalized. the unhappy child threw himself upon the floor of his cell, and for two days remained without any nourishment. the queen abandoned herself to utter despair. madame elizabeth and maria theresa performed all the service of the chamber, making the beds, sweeping the room, and attending upon the queen. no importunities on the part of maria antoinette could obtain for her the favor of a single interview with her child. three more months passed slowly away, when, early in august, the queen was aroused from her sleep at midnight by armed men, with lanterns, bursting into her room. with unfeeling barbarity, they ordered her to accompany them to the prison of the conciergerie, the most dismal prison in paris, where those doomed to die awaited their execution. the queen listened, unmoved, to the order, for her heart had now become callous even to woe. her daughter and madame elizabeth threw themselves at the feet of the officers, and most pathetically, but unavailingly, implored them not to deprive them of their only remaining solace. the queen was compelled to rise and dress in the presence of the wretches who exulted over her abasement. she clasped her daughter for one frantic moment convulsively to her heart, covered her with embraces and kisses, spoke a few words of impassioned tenderness to her sister, and then, as if striving by violence to throw herself from the room, she inadvertently struck her forehead a severe blow against the low portal of the door. "did you hurt you?" inquired one of the men. "oh no!" was the despairing reply, "nothing now can further harm me." a few lights glimmered dimly from the street lamps as the queen entered the carriage, guarded by soldiers, and was conveyed through the somber streets to her last earthly abode. the prison of the conciergerie consists of a series of subterranean dungeons beneath the floor of the palais de justice. more damp, dark, gloomy dens of stone and iron the imagination can not conceive. down the dripping and slippery steps she was led, groping her way by the feeble light of a tallow candle, until she approached, through a labyrinth of corridors, an iron door. it grated upon its hinges, and she was thrust in, two soldiers accompanying her, and the door was closed. it was midnight. the lantern gave just light enough to show her the horrors of her cell. the floor was covered with mud and water, while little streams trickled down the stone walls. a miserable pallet in one corner, an old pine table and one chair, were all the comforts the kingdom of france could afford its queen. [illustration: maria antoinette in the conciergerie.] the heart of the wife of the jailer was touched with compassion in view of this unmitigated misery. she did not dare to speak words of kindness, for they would be reported by the guard. she, however, prepared for her some food, ventured to loan her some needles, and a ball of worsted, and communicated intelligence of her daughter and son. the committee of public safety heard of these acts of mercy, and the jailer and his wife were immediately arrested, and plunged into those dungeons into which they would have allowed the spirit of humanity to enter. the shoes of the queen, saturated with water, soon fell from her feet. her stockings and her dress, from the humidity of the air, were in tatters. two soldiers, with drawn swords, were stationed by her side night and day, with the command never, even for one moment, to turn their eyes from her. the daughter of the new jailer, touched with compassion, and regardless of the fate of the predecessors of her parents, entered her cell every morning to dress her whitened locks, which sorrow had bleached. the queen ventured one day to solicit an additional counterpane for her bed. "how dare you make such a request?" replied the solicitor general of the commune; "you deserve to be sent to the guillotine!" the queen succeeded secretly, by means of a tooth-pick, which she converted into a tapestry needle, in plaiting a garter from thread which she plucked from an old woollen coverlet. this memorial of a mother's love she contrived, by stratagem, to transmit to her daughter. this was the richest legacy the daughter of maria theresa and the queen of france could bequeath to her child. that garter is still preserved as a sacred relic by those who revere the memory and commiserate the misfortunes of maria antoinette. two months of this all but insupportable imprisonment passed away, when, early in october, she was brought from her dungeon below to the court-room above for her trial. her accusation was that she abhorred the revolution which had beheaded her husband, and plunged her and her whole family into woes, the remembrance of which it would seem that even eternity could hardly efface. the queen condescended to no defense. she appeared before her accusers in the calm dignity of despair, and yet with a spirit as unbroken and queenly as when she moved in the gilded saloons of versailles. the queen was called to hear her sentence. it was death within twenty-four hours. not the tremor of a muscle showed the slightest agitation as the mob, with clappings and shoutings, manifested their hatred for their victim, and their exultation at her doom. insults and execrations followed her to the stair-case as she descended again to her dungeon. it was four o'clock in the morning. a few rays of the dawning day struggled through the bars of her prison window, and she seemed to smile with a faint expression of pleasure at the thought that her last day of earthly woe had dawned. she called for pen and ink, and wrote a very affecting letter to her sister and children. having finished the letter, she repeatedly and passionately kissed it, as if it were the last link which bound her to the loved ones from whom she was so soon to be separated by death. she then, as if done with earth, kneeled down and prayed, and with a tranquillized spirit, threw herself upon her bed, and fell into a profound slumber. an hour or two passed away, when the kind daughter of the jailer came, with weeping eyes and a throbbing heart, into the cell to dress the queen for the guillotine. it was the th of october, . maria antoinette arose with alacrity, and, laying aside her prison-worn garments of mourning, put on her only remaining dress, a white robe, emblematic of the joy with which she bade adieu to earth. a white handkerchief was spread over her shoulders, and a white cap, bound to her head by a black ribbon, covered her hair. it was a cold and foggy morning, and the moaning wind drove clouds of mist through the streets. but the day had hardly dawned before crowds of people thronged the prison, and all paris seemed in motion to enjoy the spectacle of the sufferings of their queen. at eleven o'clock the executioners entered her cell, bound her hands behind her, and led her out from the prison. the queen had nerved her heart to die in the spirit of defiance to her foes. she thought, perhaps, too much of man, too little of god. queenly pride rather than christian resignation inspired her soul. expecting to be conducted to the scaffold, as the king had been, in a close carriage, she, for a moment, recoiled with horror when she was led to the ignominious car of the condemned, and was commanded to enter it. this car was much like a common hay cart, entirely open, and guarded by a rude but strong railing. the female furies who surrounded her shouted with laughter, and cried out incessantly, "down with the austrian!" "down with the austrian!" the queen was alone in the cart. her hands were tied behind her. she could not sit down. she could not support herself against the jolting of the cart upon the rough pavement. the car started. the queen was thrown from her equilibrium. she fell this way and that way. her bonnet was crowded over her eyes. her gray locks floated in the damp morning air. her coarse dress, disarranged, excited derision. as she was violently pitched to and fro, notwithstanding her desperate endeavors to retain the dignity of her appearance, the wretches shouted, "these are not your cushions of trianon." it was a long ride, through the infuriated mob, to the scaffold, which was reared directly in front of the garden of the tuileries. as the car arrived at the entrance of the gardens of the palace where maria had passed through so many vicissitudes of joy and woe, it stopped for a moment, apparently that the queen might experience a few more emotions of torture as she contemplated the abode of her past grandeur. maria leaned back upon the railing, utterly regardless of the clamor around her, and fixed her eyes long and steadfastly upon the theater of all her former happiness. the thought of her husband, her children, her home, for a moment overcame her, and a few tears trickled down her cheeks and fell upon the floor of the cart. but, instantly regaining her composure, she looked around again upon the multitude, waving like an ocean over the whole amphitheater, with an air of majesty expressive of her superiority over all earthly ills. a few turns more of the wheels brought her to the foot of the guillotine. it was upon the same spot where her husband had fallen. she calmly, firmly looked at the dreadful instrument of death, scrutinizing all its arrangements, and contemplating, almost with an air of satisfaction, the sharp and glittering knife, which was so soon to terminate all her earthly sufferings. two of the executioners assisted her by the elbows as she endeavored to descend from the cart. she waited for no directions, but with a firm and yet not hurried tread, ascended the steps of the scaffold. by accident, she trod upon the foot of one of the executioners. "pardon me!" she exclaimed, with all the affability and grace with which she would have apologized to a courtier in the midst of the social festivities of the little trianon. she kneeled down, raised her eyes to heaven, and in a low but heart-rending prayer, all forgetful of herself, implored god to protect her sister and her helpless children. she was deaf to the clamor of the infuriate mob around her. she was insensible to the dishonor of her own appearance, with disheveled locks blinding her eyes, and with her faded garments crumpled and disarranged by the rough jostling of the cart. she forgot the scaffold on which she stood, the cords which bound her hands, the blood-thirsty executioners by her side, the fatal knife gleaming above her head. her thoughts, true to the irrepressible instincts of maternal love, wandered back to the dungeons from whence she had emerged, and lingered with anguish around the pallets where her orphan, friendless, persecuted children were entombed. her last prayer was the prayer of agony. she rose from her knees, and, turning her eyes toward the tower of the temple, and speaking in tones which would have pierced any hearts but those which surrounded her, exclaimed, "adieu! adieu! once again, my dear children. i go to rejoin your father." she was bound to the plank. slowly it descended till the neck of the queen was brought under the groove down which the fatal ax was to glide. the executioner, hardened by deeds of daily butchery, could not look upon this spectacle of the misery of the queen of france unmoved. his hand trembled as he endeavored to disengage the ax, and there was a moment's delay. the ax fell. the dissevered head dropped into the basket placed to receive it. the executioner seized it by the hair, gushing with blood, raised it high above his head, and walked around the elevated platform of the guillotine, exhibiting the bloody trophy to the assembled multitude. one long shout of "vive la republique!" rent the air, and the long and dreadful tragedy of the life of maria antoinette was closed. the remains of the queen were thrown into a pine coffin and hurried to an obscure burial. upon the records of the church of la madeleine we now read the charge, "_for the coffin of the widow capet, seven francs._" chapter xii. the princess elizabeth, the dauphin, and the princess royal. - the dauphin and the princesses.--painful uncertainty.--sufferings of the princesses.--their dismal cell.--painful thoughts.--unwelcome visitors.--the princesses separated.--brutality of the soldiers.--elizabeth taken before the tribunal.--a group of noble captives.--trial of madame elizabeth.--her condemnation.--sad reverses.--character of madame elizabeth.--madame elizabeth at the guillotine.--execution of her companions.--death of madame elizabeth.--her faith and piety.--situation of the dauphin.--the brute simon.--inhuman treatment of the dauphin.--he becomes insane.--the reaction.--change in the dauphin's treatment.--death of the dauphin.--sympathy awakened by it.--situation of the princess royal.--her deep sufferings.--sympathy for the princess royal.--she is released.--arrival of the princess royal in vienna.--her settled melancholy.--love felt for maria.--she recovers her cheerfulness.--maria's marriage.--her present residence.--advanced age of maria.--still retains traces of her early sorrows. when maria antoinette was taken from the temple and consigned to the dungeons of the conciergerie, there to await her trial for her life, the dauphin was imprisoned by himself, though but a child seven years of age, in a gloomy cell, where he was entirely excluded from any communication with his aunt and sister. the two latter princesses remained in the room from which the queen had been taken. they were, however, in the most painful uncertainty respecting her fate. their jailers were commanded to give them no information whatever respecting the external world. their prison was a living tomb, in which they were allowed to breathe, and that was all. the princess elizabeth had surmised, from various little incidents, what had been the fate of the queen, but she tried to cheer the young, and affectionate, and still beautiful child with the hope that her mother yet lived, and that they might meet again. eight months of the most dreary captivity rolled slowly away. it was winter, and yet they were allowed no fire to dispel the gloom and the chill of their cell. they were deprived of all books. they were not allowed the use of pens or paper. the long winter nights came. in their cell there was but a few hours during which the rays of the sun struggled faintly through the barred windows. night, long, dismal, impenetrable, like that of egypt, enveloped them for fifteen hours. they counted the strokes of the clocks in the distant churches. they listened to the hum of the vast and mighty metropolis, like the roar of the surf upon the shore. reflections full of horror crowded upon them. the king was beheaded. the queen was, they knew not where, either dead or in the endurance of the most fearful sufferings. the young dauphin was imprisoned by himself, and they knew only that the gentle, affectionate, idolized child was exposed to every cruelty which barbarism could inflict upon him. what was to be their own fate? were they to linger out the remnant of their days in this wretched captivity? would their inhuman jailers envy them the consolation they found in each other's arms, and separate them? were they also to perish upon the guillotine, where nearly all whom they had loved had already perished? were they ever to be released? if so, what joy could there remain on earth for them after their awful sufferings and bereavements? woes, such as they had endured, were too deep ever to be effaced from the mind. nearly eight months thus lingered slowly along, in which they saw only brutal and insulting jailers, ate the coarsest food, and were clothed in the unwashed and tattered garb of the prison. time seemed to have stopped its flight, and to have changed into a weary, woeful eternity. on the th of may, the princess elizabeth and her niece, who had received the name of maria theresa in memory of her grandmother, were retiring to bed. they were enveloped in midnight darkness. with their arms around each other's necks, they were kneeling at the foot of the bed in prayer. suddenly a great noise was heard at the door, accompanied with repeated and violent blows, almost heavy enough to shiver the door from its hinges. madame elizabeth hastened to withdraw a bolt, which constituted an inner fastening, when some soldiers rushed in with their lanterns, and said to madame elizabeth, "you must immediately follow us." "and my niece," replied the princess, ever forgetful of herself in her thoughtfulness for others, "can she go too?" "we want you only now!" was the answer; "we will take care of her by-and-by." the aunt foresaw that the hour for the long-dreaded separation had come. she threw her arms around the neck of the trembling maiden, and wept in uncontrollable grief. the brutal soldiers, unmoved by these tears, loaded them both with reproaches and insults, as belonging to the detested race of kings, and imperiously commanded the princess elizabeth immediately to depart. she endeavored to whisper a word of hope into the ear of her despairing niece. "i shall probably soon return again, my dear maria." "no, citoyenne, you won't," rudely interrupted one of the jailers; "you will never ascend these stairs again. so take your bonnet and come down." bathing the face of the young girl with her tears, invoking the blessing of heaven upon her, turning again and again to enfold her in a last embrace, she was led out by the soldiers, and conducted down the dark and damp stairs to the gate. here the soldiers rudely searched her person anew, and then thrust her into a carriage. it was midnight. the carriage was driven violently through the deserted streets to the conciergerie. the tribunal was, even at that hour, in session, for in those days of blood, when the slide of the guillotine had no repose from morning till night, the day did not contain hours enough for the work of condemnation. the princess was conducted immediately into the presence of the revolutionary tribunal. a few questions were asked her, and then she was led into a hall, and left to catch such repose as she could upon the bench where maria antoinette but a few months before had awaited her condemnation. the morning had hardly dawned when she was again conducted to the tribunal, in company with twenty-four others, of every age and of both sexes, whose crime was that they were nobles. ladies were there, illustrious in virtue and rank, who had formerly graced the brilliant assemblies of the tuileries and of versailles. young men, whose family names had been renowned for ages, stood there to answer for the crime of possessing a distinguished name. while looking upon this group of nobles, gathered before that merciless tribunal, where judgment was almost certain condemnation, the public accuser, with cruel irony remarked, "of what can madame elizabeth complain, when she sees herself at the foot of the guillotine, surrounded by her faithful nobility? she can now fancy herself back again in the gay festivities of versailles." the charges against elizabeth were, that she was the sister of a tyrant, and that she loved that royal family whom the nation had adjudged not fit to live. "if my brother had been the tyrant you declare him to have been," the princess remarked, "you would not be where you now are, nor i before you." but it is vain for the lamb to plead with the wolf. she was condemned to die. she listened to her sentence with the most perfect composure, and almost with satisfaction. the only favor she asked was, that she might see a priest, and receive the consolations of religion, according to the faith she professed. even this request was denied her. the crime of loyalty was of too deep a dye to allow of any, the slightest, mitigation of punishment. from the judgment hall she was led down into one of the dungeons of the conciergerie, where, with the rest of her companions, she awaited the execution of their doom. it was, indeed, a melancholy meeting. these illustrious captives had formerly dwelt in the highest splendor which earth allows. they had met in regal palaces, surrounded by all the pomp and grandeur of courts. now, after months of the most cruel imprisonment, after passing through scenes of the most protracted woe, having been deprived of all their possessions, of all their ancestral honors, having surrendered one after another of those most dear to them to the guillotine, they were collected in a dark and foul dungeon, cold and wet, hungry and exhausted, to be conveyed in a few hours, in the cart of the condemned, to the scaffold. the character of elizabeth was such, her weanedness from the world, her mild and heavenly spirit, as to have secured almost the idolatrous veneration of those who knew her. the companions of her misfortunes now clustered around her, as the one to whom they must look for support and strength in this awful hour. the princess, more calm and peaceful even than when surrounded by all the splendors of royalty, looked forward joyfully to the guillotine as the couch of sweet and lasting repose. faith enabled her to leave the children, now the only tie which bound her to earth, in the hands of god, and, conscious that she had done with all things earthly, her thoughts were directed to those mansions of rest which, she doubted not, were in reserve for her. she bowed her head with a smile to the executioner as he cut off her long tresses in preparation for the knife. the locks fell at her feet, and even the executioners divided them among them as memorials of her loveliness and virtue. her hands were bound behind her, and she was placed in the cart with twenty-two companions of noble birth, and she was doomed to wait at the foot of the scaffold till all those heads had fallen, before her turn could come. the youth, the beauty, the innocence, the spotless life of the princess seemed to disarm the populace of their rage, and they gazed upon her in silence and almost with admiration. her name had ever been connected with every thing that was pure and kind. and even a feeling of remorse seemed to pervade the concourse surrounding the scaffold in view of the sacrifice of so blameless a victim. one by one, as the condemned ascended the steps of the guillotine to submit to the dreadful execution, they approached elizabeth and encircled her in an affectionate embrace. at last every head had fallen beneath the ax but that of elizabeth. the mutilated bodies were before her. the gory heads of those she loved were in a pile by her side. it was a sight to shock the stoutest nerves. but the princess, sustained by that christian faith which had supported her through her almost unparalleled woes, apparently without a tremor ascended the steps, looked calmly and benignantly around upon the vast multitude, as if in her heart she was imploring god's blessing upon them, and surrendered herself to the executioner. probably not a purer spirit nor one more attuned for heaven existed in france than the one which then ascended from the scaffold, we trust, to the bosom of god. maria antoinette died with the pride and the firmness of the invincible queen. elizabeth yielded herself to the spirit of submissive piety, and fell asleep upon the bosom of her savior. our thoughts would more willingly follow her to those mansions of rest, where faith instructs us that she winged her flight, than turn again to the prison where the orphan children lingered in solitude and woe. young louis was left in one of the apartments of the temple, under the care of the brutal simon, whose commission it was to _get quit of him_. to send a child of seven years of age to the guillotine because his father was a king, was a step which the revolutionary tribunal _then_ was hardly willing to take, out of regard to the opinions of the world. it would be hardly consistent with the character of the great nation to _poison_ the child; and yet, while he lived, there was a rallying point around which the sympathies of royalty could congregate. _louis must die!_ simon must not _kill_ him; he must not _poison_ him; he must _get quit of him_. the public safety demands it. patriotism demands it. in the accomplishment of this undertaking, the young prince was shut up alone, entirely alone, like a caged beast, in one of the upper rooms of a tower of the temple. there he was left, day and night, week after week, and month after month, with no companion, with no employment, with no food for thought, with no opportunity for exercise or to breathe the fresh air. a flagon of water, seldom replenished, was placed at his bedside. the door was occasionally half opened, and some coarse food thrown in to the poor child. he never washed himself. for more than a year, his clothes, his shirt, and his shoes had never been changed. for six months his bed was not made, and the unhappy child, consigned to this living burial, remained silent and immovable upon the impure pallet, breathing his own infection. by long inactivity his limbs became rigid. his mind, by the dead inaction which succeeded terror, lost its energy, and became, not only brutalized, but depraved. the noble child of warm affections, polished manners, and active intellect, was thus degraded far below the ordinary condition of the brute. thus eighteen months rolled away, and the poor boy became insane through mental exhaustion and debility. but even then he retained a lively sense of gratitude for every word or act of kindness. at one time, the inhuman wretch who was endeavoring by slow torture to conduct this child to the grave, seized him by the hair, and threatened to dash out his brains against the wall. a surgeon, m. naulin, who chanced to be near by, interfered in behalf of the unhappy victim, and rescued him from the rage of the tyrant. two pears that evening were given to the half-famished child for his supper. he hid them under his pillow, and went supperless to sleep. the next day he presented the two pears to his benefactor, very politely expressing his regret that he had no other means of manifesting his gratitude. torrents of blood were daily flowing from the guillotine. illustrious wealth, or rank, or virtue, condemned the possessor to the scaffold. terror held its reign in every bosom. no one was safe. the public became weary of these scenes of horror. a reaction commenced. many of the firmest republicans, overawed by the tyranny of the mob, began secretly to long for the repose which kingly power had given the nation. sympathy was excited for the woes of the imprisoned prince. it is difficult to record, without pleasure, that one of the first acts of this returning sense of humanity consisted in leading the barbarous simon to the guillotine. history does not inform us whether he shuddered in view of his crimes under the ax. but his crimes were almost too great for humanity to forgive. louis was placed under the care of more merciful keepers. his wasted frame and delirious mind, generous and affectionate even in its delirium, moved their sympathy and their tears. they washed and dressed their little prisoner; spoke to him in tones of kindness; soothed and comforted him. louis gazed upon them with a vacant air, hardly knowing, after more than two years of hatred, execration, and abuse, what to make of expressions of gentleness and mercy. but it was too late. simon had faithfully executed his task. the constitution of the young prince was hopelessly undermined. he was seized with a fever. the convention, ashamed of the past, sent the celebrated physician dessault to visit him. the patient, inured to suffering, with blighted hopes and a crushed heart, lingered in silence and patience for a few days upon his bed, and died on the th of june, , in the tenth year of his age. the change which had commenced in the public mind, preparing the way for napoleon to quell these revolutionary horrors, was so great, that a very general feeling of sympathy was awakened by the death of the young prince, and a feeling of remorse pervaded the conscience of the nation. history contains few stories more sorrowful than the death of this child. to the limited vision of mortals, it is indeed inexplicable why he should have been left by that god, who rules in infinite wisdom and love, to so dreadful a fate. for the solution of this and all other inexplicable mysteries of the divine government, we must look forward to our immortality. but we must return to maria theresa. we left her at midnight, delirious with grief and terror, upon the pallet of her cell, her aunt having just been torn from her embrace. even the ravages of captivity had not destroyed the exceeding beauty of the princess, now sixteen years of age. the slow hours of that night of anguish lingered away, and the morning, cheerless and companionless, dawned through the grated window of her prison upon her woe. thus days and nights went and came. she knew not what had been the fate of her mother. she knew not what doom awaited her aunt. she could have no intercourse with her brother, who she only knew was suffering every conceivable outrage in another part of the prison. her food was brought to her by those who loved to show their brutal power over the daughter of a long line of kings. weeks and months thus rolled on without any alleviation--without the slightest gleam of joy or hope penetrating the midnight gloom of her cell. it is impossible for the imagination to paint the anguish endured by this beautiful, intellectual, affectionate, and highly-accomplished princess during these weary months of solitude and captivity. every indulgence was withheld from her, and conscious existence became the most weighty woe. thus a year and a half lingered slowly away, while the reign of terror was holding its high carnival in the streets of blood-deluged paris, and every friend of royalty, of whatever sex or age, all over the empire, was hunted down without mercy. when the reaction awakened by these horrors commenced in the public mind, the rigor of her captivity was somewhat abated. the death of her brother roused in her behalf, as the only remaining child of the wrecked and ruined family, such a feeling of sympathy, that the assembly consented to regard her as a prisoner of war, and to exchange her with the austrian government for four french officers whom they held as prisoners. maria theresa was led, pale, pensive, heart-broken, hopeless, from her cell, and placed in the hands of the relatives of her mother. but her griefs had been so deep, her bereavements so utter and heart-rending, that this change seemed to her only a mitigation of misery, and not an accession of joy. she was informed of the death of her mother and her aunt, and, weeping over her desolation, she emerged from her prison cell and entered the carriage to return to the palaces of austria, where her unhappy mother had passed the hours of her childhood. as she rode along through the green fields and looked out upon the blue sky, through which the summer's sun was shedding its beams--as she felt the pure air, from which she had so long been excluded, fanning her cheeks, and realized that she was safe from insults and once more free, anguish gave place to a calm and settled melancholy. she arrived in vienna. love and admiration encircled her. every heart vied in endeavors to lavish soothing words and delicate attentions upon this stricken child of grief. she buried her face in the bosoms of those thus soliciting her love, her eyes were flooded with tears, and she sobbed with almost a bursting heart. after her arrival in vienna, one full year passed away before a smile could ever be won to visit her cheek. woes such as she had endured pass not away like the mists of the morning. the hideous dream haunted her by day and by night. the headless trunks of her father, her mother, and her aunt were ever before her eyes. her beloved brother, suffering and dying upon a beggar's bed, was ever present in her dreams while reposing under the imperial canopy of the austrian kings. the past had been so long and so awful that it seemed an ever-living reality. the sudden change she could hardly credit but as the delirium of a dream. time, however, will diminish the poignancy of every sorrow save those of remorse. maria was now again in a regal palace, surrounded with every luxury which earth could confer. she was young and beautiful. she was beloved, and almost adored. every monarch, every prince, every embassador from a foreign court, delighted to pay her especial honor. no heart throbbed near her but with the desire to render her some compensation for the wrongs and the woes which had fallen upon her youthful and guileless heart. wherever she appeared, she was greeted with love and homage. those who had never seen her would willingly peril their lives in any way to serve her. thus was she raised to consideration, and enshrined in the affections of every soul retaining one spark of noble feeling. the past receded farther and farther from her view, the present arose more and more vividly before the eye. joy gradually returned to that bosom from which it had so long been a stranger. the flowers bloomed beautifully before her eyes, the birds sung melodiously in her ears. the fair face of creation, with mountain, vale, and river, beguiled her thoughts, and introduced images of peace and beauty to dispel the hideous phantoms of dungeons and misery. the morning drive around the beautiful metropolis; the evening serenade; the moonlight sail; and, above all, the voice of _love_, reanimated her heart, and roused her affections from the tomb in which they so long had slumbered. the smile of youth, though still pensive and melancholy, began to illumine her saddened features. hope of future joy rose to cheer her. the duc d'angoulême, son of charles x., sought her as his bride, and she was led in tranquil happiness to the altar, feeling as few can feel the luxury of being tenderly beloved. upon the fall of napoleon she returned to france with the bourbon family, and again moved, with smiles of sadness, among the brilliant throng crowding the palaces of her ancestors. the revolution of , which drove the bourbons again from the throne of france, drove maria theresa, now duchesse d'angoulême, again into exile. she resided for a time with her husband in the castle of holyrood, in scotland, under the name of the count and countess of main; but the climate being too severe for her constitution, she left that region for vienna. there she was received with every possible demonstration of respect and affection. she now resides in the imperial castle of prague, a venerated widow, having passed through three-score years and ten of a more varied life than is often experienced by mortals. even to the present hour, her furrowed cheeks retain the traces, in their pensive expression, of the sorrow which darkened her early years. * * * * * * transcriber's note: . minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors and to ensure consistent spelling and punctuation in this e-text; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the original book. . the chapter summaries in this text were originally published as banners in the page headers, and have been moved to beginning of the chapter for the reader's convenience. . the page reference in the table of contents for chapter iii has been corrected to show the chapter as beginning on page . memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen volume chapter ix. the queen having been robbed of her purse as she was passing from the tuileries to the feuillans, requested my sister to lend her twenty-five louis. [on being interrogated the queen declared that these five and twenty louis had been lent to her by my sister; this formed a pretence for arresting her and me, and led to her death.--madame campan.] i spent part of the day at the feuillans, and her majesty told me she would ask potion to let me be with her in the place which the assembly should decree for her prison. i then returned home to prepare everything that might be necessary for me to accompany her. on the same day ( th august), at nine in the evening, i returned to the feuillans. i found there were orders at all the gates forbidding my being admitted. i claimed a right to enter by virtue of the first permission which had been given to me; i was again refused. i was told that the queen had as many people as were requisite about her. my sister was with her, as well as one of my companions, who came out of the prisons of the abbaye on the th. i renewed my solicitations on the th; my tears and entreaties moved neither the keepers of the gates, nor even a deputy, to whom i addressed myself. i soon heard of the removal of louis xvi. and his family to the temple. i went to potion accompanied by m. valadon, for whom i had procured a place in the post-office, and who was devoted to me. he determined to go up to potion alone; he told him that those who requested to be confined could not be suspected of evil designs, and that no political opinion could afford a ground of objection to these solicitations. seeing that the well-meaning man did not succeed, i thought to do more in person; but petion persisted in his refusal, and threatened to send me to la force. thinking to give me a kind of consolation, he added i might be certain that all those who were then with louis xvi. and his family would not stay with them long. and in fact, two or three days afterwards the princesse de lamballe, madame de tourzel, her daughter, the queen's first woman, the first woman of the dauphin and of madame, m. de chamilly, and m. de hue were carried off during the night and transferred to la force. after the departure of the king and queen for the temple, my sister was detained a prisoner in the apartments their majesties had quitted for twenty-four hours. from this time i was reduced to the misery of having no further intelligence of my august and unfortunate mistress but through the medium of the newspapers or the national guard, who did duty at the temple. the king and queen said nothing to me at the feuillans about the portfolio which had been deposited with me; no doubt they expected to see me again. the minister roland and the deputies composing the provisional government were very intent on a search for papers belonging to their majesties. they had the whole of the tuileries ransacked. the infamous robespierre bethought himself of m. campan, the queen's private secretary, and said that his death was feigned; that he was living unknown in some obscure part of france, and was doubtless the depositary of all the important papers. in a great portfolio belonging to the king there had been found a solitary letter from the comte d'artois, which, by its date, and the subjects of which it treated, indicated the existence of a continued correspondence. (this letter appeared among the documents used on the trial of louis xvi.) a former preceptor of my son's had studied with robespierre; the latter, meeting him in the street, and knowing the connection which had subsisted between him and the family of m. campan, required him to say, upon his honour, whether he was certain of the death of the latter. the man replied that m. campan had died at la briche in , and that he had seen him interred in the cemetery of epinay. "well, then," resumed robespierre, "bring me the certificate of his burial at twelve to-morrow; it is a document for which i have pressing occasion." upon hearing the deputy's demand i instantly sent for a certificate of m. campan's burial, and robespierre received it at nine o'clock the next morning. but i considered that, in thinking of my father-in-law, they were coming very near me, the real depositary of these important papers. i passed days and nights in considering what i could do for the best under such circumstances. i was thus situated when the order to inform against those who had been denounced as suspected on the th of august led to domiciliary visits. my servants were told that the people of the quarter in which i lived were talking much of the search that would be made in my house, and came to apprise me of it. i heard that fifty armed men would make themselves masters of m. auguies house, where i then was. i had just received this intelligence when m. gougenot, the king's maitre d'hotel and receiver-general of the taxes, a man much attached to his sovereign, came into my room wrapped in a ridingcloak, under which, with great difficulty, he carried the king's portfolio, which i had entrusted to him. he threw it down at my feet, and said to me, "there is your deposit; i did not receive it from our unfortunate king's own hands; in delivering it to you i have executed my trust." after saying this he was about to withdraw. i stopped him, praying him to consult with me what i ought to do in such a trying emergency. he would not listen to my entreaties, or even hear me describe the course i intended to pursue. i told him my abode was about to be surrounded; i imparted to him what the queen had said to me about the contents of the portfolio. to all this he answered, "there it is; decide for yourself; i will have no hand in it." upon that i remained a few seconds thinking, and my conduct was founded upon the following reasons. i spoke aloud, although to myself; i walked about the room with agitated steps; m. gougenot was thunderstruck. "yes," said i, "when we can no longer communicate with our king and receive his orders, however attached we may be to him, we can only serve him according to the best of our own judgment. the queen said to me, 'this portfolio contains scarcely anything but documents of a most dangerous description in the event of a trial taking place, if it should fall into the hands of revolutionary persons.' she mentioned, too, a single document which would, under the same circumstances, be useful. it is my duty to interpret her words, and consider them as orders. she meant to say, 'you will save such a paper, you will destroy the rest if they are likely to be taken from you.' if it were not so, was there any occasion for her to enter into any detail as to what the portfolio contained? the order to keep it was sufficient. probably it contains, moreover, the letters of that part of the family which has emigrated; there is nothing which may have been foreseen or decided upon that can be useful now; and there can be no political thread which has not been cut by the events of the th of august and the imprisonment of the king. my house is about to be surrounded; i cannot conceal anything of such bulk; i might, then, through want of foresight, give up that which would cause the condemnation of the king. let us open the portfolio, save the document alluded to, and destroy the rest." i took a knife and cut open one side of the portfolio. i saw a great number of envelopes endorsed by the king's own hand. m. gougenot found there the former seals of the king, [no doubt it was in order to have the ancient seals ready at a moment's notice, in case of a counter-revolution, that the queen desired me not to quit the tuileries. m. gougenot threw the seals into the river, one from above the pont neuf, and the other from near the pont royal.--madame campan.] such as they were before the assembly had changed the inscription. at this moment we heard a great noise; he agreed to tie up the portfolio, take it again under his cloak, and go to a safe place to execute what i had taken upon me to determine. he made me swear, by all i held most sacred, that i would affirm, under every possible emergency, that the course i was pursuing had not been dictated to me by anybody; and that, whatever might be the result, i would take all the credit or all the blame upon myself. i lifted up my hand and took the oath he required; he went out. half an hour afterwards a great number of armed men came to my house; they placed sentinels at all the outlets; they broke open secretaires and closets of which they had not the keys; they 'searched the flower-pots and boxes; they examined the cellars; and the commandant repeatedly said, "look particularly for papers." in the afternoon m. gougenot returned. he had still the seals of france about him, and he brought me a statement of all that he had burnt. the portfolio contained twenty letters from monsieur, eighteen or nineteen from the comte d'artois, seventeen from madame adelaide, eighteen from madame victoire, a great many letters from comte alexandre de lameth, and many from m. de malesherbes, with documents annexed to them. there were also some from m. de montmorin and other ex-ministers or ambassadors. each correspondence had its title written in the king's own hand upon the blank paper which contained it. the most voluminous was that from mirabeau. it was tied up with a scheme for an escape, which he thought necessary. m. gougenot, who had skimmed over these letters with more attention than the rest, told me they were of so interesting a nature that the king had no doubt kept them as documents exceedingly valuable for a history of his reign, and that the correspondence with the princes, which was entirely relative to what was going forward abroad, in concert with the king, would have been fatal to him if it had been seized. after he had finished he placed in my hands the proces-verbal, signed by all the ministers, to which the king attached so much importance, because he had given his opinion against the declaration of war; a copy of the letter written by the king to the princes, his brothers, inviting them to return to france; an account of the diamonds which the queen had sent to brussels (these two documents were in my handwriting); and a receipt for four hundred thousand francs, under the hand of a celebrated banker. this sum was part of the eight hundred thousand francs which the queen had gradually saved during her reign, out of her pension of three hundred thousand francs per annum, and out of the one hundred thousand francs given by way of present on the birth of the dauphin. this receipt, written on a very small piece of paper, was in the cover of an almanac. i agreed with m. gougenot, who was obliged by his office to reside in paris, that he should retain the proces-verbal of the council and the receipt for the four hundred thousand francs, and that we should wait either for orders or for the means of transmitting these documents to the king or queen; and i set out for versailles. the strictness of the precautions taken to guard the illustrious prisoners was daily increased. the idea that i could not inform the king of the course i had adopted of burning his papers, and the fear that i should not be able to transmit to him that which he had pointed out as necessary, tormented me to such a degree that it is wonderful my health endured the strain. the dreadful trial drew near. official advocates were granted to the king; the heroic virtue of m. de malesherbes induced him to brave the most imminent dangers, either to save his master or to perish with him. i hoped also to be able to find some means of informing his majesty of what i had thought it right to do. i sent a man, on whom i could rely, to paris, to request m. gougenot to come to me at versailles he came immediately. we agreed that he should see m. de malesherbes without availing himself of any intermediate person for that purpose. m. gougenot awaited his return from the temple at the door of his hotel, and made a sign that he wished to speak to him. a moment afterwards a servant came to introduce him into the magistrates' room. he imparted to m. de malesherbes what i had thought it right to do with respect to the king's papers, and placed in his hands the proces-verbal of the council, which his majesty had preserved in order to serve, if occasion required it, for a ground of his defence. however, that paper is not mentioned in either of the speeches of his advocate; probably it was determined not to make use of it. i stop at that terrible period which is marked by the assassination of a king whose virtues are well known; but i cannot refrain from relating what he deigned to say in my favour to m. de malesherbes: "let madame campan know that she did what i should myself have ordered her to do; i thank her for it; she is one of those whom i regret i have it not in my power to recompense for their fidelity to my person, and for their good services." i did not hear of this until the morning after he had suffered, and i think i should have sunk under my despair if this honourable testimony had not given me some consolation. supplement to chapter ix. madame campan's narrative breaking off abruptly at the time of the painful end met with by her sister, we have supplemented it by abridged accounts of the chief incidents in the tragedy which overwhelmed the royal house she so faithfully served, taken from contemporary records and the best historical authorities. the royal family in the temple. the assembly having, at the instance of the commune of paris, decreed that the royal family should be immured in the temple, they were removed thither from the feuillans on the th of august, , in the charge of potion, mayor of paris, and santerre, the commandant-general. twelve commissioners of the general council were to keep constant watch at the temple, which had been fortified by earthworks and garrisoned by detachments of the national guard, no person being allowed to enter without permission from the municipality. the temple, formerly the headquarters of the knights templars in paris, consisted of two buildings,--the palace, facing the rue de temple, usually occupied by one of the princes of the blood; and the tower, standing behind the palace. [clery gives a more minute description of this singular building: "the small tower of the temple in which the king was then confined stood with its back against the great tower, without any interior communication, and formed a long square, flanked by two turrets. in one of these turrets there was a narrow staircase that led from the first floor to a gallery on the platform; in the other were small rooms, answering to each story of the tower. the body of the building was four stories high. the first consisted of an antechamber, a dining-room, and a small room in the turret, where there was a library containing from twelve to fifteen hundred volumes. the second story was divided nearly in the same manner. the largest room was the queen's bedchamber, in which the dauphin also slept; the second, which was separated from the queen's by a small antechamber almost without light, was occupied by madame royale and madame elisabeth. the king's apartments were on the third story. he slept in the great room, and made a study of the turret closet. there was a kitchen separated from the king's chamber by a small dark room, which had been successively occupied by m. de chamilly and m. de hue. the fourth story was shut up; and on the ground floor there were kitchens of which no use was made." --"journal," p. .] the tower was a square building, with a round tower at each corner and a small turret on one side, usually called the tourelle. in the narrative of the duchesse d'angouleme she says that the soldiers who escorted the royal prisoners wished to take the king alone to the tower, and his family to the palace of the temple, but that on the way manuel received an order to imprison them all in the tower, where so little provision had been made for their reception that madame elisabeth slept in the kitchen. the royal family were accompanied by the princesse de lamballe, madame de tourzel and her daughter pauline, mesdames de navarre, de saint-brice, thibaut, and bazire, mm. de hug and de chamilly, and three men-servants--an order from the commune soon removed these devoted attendants, and m. de hue alone was permitted to return. "we all passed the day together," says madame royale. "my father taught my brother geography; my mother history, and to learn verses by heart; and my aunt gave him lessons in arithmetic. my father fortunately found a library which amused him, and my mother worked tapestry . . . . we went every day to walk in the garden, for the sake of my brother's health, though the king was always insulted by the guard. on the feast of saint louis 'ca ira' was sung under the walls of the temple. manuel that evening brought my aunt a letter from her aunts at rome. it was the last the family received from without. my father was no longer called king. he was treated with no kind of respect; the officers always sat in his presence and never took off their hats. they deprived him of his sword and searched his pockets . . . . petion sent as gaoler the horrible man--[rocher, a saddler by trade] who had broken open my father's door on the th june, , and who had been near assassinating him. this man never left the tower, and was indefatigable in endeavouring to torment him. one time he would sing the 'caramgnole,' and a thousand other horrors, before us; again, knowing that my mother disliked the smoke of tobacco, he would puff it in her face, as well as in that of my father, as they happened to pass him. he took care always to be in bed before we went to supper, because he knew that we must pass through his room. my father suffered it all with gentleness, forgiving the man from the bottom of his heart. my mother bore it with a dignity that frequently repressed his insolence." the only occasion, madame royale adds, on which the queen showed any impatience at the conduct of the officials, was when a municipal officer woke the dauphin suddenly in the night to make certain that he was safe, as though the sight of the peacefully sleeping child would not have been in itself the best assurance. clery, the valet de chambre of the dauphin, having with difficulty obtained permission to resume his duties, entered the temple on the th august, and for eight days shared with m. de hue the personal attendance; but on the d september de hue was arrested, seals were placed on the little room he had occupied, and clery passed the night in that of the king. on the following morning manuel arrived, charged by the commune to inform the king that de hue would not be permitted to return, and to offer to send another person. "i thank you," answered the king. "i will manage with the valet de chambre of my son; and if the council refuse i will serve myself. i am determined to do it." on the d september manual visited the temple and assured the king that madame de lamballe and all the other prisoners who had been removed to la force were well, and safely guarded. "but at three o'clock," says madame royale, "just after dinner, and as the king was sitting down to 'tric trac' with my mother (which he played for the purpose of having an opportunity of saying a few words to her unheard by the keepers), the most horrid shouts were heard. the officer who happened to be on guard in the room behaved well. he shut the door and the window, and even drew the curtains to prevent their seeing anything; but outside the workmen and the gaoler rocher joined the assassins and increased the tumult. several officers of the guard and the municipality now arrived, and on my father's asking what was the matter, a young officer replied, 'well, since you will know, it is the head of madame de lamballe that they want to show you.' at these words my mother was overcome with horror; it was the only occasion on which her firmness abandoned her. the municipal officers were very angry with the young man; but the king, with his usual goodness, excused him, saying that it was his own fault, since he had questioned the officer. the noise lasted till five o'clock. we learned that the people had wished to force the door, and that the municipal officers had been enabled to prevent it only by putting a tricoloured scarf across it, and allowing six of the murderers to march round our prison with the head of the princess, leaving at the door her body, which they would have dragged in also." clery was not so fortunate as to escape the frightful spectacle. he had gone down to dine with tison and his wife, employed as servants in the temple, and says: "we were hardly seated when a head, on the end of a pike, was presented at the window. tison's wife gave a great cry; the assassins fancied they recognised the queen's voice, and responded by savage laughter. under the idea that his majesty was still at table, they placed their dreadful trophy where it must be seen. it was the head of the princesse de lamballe; although bleeding, it was not disfigured, and her light hair, still in curls, hung about the pike." at length the immense mob that surrounded the temple gradually withdrew, "to follow the head of the princess de lamballe to the palais royal." [the pike that bore the head was fixed before the duc d'orleans's window as he was going to dinner. it is said that he looked at this horrid sight without horror, went into the dining-room, sat down to table, and helped his guests without saying a word. his silence and coolness left it doubtful whether the assassins, in presenting him this bloody trophy, intended to offer him an insult or to pay him homage.--de molleville's "annals of the french revolution," vol. vii., p. .] meanwhile the royal family could scarcely believe that for the time their lives were saved. "my aunt and i heard the drums beating to arms all night," says madame royale; "my unhappy mother did not even attempt to sleep. we heard her sobs." in the comparative tranquillity which followed the september massacres, the royal family resumed the regular habits they had adopted on entering the temple. "the king usually rose at six in the morning," says clery. "he shaved himself, and i dressed his hair; he then went to his reading-room, which, being very small, the municipal officer on duty remained in the bedchamber with the door open, that he might always keep the king in sight. his majesty continued praying on his knees for some time, and then read till nine. during that interval, after putting his chamber to rights and preparing the breakfast, i went down to the queen, who never opened her door till i arrived, in order to prevent the municipal officer from going into her apartment. at nine o'clock the queen, the children, and madame elisabeth went up to the king's chamber to breakfast. at ten the king and his family went down to the queen's chamber, and there passed the day. he employed himself in educating his son, made him recite passages from corneille and racine, gave him lessons in geography, and exercised him in colouring the maps. the queen, on her part, was employed in the education of her daughter, and these different lessons lasted till eleven o'clock. the remaining time till noon was passed in needlework, knitting, or making tapestry. at one o'clock, when the weather was fine, the royal family were conducted to the garden by four municipal officers and the commander of a legion of the national guard. as there were a number of workmen in the temple employed in pulling down houses and building new walls, they only allowed a part of the chestnut-tree walk for the promenade, in which i was allowed to share, and where i also played with the young prince at ball, quoits, or races. at two we returned to the tower, where i served the dinner, at which time santerre regularly came to the temple, attended by two aides-de-camp. the king sometimes spoke to him,--the queen never. "after the meal the royal family came down into the queen's room, and their majesties generally played a game of piquet or tric-trac. at four o'clock the king took a little repose, the princesses round him, each with a book . . . . when the king woke the conversation was resumed, and i gave writing lessons to his son, taking the copies, according to his instructions, from the works of, montesquieu and other celebrated authors. after the lesson i took the young prince into madame elisabeth's room, where we played at ball, and battledore and shuttlecock. in the evening the family sat round a table, while the queen read to them from books of history, or other works proper to instruct and amuse the children. madame elisabeth took the book in her turn, and in this manner they read till eight o'clock. after that i served the supper of the young prince, in which the royal family shared, and the king amused the children with charades out of a collection of french papers which he found in the library. after the dauphin had supped, i undressed him, and the queen heard him say his prayers. at nine the king went to supper, and afterwards went for a moment to the queen's chamber, shook hands with her and his sister for the night, kissed his children, and then retired to the turret-room, where he sat reading till midnight. the queen and the princesses locked themselves in, and one of the municipal officers remained in the little room which parted their chamber, where he passed the night; the other followed his majesty. in this manner was the time passed as long as the king remained in the small tower." but even these harmless pursuits were too often made the means of further insulting and thwarting the unfortunate family. commissary le clerc interrupted the prince's writing lessons, proposing to substitute republican works for those from which the king selected his copies. a smith, who was present when the queen was reading the history of france to her children, denounced her to the commune for choosing the period when the connstable de bourbon took arms against france, and said she wished to inspire her son with unpatriotic feelings; a municipal officer asserted that the multiplication table the prince was studying would afford a means of "speaking in cipher," so arithmetic had to be abandoned. much the same occurred even with the needlework, the queen and princess finished some chairbacks, which they wished to send to the duchesse de tarente; but the officials considered that the patterns were hieroglyphics, intended for carrying on a correspondence, and ordered that none of the princesses work should leave the temple. the short daily walk in the garden was also embittered by the rude behaviour of the military and municipal gaolers; sometimes, however, it afforded an opportunity for marks of sympathy to be shown. people would station themselves at the windows of houses overlooking the temple gardens, and evince by gestures their loyal affection, and some of the sentinels showed, even by tears, that their duty was painful to them. on the st september the national convention was constituted, petion being made president and collot d'herbois moving the "abolition of royalty" amidst transports of applause. that afternoon a municipal officer attended by gendarmes a cheval, and followed by a crowd of people, arrived at the temple, and, after a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed the establishment of the french republic. the man, says clery, "had the voice of a stentor." the royal family could distinctly hear the announcement of the king's deposition. "hebert, so well known under the title of pere duchesne, and destournelles were on guard. they were sitting near the door, and turned to the king with meaning smiles. he had a book in his hand, and went on reading without changing countenance. the queen showed the same firmness. the proclamation finished, the trumpets sounded afresh. i went to the window; the people took me for louis xvi. and i was overwhelmed with insults." after the new decree the prisoners were treated with increased harshness. pens, paper, ink, and pencils were taken from them. the king and madame elisabeth gave up all, but the queen and her daughter each concealed a pencil. "in the beginning of october," says madame royale, "after my father had supped, he was told to stop, that he was not to return to his former apartments, and that he was to be separated from his family. at this dreadful sentence the queen lost her usual courage. we parted from him with abundance of tears, though we expected to see him again in the morning. [at nine o'clock, says clery, the king asked to be taken to his family, but the municipal officers replied that they had "no orders for that." shortly afterwards a boy brought the king some bread and a decanter of lemonade for his breakfast. the king gave half the bread to clery, saying, "it seems they have forgotten your breakfast; take this, the rest is enough for me." clery refused, but the king insisted. "i could not contain my tears," he adds; "the king perceived them, and his own fell also."] they brought in our breakfast separately from his, however. my mother would take nothing. the officers, alarmed at her silent and concentrated sorrow, allowed us to see the king, but at meal-times only, and on condition that we should not speak low, nor in any foreign language, but loud and in 'good french.' we went down, therefore, with the greatest joy to dine with my father. in the evening, when my brother was in bed, my mother and my aunt alternately sat with him or went with me to sup with my father. in the morning, after breakfast, we remained in the king's apartments while clery dressed our hair, as he was no longer allowed to come to my mother's room, and this arrangement gave us the pleasure of spending a few moments more with my father." [when the first deputation from the council of the commune visited the temple, and formally inquired whether the king had any complaint to make, he replied, "no; while he was permitted to remain with his family he was happy."] the royal prisoners had no comfort except their affection for each other. at that time even common necessaries were denied them. their small stock of linen had been lent them; by persons of the court during the time they spent at the feuillans. the princesses mended their clothes every day, and after the king had gone to bed madame elisabeth mended his. "with much trouble," says clrry, "i procured some fresh linen for them. but the workwomen having marked it with crowned letters, the princesses were ordered to pick them out." the room in the great tower to which the king had been removed contained only one bed, and no other article of furniture. a chair was brought on which clery spent the first night; painters were still at work on the room, and the smell of the paint, he says, was almost unbearable. this room was afterwards furnished by collecting from various parts of the temple a chest of drawers, a small bureau, a few odd chairs, a chimney-glass, and a bed hung with green damask, which had been used by the captain of the guard to the comte d'artois. a room for the queen was being prepared over that of the king, and she implored the workmen to finish it quickly, but it was not ready for her occupation for some time, and when she was allowed to remove to it the dauphin was taken from her and placed with his father. when their majesties met again in the great tower, says clery, there was little change in the hours fixed for meals, reading, walking and the education of their children. they were not allowed to have mass said in the temple, and therefore commissioned clery to get them the breviary in use in the diocese of paris. among the books read by the king while in the tower were hume's "history of england" (in the original), tasso, and the "de imitatione christi." the jealous suspicions of the municipal officers led to the most absurd investigations; a draught-board was taken to pieces lest the squares should hide treasonable papers; macaroons were broken in half to see that they did not contain letters; peaches were cut open and the stones cracked; and clery was compelled to drink the essence of soap prepared for shaving the king, under the pretence that it might contain poison. in november the king and all the family had feverish colds, and clery had an attack of rheumatic fever. on the first day of his illness he got up and tried to dress his master, but the king, seeing how ill he was, ordered him to lie down, and himself dressed the dauphin. the little prince waited on clery all day, and in the evening the king contrived to approach his bed, and said, in a low voice, "i should like to take care of you myself, but you know how we are watched. take courage; tomorrow you shall see my doctor." madame elisabeth brought the valet cooling draughts, of which she deprived herself; and after clery was able to get up, the young prince one night with great difficulty kept awake till eleven o'clock in order to give him a box of lozenges when he went to make the king's bed. on th december a deputation from the commune brought an order that the royal family should be deprived of "knives, razors, scissors, penknives, and all other cutting instruments." the king gave up a knife, and took from a morocco case a pair of scissors and a penknife; and the officials then searched the room, taking away the little toilet implements of gold and silver, and afterwards removing the princesses' working materials. returning to the king's room, they insisted upon seeing what remained in his pocket-case. "are these toys which i have in my hand also cutting instruments?" asked the king, showing them a cork-screw, a turn-screw, and a steel for lighting. these also were taken from him. shortly afterwards madame elisabeth was mending the king's coat, and, having no scissors, was compelled to break the thread with her teeth. "what a contrast!" he exclaimed, looking at her tenderly. "you wanted nothing in your pretty house at montreuil." "ah, brother," she answered, "how can i have any regret when i partake your misfortunes?" the queen had frequently to take on herself some of the humble duties of a servant. this was especially painful to louis xvi. when the anniversary of some state festival brought the contrast between past and present with unusual keenness before him. "ah, madame," he once exclaimed, "what an employment for a queen of france! could they see that at vienna! who would have foreseen that, in uniting your lot to mine, you would have descended so low?" "and do you esteem as nothing," she replied, "the glory of being the wife of one of the best and most persecuted of men? are not such misfortunes the noblest honours?"--[alison's "history of europe," vol. ii., p. .] meanwhile the assembly had decided that the king should be brought to trial. nearly all parties, except the girondists, no matter how bitterly opposed to each other, could agree in making him the scapegoat; and the first rumour of the approaching ordeal was conveyed to the temple by clery's wife, who, with a friend, had permission occasionally to visit him. "i did not know how to announce this terrible news to the king," he says; "but time was pressing, and he had forbidden my concealing anything from him. in the evening, while undressing him, i gave him an account of all i had learnt, and added that there were only four days to concert some plan of corresponding with the queen. the arrival of the municipal officer would not allow me to say more. next morning, when the king rose, i could not get a moment for speaking with him. he went up with his son to breakfast with the princesses, and i followed. after breakfast he talked long with the queen, who, by a look full of trouble, made me understand that they were discussing what i had told the king. during the day i found an opportunity of describing to madame elisabeth how much it had cost me to augment the king's distresses by informing him of his approaching trial. she reassured me, saying that the king felt this as a mark of attachment on my part, and added, 'that which most troubles him is the fear of being separated from us.' in the evening the king told me how satisfied he was at having had warning that he was to appear before the convention. 'continue,' he said, 'to endeavour to find out something as to what they want to do with me. never fear distressing me. i have agreed with my family not to seem pre-informed, in order not to compromise you.'" on the th december, at five o'clock in the morning, the prisoners heard the generale beaten throughout paris, and cavalry and cannon entered the temple gardens. at nine the king and the dauphin went as usual to breakfast with the queen. they were allowed to remain together for an hour, but constantly under the eyes of their republican guardians. at last they were obliged to part, doubtful whether they would ever see each other again. the little prince, who remained with his father, and was ignorant of the new cause for anxiety, begged hard that the king would play at ninepins with him as usual. twice the dauphin could not get beyond a certain number. "each time that i get up to sixteen," he said, with some vexation, "i lose the game." the king did not reply, but clery fancied the words made a painful impression on him. at eleven, while the king was giving the dauphin a reading lesson, two municipal officers entered and said they had come "to take young louis to his mother." the king inquired why, but was only told that such were the orders of the council. at one o'clock the mayor of paris, chambon, accompanied by chaumette, procureur de la commune, santerre, commandant of the national guard, and others, arrived at the temple and read a decree to the king, which ordered that "louis capet" should be brought before the convention. "capet is not my name," he replied, "but that of one of my ancestors. i could have wished," he added, "that you had left my son with me during the last two hours. but this treatment is consistent with all i have experienced here. i follow you, not because i recognise the authority of the convention, but because i can be compelled to obey it." he then followed the mayor to a carriage which waited, with a numerous escort, at the gate of the temple. the family left behind were overwhelmed with grief and apprehension. "it is impossible to describe the anxiety we suffered," says madame royale. "my mother used every endeavour with the officer who guarded her to discover what was passing; it was the first time she had condescended to question any of these men. he would tell her nothing." trial of the king.--parting of the royal family.--execution. the crowd was immense as, on the morning of the th december, , louis xvi. was driven slowly from the temple to the convention, escorted by cavalry, infantry, and artillery. paris looked like an armed camp: all the posts were doubled; the muster-roll of the national guard was called over every hour; a picket of two hundred men watched in the court of each of the right sections; a reserve with cannon was stationed at the tuileries, and strong detachments patroled the streets and cleared the road of all loiterers. the trees that lined the boulevards, the doors and windows of the houses, were alive with gazers, and all eyes were fixed on the king. he was much changed since his people last beheld him. the beard he had been compelled to grow after his razors were taken from him covered cheeks, lips, and chin with light-coloured hair, which concealed the melancholy expression of his mouth; he had become thin, and his garments hung loosely on him; but his manner was perfectly collected and calm, and he recognised and named to the mayor the various quarters through which he passed. on arriving at the feuillans he was taken to a room to await the orders of the assembly. it was about half-past two when the king appeared at the bar. the mayor and generaux santerre and wittengoff were at his side. profound silence pervaded the assembly. all were touched by the king's dignity and the composure of his looks under so great a reverse of fortune. by nature he had been formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend against it with energy. the approach of death could not disturb his serenity. "louis, you may be seated," said barere. "answer the questions that shall be put to you." the king seated himself and listened to the reading of the 'acte enonciatif', article by article. all the faults of the court were there enumerated and imputed to louis xvi. personally. he was charged with the interruption of the sittings of the th of june, , with the bed of justice held on the d of the same month, the aristocratic conspiracy thwarted by the insurrection of the th of july, the entertainment of the life guards, the insults offered to the national cockade, the refusal to sanction the declaration of rights, as well as several constitutional articles; lastly, all the facts which indicated a new conspiracy in october, and which were followed by the scenes of the th and th; the speeches of reconciliation which had succeeded all these scenes, and which promised a change that was not sincere; the false oath taken at the federation of the th of july; the secret practices of talon and mirabeau to effect a counter-revolution; the money spent in bribing a great number of deputies; the assemblage of the "knights of the dagger" on the th of february, ; the flight to varennes; the fusilade of the champ de mars; the silence observed respecting the treaty of pilnitz; the delay in the promulgation of the decree which incorporated avignon with france; the commotions at nimes, montauban, mende, and jales; the continuance of their pay to the emigrant life guards and to the disbanded constitutional guard; the insufficiency of the armies assembled on the frontiers; the refusal to sanction the decree for the camp of twenty thousand men; the disarming of the fortresses; the organisation of secret societies in the interior of paris; the review of the swiss and the garrison of the palace on the th august; the summoning the mayor to the tuileries; and lastly, the effusion of blood which had resulted from these military dispositions. after each article the president paused, and said, "what have you to answer?" the king, in a firm voice, denied some of the facts, imputed others to his ministers, and always appealed to the constitution, from which he declared he had never deviated. his answers were very temperate, but on the charge, "you spilt the blood of the people on the th of august," he exclaimed, with emphasis, "no, monsieur, no; it was not i." all the papers on which the act of accusation was founded were then shown to the king, and he disavowed some of them and disputed the existence of the iron chest; this produced a bad impression, and was worse than useless, as the fact had been proved. [a secret closet which the king had directed to be constructed in a wall in the tuileries. the door was of iron, whence it was afterwards known by the name of the iron chest. see thiers, and scott.] throughout the examination the king showed great presence of mind. he was careful in his answers never to implicate any members of the constituent, and legislative assemblies; many who then sat as his judges trembled lest he should betray them. the jacobins beheld with dismay the profound impression made on the convention by the firm but mild demeanour of the sovereign. the most violent of the party proposed that he should be hanged that very night; a laugh as of demons followed the proposal from the benches of the mountain, but the majority, composed of the girondists and the neutrals, decided that he should be formally tried. after the examination santerre took the king by the arm and led him back to the waiting-room of the convention, accompanied by chambon and chaumette. mental agitation and the length of the proceedings had exhausted him, and he staggered from weakness. chaumette inquired if he wished for refreshment, but the king refused it. a moment after, seeing a grenadier of the escort offer the procureur de la commune half a small loaf, louis xvi. approached and asked him, in a whisper, for a piece. "ask aloud for what you want," said chaumette, retreating as though he feared being suspected of pity. "i asked for a piece of your bread," replied the king. "divide it with me," said chaumette. "it is a spartan breakfast. if i had a root i would give you half."--[lamartine's "history of the girondists," edit. , vol. ii., p. .] soon after six in the evening the king returned to the temple. "he seemed tired," says clery, simply, "and his first wish was to be led to his family. the officers refused, on the plea that they had no orders. he insisted that at least they should be informed of his return, and this was promised him. the king ordered me to ask for his supper at half-past eight. the intervening hours he employed in his usual reading, surrounded by four municipals. when i announced that supper was served, the king asked the commissaries if his family could not come down. they made no reply. 'but at least,' the king said, 'my son will pass the night in my room, his bed being here?' the same silence. after supper the king again urged his wish to see his family. they answered that they must await the decision of the convention. while i was undressing him the king said, 'i was far from expecting all the questions they put to me.' he lay down with perfect calmness. the order for my removal during the night was not executed." on the king's return to the temple being known, "my mother asked to see him instantly," writes madame royale. "she made the same request even to chambon, but received no answer. my brother passed the night with her; and as he had no bed, she gave him hers, and sat up all the night in such deep affliction that we were afraid to leave her; but she compelled my aunt and me to go to bed. next day she again asked to see my father, and to read the newspapers, that she might learn the course of the trial. she entreated that if she was to be denied this indulgence, his children, at least, might see him. her requests were referred to the commune. the newspapers were refused; but my brother and i were to be allowed to see my father on condition of being entirely separated from my mother. my father replied that, great as his happiness was in seeing his children, the important business which then occupied him would not allow of his attending altogether to his son, and that his daughter could not leave her mother." [during their last interview madame elisabeth had given clery one of her handkerchiefs, saying, "you shall keep it so long as my brother continues well; if he becomes ill, send it to me among my nephew's things."] the assembly having, after a violent debate, resolved that louis xvi. should have the aid of counsel, a deputation was sent to the temple to ask whom he would choose. the king named messieurs target and tronchet. the former refused his services on the ground that he had discontinued practice since ; the latter complied at once with the king's request; and while the assembly was considering whom to, nominate in target's place, the president received a letter from the venerable malesherbes, [christian guillaume de lamoignon de malesherbes, an eminent french statesman, son of the chancellor of france, was born at paris in . in he succeeded his father as president of the court of aids, and was also made superintendent of the press. on the banishment of the parliaments and the suppression of the court of aids, malesherbes was exiled to his country-seat. in he was appointed minister of state. on the decree of the convention for the king's trial, he emerged from his retreat to become the voluntary advocate of his sovereign. malesherbes was guillotined in , and almost his whole family were extirpated by their merciless persecutors.] then seventy years old, and "the most respected magistrate in france," in the course of which he said: "i have been twice called to be counsel for him who was my master, in times when that duty was coveted by every one. i owe him the same service now that it is a duty which many people deem dangerous. if i knew any possible means of acquainting him with my desires, i should not take the liberty of addressing myself to you." other citizens made similar proposals, but the king, being made acquainted with them by a deputation from the commune, while expressing his gratitude for all the offers, accepted only that of malesherbes. [the citoyenne olympia degonges, calling herself a free and loyal republican without spot or blame, and declaring that the cold and selfish cruelty of target had inflamed her heroism and roused her sensibility, asked permission to assist m, de malesherbes in defending the king. the assembly passed to the order of the day on this request.--bertrand de molleville, "annals," edit. , vol, viii., p. .] on th december m. tronchet was allowed to confer with the king, and later in the same day m. de malesherbes was admitted to the tower. "the king ran up to this worthy old man, whom he clasped in his arms," said clery, "and the former minister melted into tears at the sight of his master." [according to m. de hue, "the first time m. de malesherbes entered the temple, the king clasped him in his arms and said, 'ah, is it you, my friend? you fear not to endanger your own life to save mine; but all will be useless. they will bring me to the scaffold. no matter; i shall gain my cause if i leave an unspotted memory behind me.'"] another deputation brought the king the act of accusation and the documents relating to it, numbering more than a hundred, and taking from four o'clock till midnight to read. during this long process the king had refreshments served to the deputies, taking nothing himself till they had left, but considerately reproving clery for not having supped. from the th to the th december the king saw his counsel and their colleague m. de size every day. at this time a means of communication between the royal family and the king was devised: a man named turgi, who had been in the royal kitchen, and who contrived to obtain employment in the temple, when conveying the meals of the royal family to their apartments, or articles he had purchased for them, managed to give madame elisabeth news of the king. next day, the princess, when turgi was removing the dinner, slipped into his hand a bit of paper on which she had pricked with a pin a request for a word from her brother's own hand. turgi gave this paper to clery, who conveyed it to the king the same evening; and he, being allowed writing materials while preparing his defence, wrote madame elisabeth a short note. an answer was conveyed in a ball of cotton, which turgi threw under clery's bed while passing the door of his room. letters were also passed between the princess's room and that of clery, who lodged beneath her, by means of a string let down and drawn up at night. this communication with his family was a great comfort to the king, who, nevertheless, constantly cautioned his faithful servant. "take care," he would say kindly, "you expose yourself too much." [the king's natural benevolence was constantly shown while in the temple. his own dreadful position never prevented him from sympathy with the smaller troubles of others. a servant in the temple named marchand, the father of a family, was robbed of two hundred francs, --his wages for two months. the king observed his distress, asked its cause, and gave clery the amount to be handed to marchand, with a caution not to speak of it to any one, and, above all, not to thank the king, lest it should injure him with his employers.] during his separation from his family the king refused to go into the garden. when it was proposed to him he said, "i cannot make up my mind to go out alone; the walk was agreeable to me only when i shared it with my family." but he did not allow himself to dwell on painful reflections. he talked freely to the municipals on guard, and surprised them by his varied and practical knowledge of their trades, and his interest in their domestic affairs. on the th december the king's breakfast was served as usual; but, being a fast-day, he refused to take anything. at dinner-time the king said to clery, "fourteen years ago you were up earlier than you were to-day; it is the day my daughter was born--today, her birthday," he repeated, with tears, "and to be prevented from seeing her!" madame royale had wished for a calendar; the king ordered clery to buy her the "almanac of the republic," which had replaced the "court almanac," and ran through it, marking with a pencil many names. "on christmas day," says clery, "the king wrote his will." [madame royale says: "on the th december, st. stephen's day, my father made his will, because he expected to be assassinated that day on his way to the bar of the convention. he went thither, nevertheless, with his usual calmness."--"royal memoirs," p. .] on the th december, , the king appeared a second time before the convention. m. de seze, labouring night and day, had completed his defence. the king insisted on excluding from it all that was too rhetorical, and confining it to the mere discussion of essential points. [when the pathetic peroration of m, de seze was read to the king, the evening before it was delivered to the assembly, "i have to request of you," he said, "to make a painful sacrifice; strike out of your pleading the peroration. it is enough for me to appear before such judges, and show my entire innocence; i will not move their feelings.--"lacretelle.] at half-past nine in the morning the whole armed force was in motion to conduct him from the temple to the feuillans, with the same precautions and in the same order as had been observed on the former occasion. riding in the carriage of the mayor, he conversed, on the way, with the same composure as usual, and talked of seneca, of livy, of the hospitals. arrived at the feuillans, he showed great anxiety for his defenders; he seated himself beside them in the assembly, surveyed with great composure the benches where his accusers and his judges sat, seemed to examine their faces with the view of discovering the impression produced by the pleading of m. de seze, and more than once conversed smilingly with tronchet and malesherbes. the assembly received his defence in sullen silence, but without any tokens of disapprobation. being afterwards conducted to an adjoining room with his counsel, the king showed great anxiety about m. de seze, who seemed fatigued by the long defence. while riding back to the temple he conversed with his companions with the same serenity as he had shown on leaving it. no sooner had the king left the hall of the convention than a violent tumult arose there. some were for opening the discussion. others, complaining of the delays which postponed the decision of this process, demanded the vote immediately, remarking that in every court, after the accused had been heard, the judges proceed to give their opinion. lanjuinais had from the commencement of the proceedings felt an indignation which his impetuous disposition no longer suffered him to repress. he darted to the tribune, and, amidst the cries excited by his presence, demanded the annulling of the proceedings altogether. he exclaimed that the days of ferocious men were gone by, that the assembly ought not to be so dishonoured as to be made to sit in judgment on louis xvi., that no authority in france had that right, and the assembly in particular had no claim to it; that if it resolved to act as a political body, it could do no more than take measures of safety against the ci-devant king; but that if it was acting as a court of justice it was overstepping all principles, for it was subjecting the vanquished to be tried by the conquerors, since most of the present members had declared themselves the conspirators of the th of august. at the word "conspirators" a tremendous uproar arose on all aides. cries of "order!"--"to the abbaye!"--"down with the tribune!" were heard. lanjuinais strove in vain to justify the word "conspirators," saying that he meant it to be taken in a favourable sense, and that the th of august was a glorious conspiracy. he concluded by declaring that he would rather die a thousand deaths than condemn, contrary to all laws, even the most execrable of tyrants. a great number of speakers followed, and the confusion continually increased. the members, determined not to hear any more, mingled together, formed groups, abused and threatened one another. after a tempest of an hour's duration, tranquillity was at last restored; and the assembly, adopting the opinion of those who demanded the discussion on the trial of louis xvi., declared that it was opened, and that it should be continued, to the exclusion of all other business, till sentence should be passed. the discussion was accordingly resumed on the th, and there was a constant succession of speakers from the th to the st. vergniaud at length ascended the tribune for the first time, and an extraordinary eagerness was manifested to hear the girondists express their sentiments by the lips of their greatest orator. the speech of vergniaud produced a deep impression on all his hearers. robespierre was thunderstruck by his earnest and, persuasive eloquence. vergniaud, however, had but shaken, not convinced, the assembly, which wavered between the two parties. several members were successively heard, for and against the appeal to the people. brissot, gensonne, petion, supported it in their turn. one speaker at length had a decisive influence on the question. barere, by his suppleness, and his cold and evasive eloquence, was the model and oracle of the centre. he spoke at great length on the trial, reviewed it in all its bearings--of facts, of laws, and of policy--and furnished all those weak minds, who only wanted specious reasons for yielding, with motives for the condemnation of the king. from that moment the unfortunate king was condemned. the discussion lasted till the th, and nobody would listen any longer to the continual repetition of the same facts and arguments. it was therefore declared to be closed without opposition, but the proposal of a fresh adjournment excited a commotion among the most violent, and ended in a decree which fixed the th of january for putting the questions to the vote. meantime the king did not allow the torturing suspense to disturb his outward composure, or lessen his kindness to those around him. on the morning after his second appearance at the bar of the convention, the commissary vincent, who had undertaken secretly to convey to the queen a copy of the king's printed defence, asked for something which had belonged to him, to treasure as a relic; the king took off his neck handkerchief and gave it him; his gloves he bestowed on another municipal, who had made the same request. "on january st," says clery, "i approached the king's bed and asked permission to offer him my warmest prayers for the end of his misfortunes. 'i accept your good wishes with affection,' he replied, extending his hand to me. as soon as he had risen, he requested a municipal to go and inquire for his family, and present them his good wishes for the new year. the officers were moved by the tone in which these words, so heartrending considering the position of the king, were pronounced . . . . the correspondence between their majesties went on constantly. the king being informed that madame royale was ill, was very uneasy for some days. the queen, after begging earnestly, obtained permission for m. brunnier, the medical attendant of the royal children, to come to the temple. this seemed to quiet him." the nearer the moment which was to decide the king's fate approached, the greater became the agitation in, paris. "a report was circulated that the atrocities of september were to be repeated there, and the prisoners and their relatives beset the deputies with supplications that they would snatch them from destruction. the jacobins, on their part, alleged that conspiracies were hatching in all quarters to save louis xvi. from punishment, and to restore royalty. their anger, excited by delays and obstacles, assumed a more threatening aspect; and the two parties thus alarmed one another by supposing that each harboured sinister designs." on the th of january the convention called for the order of the day, being the final judgment of louis xvi. "the sitting of the convention which concluded the trial," says hazlitt, "lasted seventy-two hours. it might naturally be supposed that silence, restraint, a sort of religious awe, would have pervaded the scene. on the contrary, everything bore the marks of gaiety, dissipation, and the most grotesque confusion. the farther end of the hall was converted into boxes, where ladies, in a studied deshabille, swallowed ices, oranges, liqueurs, and received the salutations of the members who went and came, as on ordinary occasions. here the doorkeepers on the mountain side opened and shut the boxes reserved for the mistresses of the duc d'orleans; and there, though every sound of approbation or disapprobation was strictly forbidden, you heard the long and indignant 'ha, ha's!' of the mother-duchess, the patroness of the bands of female jacobins, whenever her ears were not loudly greeted with the welcome sounds of death. the upper gallery, reserved for the people, was during the whole trial constantly full of strangers of every description, drinking wine as in a tavern. "bets were made as to the issue of the trial in all the neighbouring coffee-houses. ennui, impatience, disgust sat on almost every countenance. the figures passing and repassing, rendered more ghastly by the pallid lights, and who in a slow, sepulchral voice pronounced only the word--death; others calculating if they should have time to go to dinner before they gave their verdict; women pricking cards with pins in order to count the votes; some of the deputies fallen asleep, and only waking up to give their sentence,--all this had the appearance rather of a hideous dream than of a reality." the duc d'orleans, when called on to give his vote for the death of his king and relation, walked with a faltering step, and a face paler than death itself, to the appointed place, and there read these words: "exclusively governed by my duty, and convinced that all those who have resisted the sovereignty of the people deserve death, my vote is for death!" important as the accession of the first prince of the blood was to the terrorist faction, his conduct in this instance was too obviously selfish and atrocious not to excite a general feeling of indignation; the agitation of the assembly became extreme; it seemed as if by this single vote the fate of the monarch was irrevocably sealed. the president having examined the register, the result of the scrutiny was proclaimed as follows against an appeal to the people........... for an appeal to the people............... majority for final judgment............... the president having announced that he was about to declare the result of the scrutiny, a profound silence ensued, and he then gave in the following declaration: that, out of votes, were for death, were for imprisonment during the war, two for perpetual imprisonment, eight for a suspension of the execution of the sentence of death until after the expulsion of the family of the bourbons, twenty-three were for not putting him to death until the french territory was invaded by any foreign power, and one was for a sentence of death, but with power of commutation of the punishment. after this enumeration the president took off his hat, and, lowering his voice, said: "in consequence of this expression of opinion i declare that the punishment pronounced by the national convention against louis capet is death!" previous to the passing of the sentence the president announced on the part of the foreign minister the receipt of a letter from the spanish minister relative to that sentence. the convention, however, refused to hear it. [it will be remembered that a similar remonstrance was forwarded by the english government.] m. de malesherbes, according to his promise to the king, went to the temple at nine o'clock on the morning of the th?. [louis was fully prepared for his fate. during the calling of the votes he asked m. de malesherbes, "have you not met near the temple the white lady?"--" what do you mean?" replied he. "do you not know," resumed the king with a smile, "that when a prince of our house is about to die, a female dressed in white is seen wandering about the palace? my friends," added he to his defenders, "i am about to depart before you for the land of the just, but there, at least, we shall be reunited." in fact, his majesty's only apprehension seemed to be for his family.--alison.] "all is lost," he said to clery. "the king is condemned." the king, who saw him arrive, rose to receive him. [when m. de malesherbes went to the temple to announce the result of the vote, he found louis with his forehead resting on his hands, and absorbed in a deep reverie. without inquiring concerning his fate, he said: "for two hours i have been considering whether, during my whole reign, i have voluntarily given any cause of complaint to my subjects; and with perfect sincerity i declare that i deserve no reproach at their hands, and that i have never formed a wish but for their happiness." lacretelle.] m. de malesherbes, choked by sobs, threw himself at his feet. the king raised him up and affectionately embraced him. when he could control his voice, de malesherbes informed the king of the decree sentencing him to death; he made no movement of surprise or emotion, but seemed only affected by the distress of his advocate, whom he tried to comfort. on the th of january, at two in the afternoon, louis xvi. was awaiting his advocates, when he heard the approach of a numerous party. he stopped with dignity at the door of his apartment, apparently unmoved: garat then told him sorrowfully that he was commissioned to communicate to him the decrees of the convention. grouvelle, secretary of the executive council, read them to him. the first declared louis xvi. guilty of treason against the general safety of the state; the second condemned him to death; the third rejected any appeal to the people; and the fourth and last ordered his execution in twenty-four hours. louis, looking calmly round, took the paper from grouvelle, and read garat a letter, in which he demanded from the convention three days to prepare for death, a confessor to assist him in his last moments, liberty to see his family, and permission for them to leave france. garat took the letter, promising to submit it immediately to the convention. louis xvi. then went back into his room with great composure, ordered his dinner, and ate as usual. there were no knives on the table, and his attendants refused to let him have any. "do they think me so cowardly," he exclaimed, "as to lay violent hands on myself? i am innocent, and i am not afraid to die." the convention refused the delay, but granted some other demands which he had made. garat sent for edgeworth de firmont, the ecclesiastic whom louis xvi. had chosen, and took him in his own carriage to the temple. m. edgeworth, on being ushered into the presence of the king, would have thrown himself at his feet, but louis instantly raised him, and both shed tears of emotion. he then, with eager curiosity, asked various questions concerning the clergy of france, several bishops, and particularly the archbishop of paris, requesting him to assure the latter that he died faithfully attached to his communion.--the clock having struck eight, he rose, begged m. edgeworth to wait, and retired with emotion, saying that he was going to see his family. the municipal officers, unwilling to lose sight of the king, even while with his family, had decided that he should see them in the dining-room, which had a glass door, through which they could watch all his motions without hearing what he said. at half-past eight the door opened. the queen, holding the dauphin by the hand, madame elisabeth, and madame royale rushed sobbing into the arms of louis xvi. the door was closed, and the municipal officers, clery, and m. edgeworth placed themselves behind it. during the first moments, it was but a scene of confusion and despair. cries and lamentations prevented those who were on the watch from distinguishing anything. at length the conversation became more calm, and the princesses, still holding the king clasped in their arms, spoke with him in a low tone. "he related his trial to my mother," says madame royale, "apologising for the wretches who had condemned him. he told her that he would not consent to any attempt to save him, which might excite disturbance in the country. he then gave my brother some religious advice, and desired him, above all, to forgive those who caused his death; and he gave us his blessing. my mother was very desirous that the whole family should pass the night with my father, but he opposed this, observing to her that he much needed some hours of repose and quiet." after a long conversation, interrupted by silence and grief, the king put an end to the painful meeting, agreeing to see his family again at eight the next morning. "do you promise that you will?" earnestly inquired the princesses. "yes, yes," sorrowfully replied the king. ["but when we were gone," says his daughter, "he requested that we might not be permitted to return, as our presence afflicted him too much."] at this moment the queen held him by one arm, madame elisabeth by the other, while madame royale clasped him round the waist, and the dauphin stood before him, with one hand in that of his mother. at the moment of retiring madame royale fainted; she was carried away, and the king returned to m. edgeworth deeply depressed by this painful interview. the king retired to rest about midnight; m. edgeworth threw himself upon a bed, and clery took his place near the pillow of his master. next morning, the st of january, at five, the king awoke, called clery, and dressed with great calmness. he congratulated himself on having recovered his strength by sleep. clery kindled a fire,, and moved a chest of drawers, out of which he formed an altar. m. edgeworth put on his pontifical robes, and began to celebrate mass. clery waited on him, and the king listened, kneeling with the greatest devotion. he then received the communion from the hands of m. edgeworth, and after mass rose with new vigour, and awaited with composure the moment for going to the scaffold. he asked for scissors that clery might cut his hair; but the commune refused to trust him with a pair. at this moment the drums were beating in the capital. all who belonged to the armed sections repaired to their company with complete submission. it was reported that four or five hundred devoted men, were to make a dash upon the carriage, and rescue the king. the convention, the commune, the executive council, and the jacobins were sitting. at eight. in the morning, santerre, with a deputation from the commune, the department, and the criminal tribunal, repaired to the temple. louis xvi., on hearing them arrive, rose and prepared to depart. he desired clery to transmit his last farewell to his wife, his sister, and his children; he gave him a sealed packet, hair, and various trinkets, with directions to deliver these articles to them. [in the course of the morning the king said to me: "you will give this seal to my son and this ring to the queen, and assure her that it is with pain i part with it. this little packet contains the hair of all my family; you will give her that, too. tell the queen, my dear sister, and my children, that, although i promised to see them again this morning, i have resolved to spare them the pang of so cruel a separation. tell them how much it costs me to go away without receiving their embraces once more!" he wiped away some tears, and then added, in the most mournful accents, "i charge you to bear them my last farewell."--clery.] he then clasped his hand and thanked him for his services. after this he addressed himself to one of the municipal officers, requesting him to transmit his last will to the commune. this officer, who had formerly been a priest, and was named jacques roux, brutally replied that his business was to conduct him to execution, and not to perform his commissions. another person took charge of it, and louis, turning towards the party, gave with firmness the signal for starting. officers of gendarmerie were placed on the front seat of the carriage. the king and m. edgeworth occupied the back. during the ride, which was rather long, the king read in m. edgeworth's breviary the prayers for persons at the point of death; the two gendarmes were astonished at his piety and tranquil resignation. the vehicle advanced slowly, and amidst universal silence. at the place de la revolution an extensive space had been left vacant about the scaffold. around this space were planted cannon; the most violent of the federalists were stationed about the scaffold; and the vile rabble, always ready to insult genius, virtue, and misfortune, when a signal is given it to do so, crowded behind the ranks of the federalists, and alone manifested some outward tokens of satisfaction. at ten minutes past ten the carriage stopped. louis xvi., rising briskly, stepped out into the place. three executioners came up; he refused their assistance, and took off his clothes himself. but, perceiving that they were going to bind his hands, he made a movement of indignation, and seemed ready to resist. m. edgeworth gave him a last look, and said, "suffer this outrage, as a last resemblance to that god who is about to be your reward." at these words the king suffered himself to be bound and conducted to the scaffold. all at once louis hurriedly advanced to address the people. "frenchmen," said he, in a firm voice, "i die innocent of the crimes which are imputed to me; i forgive the authors of my death, and i pray that my blood may not fall upon france." he would have continued, but the drums were instantly ordered to beat: their rolling drowned his voice; the executioners laid hold of him, and m. edgeworth took his leave in these memorable words: "son of saint louis, ascend to heaven!" as soon as the blood flowed, furious wretches dipped their pikes and handkerchiefs in it, then dispersed throughout paris, shouting "vive la republique! vive la nation!" and even went to the gates of the temple to display brutal and factious joy. [the body of louis was, immediately after the execution, removed to the ancient cemetery of the madeleine. large quantities of quicklime were thrown into the grave, which occasioned so rapid a decomposition that, when his remains were sought for in , it was with difficulty any part could be recovered. over the spot where he was interred napoleon commenced the splendid temple of glory, after the battle of jena; and the superb edifice was completed by the bourbons, and now forms the church of the madeleine, the most beautiful structure in paris. louis was executed on the same ground where the queen, madame elisabeth, and so many other noble victims of the revolution perished; where robespierre and danton afterwards suffered; and where the emperor alexander and the allied sovereigns took their station, when their victorious troops entered paris in ! the history of modern europe has not a scene fraught with equally interesting recollections to exhibit. it is now marked by the colossal obelisk of blood-red granite which was brought from thebes, in upper egypt, in , by the french government.--allison.] the royal prisoners.--separation of the dauphin from his family. --removal of the queen. on the morning of the king's execution, according to the narrative of madame royale, his family rose at six: "the night before, my mother had scarcely strength enough to put my brother to bed; she threw herself, dressed as she was, on her own bed, where we heard her shivering with cold and grief all night long. at a quarter-past six the door opened; we believed that we were sent for to the king, but it was only the officers looking for a prayer-book for him. we did not, however, abandon the hope of seeing him, till shouts of joy from the infuriated populace told us that all was over. in the afternoon my mother asked to see clery, who probably had some message for her; we hoped that seeing him would occasion a burst of grief which might relieve the state of silent and choking agony in which we saw her." the request was refused, and the officers who brought the refusal said clery was in "a frightful state of despair" at not being allowed to see the royal family; shortly afterwards he was dismissed from the temple. "we had now a little more freedom," continues the princess; "our guards even believed that we were about to be sent out of france; but nothing could calm my mother's agony; no hope could touch her heart, and life or death became indifferent to her. fortunately my own affliction increased my illness so seriously that it distracted her thoughts . . . . my mother would go no more to the garden, because she must have passed the door of what had been my father's room, and that she could not bear. but fearing lest want of air should prove injurious to my brother and me, about the end of february she asked permission to walk on the leads of the tower, and it was granted." the council of the commune, becoming aware of the interest which these sad promenades excited, and the sympathy with which they were observed from the neighbouring houses, ordered that the spaces between the battlements should be filled up with shutters, which intercepted the view. but while the rules for the queen's captivity were again made more strict, some of the municipal commissioners tried slightly to alleviate it, and by means of m. de hue, who was at liberty in paris, and the faithful turgi, who remained in the tower, some communications passed between the royal family and their friends. the wife of tison, who waited on the queen, suspected and finally denounced these more lenient guardians,--[toulan, lepitre, vincent, bruno, and others.]--who were executed, the royal prisoners being subjected to a close examination. "on the th of april," says madame royale, "my mother and i had just gone to bed when hebert arrived with several municipals. we got up hastily, and these men read us a decree of the commune directing that we should be searched. my poor brother was asleep; they tore him from his bed under the pretext of examining it. my mother took him up, shivering with cold. all they took was a shopkeeper's card which my mother had happened to keep, a stick of sealing-wax from my aunt, and from me 'une sacre coeur de jesus' and a prayer for the welfare of france. the search lasted from half-past ten at night till four o'clock in the morning." the next visit of the officials was to madame elisabeth alone; they found in her room a hat which the king had worn during his imprisonment, and which she had begged him to give her as a souvenir. they took it from her in spite of her entreaties. "it was suspicious," said the cruel and contemptible tyrants. the dauphin became ill with fever, and it was long before his mother, who watched by him night and day, could obtain medicine or advice for him. when thierry was at last allowed to see him his treatment relieved the most violent symptoms, but, says madame royale, "his health was never reestablished. want of air and exercise did him great mischief, as well as the kind of life which this poor child led, who at eight years of age passed his days amidst the tears of his friends, and in constant anxiety and agony." while the dauphin's health was causing his family such alarm, they were deprived of the services of tison's wife, who became ill, and finally insane, and was removed to the hotel dieu, where her ravings were reported to the assembly and made the ground of accusations against the royal prisoners. [this woman, troubled by remorse, lost her reason, threw herself at the feet of the queen, implored her pardon, and disturbed the temple for many days with the sight and the noise of her madness. the princesses, forgetting the denunciations of this unfortunate being, in consideration of her repentance and insanity, watched over her by turns, and deprived themselves of their own food to relieve her.--lamartine, "history of the girondists," vol. iii., p. .] no woman took her place, and the princesses themselves made their beds, swept their rooms, and waited upon the queen. far worse punishments than menial work were prepared for them. on d july a decree of the convention ordered that the dauphin should be separated from his family and "placed in the most secure apartment of the tower." as soon as he heard this decree pronounced, says his sister, "he threw himself into my mother's arms, and with violent cries entreated not to be parted from her. my mother would not let her son go, and she actually defended against the efforts of the officers the bed in which she had placed him. the men threatened to call up the guard and use violence. my mother exclaimed that they had better kill her than tear her child from her. at last they threatened our lives, and my mother's maternal tenderness forced her to the sacrifice. my aunt and i dressed the child, for my poor mother had no longer strength for anything. nevertheless, when he was dressed, she took him up in her arms and delivered him herself to the officers, bathing him with her tears, foreseeing that she was never to behold him again. the poor little fellow embraced us all tenderly, and was carried away in a flood of tears. my mother's horror was extreme when she heard that simon, a shoemaker by trade, whom she had seen as a municipal officer in the temple, was the person to whom her child was confided . . . . the officers now no longer remained in my mother's apartment; they only came three times a day to bring our meals and examine the bolts and bars of our windows; we were locked up together night and day. we often went up to the tower, because my brother went, too, from the other side. the only pleasure my mother enjoyed was seeing him through a crevice as he passed at a distance. she would watch for hours together to see him as he passed. it was her only hope, her only thought." the queen was soon deprived even of this melancholy consolation. on st august, , it was resolved that she should be tried. robespierre opposed the measure, but barere roused into action that deep-rooted hatred of the queen which not even the sacrifice of her life availed to eradicate. "why do the enemies of the republic still hope for success?" he asked. "is it because we have too long forgotten the crimes of the austrian? the children of louis the conspirator are hostages for the republic . . .but behind them lurks a woman who has been the cause of all the disasters of france." at two o'clock on the morning of the following day, the municipal officers "awoke us," says madame royale, "to read to my mother the decree of the convention, which ordered her removal to the conciergerie, [the conciergerie was originally, as its name implies, the porter's lodge of the ancient palace of justice, and became in time a prison, from the custom of confining there persons who had committed trifling offences about the court.] preparatory to her trial. she heard it without visible emotion, and without speaking a single word. my aunt and i immediately asked to be allowed to accompany my mother, but this favour was refused us. all the time my mother was making up a bundle of clothes to take with her, these officers never left her. she was even obliged to dress herself before them, and they asked for her pockets, taking away the trifles they contained. she embraced me, charging me to keep up my spirits and my courage, to take tender care of my aunt, and obey her as a second mother. she then threw herself into my aunt's arms, and recommended her children to her care; my aunt replied to her in a whisper, and she was then hurried away. in leaving the temple she struck her head against the wicket, not having stooped low enough. [mathieu, the gaoler, used to say, "i make madame veto and her sister and daughter, proud though they are, salute me; for the door is so low they cannot pass without bowing."] the officers asked whether she had hurt herself. 'no,' she replied, 'nothing can hurt me now." the last moments of marie antoinette. we have already seen what changes had been made in the temple. marie antoinette had been separated from her sister, her daughter, and her son, by virtue of a decree which ordered the trial and exile of the last members of the family of the bourbons. she had been removed to the conciergerie, and there, alone in a narrow prison, she was reduced to what was strictly necessary, like the other prisoners. the imprudence of a devoted friend had rendered her situation still more irksome. michonnis, a member of the municipality, in whom she had excited a warm interest, was desirous of introducing to her a person who, he said, wished to see her out of curiosity. this man, a courageous emigrant, threw to her a carnation, in which was enclosed a slip of very fine paper with these words: "your friends are ready,"--false hope, and equally dangerous for her who received it, and for him who gave it! michonnis and the emigrant were detected and forthwith apprehended; and the vigilance exercised in regard to the unfortunate prisoner became from that day more rigorous than ever. [the queen was lodged in a room called the council chamber, which was considered as the moat unwholesome apartment in the conciergerie on account of its dampness and the bad smells by which it was continually affected. under pretence of giving her a person to wait upon her they placed near her a spy,--a man of a horrible countenance and hollow, sepulchral voice. this wretch, whose name was barassin, was a robber and murderer by profession. such was the chosen attendant on the queen of france! a few days before her trial this wretch was removed and a gendarme placed in her chamber, who watched over her night and day, and from whom she was not separated, even when in bed, but by a ragged curtain. in this melancholy abode marie antoinette had no other dress than an old black gown, stockings with holes, which she was forced to mend every day; and she was entirely destitute of shoes.--du broca.] gendarmes were to mount guard incessantly at the door of her prison, and they were expressly forbidden to answer anything that she might say to them. that wretch hebert, the deputy of chaumette, and editor of the disgusting paper pere duchesne, a writer of the party of which vincent, ronsin, varlet, and leclerc were the leaders--hebert had made it his particular business to torment the unfortunate remnant of the dethroned family. he asserted that the family of the tyrant ought not to be better treated than any sans-culotte family; and he had caused a resolution to be passed by which the sort of luxury in which the prisoners in the temple were maintained was to be suppressed. they were no longer to be allowed either poultry or pastry; they were reduced to one sort of aliment for breakfast, and to soup or broth and a single dish for dinner, to two dishes for supper, and half a bottle of wine apiece. tallow candles were to be furnished instead of wag, pewter instead of silver plate, and delft ware instead of porcelain. the wood and water carriers alone were permitted to enter their room, and that only accompanied by two commissioners. their food was to be introduced to them by means of a turning box. the numerous establishment was reduced to a cook and an assistant, two men-servants, and a woman-servant to attend to the linen. as soon as this resolution was passed, hebert had repaired to the temple and inhumanly taken away from the unfortunate prisoners even the most trifling articles to which they attached a high value. eighty louis which madame elisabeth had in reserve, and which she had received from madame de lamballe, were also taken away. no one is more dangerous, more cruel, than the man without acquirements, without education, clothed with a recent authority. if, above all, he possess a base nature, if, like hebert, who was check-taker at the door of a theatre, and embezzled money out of the receipts, he be destitute of natural morality, and if he leap all at once from the mud of his condition into power, he is as mean as he is atrocious. such was hebert in his conduct at the temple. he did not confine himself to the annoyances which we have mentioned. he and some others conceived the idea of separating the young prince from his aunt and sister. a shoemaker named simon and his wife were the instructors to whom it was deemed right to consign him for the purpose of giving him a sans-cullotte education. simon and his wife were shut up in the temple, and, becoming prisoners with the unfortunate child, were directed to bring him up in their own way. their food was better than that of the princesses, and they shared the table of the municipal commissioners who were on duty. simon was permitted to go down, accompanied by two commissioners, to the court of the temple, for the purpose of giving the dauphin a little exercise. hebert conceived the infamous idea of wringing from this boy revelations to criminate his unhappy mother. whether this wretch imputed to the child false revelations, or abused his, tender age and his condition to extort from him what admissions soever he pleased, he obtained a revolting deposition; and as the youth of the prince did not admit of his being brought before the tribunal, hebert appeared and detailed the infamous particulars which he had himself either dictated or invented. it was on the th of october that marie antoinette appeared before her judges. dragged before the sanguinary tribunal by inexorable revolutionary vengeance, she appeared there without any chance of acquittal, for it was not to obtain her acquittal that the jacobins had brought her before it. it was necessary, however, to make some charges. fouquier therefore collected the rumours current among the populace ever since the arrival of the princess in france, and, in the act of accusation, he charged her with having plundered the exchequer, first for her pleasures, and afterwards in order to transmit money to her brother, the emperor. he insisted on the scenes of the th and th of october, and on the dinners of the life guards, alleging that she had at that period framed a plot, which obliged the people to go to versailles to frustrate it. he afterwards accused her of having governed her husband, interfered in the choice of ministers, conducted the intrigues with the deputies gained by the court, prepared the journey to varennes, provoked the war, and transmitted to the enemy's generals all our plans of campaign. he further accused her of having prepared a new conspiracy on the th of august, of having on that day caused the people to be fired upon, having induced her husband to defend himself by taxing him with cowardice; lastly, of having never ceased to plot and correspond with foreigners since her captivity in the temple, and of having there treated her young son as king. we here observe how, on the terrible day of long-deferred vengeance, when subjects at length break forth and strike such of their princes as have not deserved the blow, everything is distorted and converted into crime. we see how the profusion and fondness for pleasure, so natural to a young princess, how her attachment to her native country, her influence over her husband, her regrets, always more indiscreet in a woman than a man, nay, even her bolder courage, appeared to their inflamed or malignant imaginations. it was necessary to produce witnesses. lecointre, deputy of versailles, who had seen what had passed on the th and th of october, hebert, who had frequently visited the temple, various clerks in the ministerial offices, and several domestic servants of the old court were summoned.. admiral d'estaing, formerly commandant of the guard of versailles; manuel, the ex-procureur of the commune; latour-du-pin, minister of war in ; the venerable bailly, who, it was said, had been, with la fayette, an accomplice in the journey to varennes; lastly, valaze one of the girondists destined to the scaffold, were taken from their prisons and compelled to give evidence. no precise fact was elicited. some had seen the queen in high spirits when the life guards testified their attachment; others had seen her vexed and dejected while being conducted to paris, or brought back from varennes; these had been present at splendid festivities which must have cost enormous sums; those had heard it said in the ministerial offices that the queen was adverse to the sanction of the decrees. an ancient waiting-woman of the queen had heard the duc de coigny say, in , that the emperor had already received two hundred millions from france to make war upon the turks. the cynical hebert, being brought before the unfortunate queen, dared at length to prefer the charges wrung from the young prince. he said that charles capet had given simon an account of the journey to varennes, and mentioned la fayette and bailly as having cooperated in it. he then added that this boy was addicted to odious and very premature vices for his age; that he had been surprised by simon, who, on questioning him, learned that he derived from his mother the vices in which he indulged. hebert said that it was no doubt the intention of marie antoinette, by weakening thus, early the physical constitution of her son, to secure to herself the means of ruling him in case he should ever ascend the throne. the rumours which had been whispered for twenty years by a malicious court had given the people a most unfavourable opinion of the morals of the queen. that audience, however, though wholly jacobin, was disgusted at the accusations of hebert. [can there be a more infernal invention than that made against the. queen by hdbert,--namely, that she had had an improper intimacy with her own son? he made use of this sublime idea of which he boasted in order to prejudice the women against the queen, and to prevent her execution from exciting pity. it had, however, no other effect than that of disgusting all parties.--prudhomme.] he nevertheless persisted in supporting them. [hebert did not long survive her in whose sufferings he had taken such an infamous part. he was executed on th march, .] the unhappy mother made no reply. urged a new to explain herself, she said, with extraordinary emotion, "i thought that human nature would excuse me from answering such an imputation, but i appeal from it to the heart of every mother here present." this noble and simple reply affected all who heard it. in the depositions of the witnesses, however, all was not so bitter for marie antoinette. the brave d'estaing, whose enemy she had been, would not say anything to inculpate her, and spoke only of the courage which she had shown on the th and th of october, and of the noble resolution which she had expressed, to die beside her husband rather than fly. manuel, in spite of his enmity to the court during the time of the legislative assembly, declared that he could not say anything against the accused. when the venerable bailly was brought forward, who formerly so often predicted to the court the calamities which its imprudence must produce, he appeared painfully affected; and when he was asked if he knew the wife of capet, "yes," said he, bowing respectfully, "i have known madame." he declared that he knew nothing, and maintained that the declarations extorted from the young prince relative to the journey to varennes were false. in recompense for his deposition he was assailed with outrageous reproaches, from which he might judge what fate would soon be awarded to himself. in all the evidence there appeared but two serious facts, attested by latour-du-pin and valaze, who deposed to them because they could not help it. latour-du-pin declared that marie antoinette had applied to him for an accurate statement of the armies while he was minister of war. valaze, always cold, but respectful towards misfortune, would not say anything to criminate the accused; yet he could not help declaring that, as a member of the commission of twenty-four, being charged with his colleagues to examine the papers found at the house of septeuil, treasurer of the civil list, he had seen bonds for various sums signed antoinette, which was very natural; but he added that he had also seen a letter in which the minister requested the king to transmit to the queen the copy of the plan of campaign which he had in his hands. the most unfavourable construction was immediately put upon these two facts, the application for a statement of the armies, and the communication of the plan of campaign; and it was concluded that they could not be wanted for any other purpose than to be sent to the enemy, for it was not supposed that a young princess should turn her attention, merely for her own satisfaction, to matters of administration and military, plans. after these depositions, several others were received respecting the expenses of the court, the influence of the queen in public affairs, the scene of the th of august, and what had passed in the temple; and the most vague rumours and most trivial circumstances were eagerly caught at as proofs. marie antoinette frequently repeated, with presence of mind and firmness, that there was no precise fact against her; [at first the queen, consulting only her own sense of dignity, had resolved on her trial to make no other reply to the questions of her judges than "assassinate me as you have already assassinated my husband!" afterwards, however, she determined to follow the example of the king, exert herself in her defence, and leave her judges without any excuse or pretest for putting her to death.--weber's "memoirs of marie antoinette."] that, besides, though the wife of louis xvi., she was not answerable for any of the acts of his reign. fouquier nevertheless declared her to be sufficiently convicted; chaveau-lagarde made unavailing efforts to defend her; and the unfortunate queen was condemned to suffer the same fate as her husband. conveyed back to the conciergerie, she there passed in tolerable composure the night preceding her execution, and, on the morning of the following day, the th of october, [the queen, after having written and prayed, slept soundly for some hours. on her waking, bault's daughter dressed her and adjusted her hair with more neatness than on other days. marie antoinette wore a white gown, a white handkerchief covered her shoulders, a white cap her hair; a black ribbon bound this cap round her temples .... the cries, the looks, the laughter, the jests of the people overwhelmed her with humiliation; her colour, changing continually from purple to paleness, betrayed her agitation .... on reaching the scaffold she inadvertently trod on the executioner's foot. "pardon me," she said, courteously. she knelt for an instant and uttered a half-audible prayer; then rising and glancing towards the towers of the temple, "adieu, once again, my children," she said; "i go to rejoin your father."--lamartine.] she was conducted, amidst a great concourse of the populace, to the fatal spot where, ten months before, louis xvi. had perished. she listened with calmness to the exhortations of the ecclesiastic who accompanied her, and cast an indifferent look at the people who had so often applauded her beauty and her grace, and who now as warmly applauded her execution. on reaching the foot of the scaffold she perceived the tuileries, and appeared to be moved; but she hastened to ascend the fatal ladder, and gave herself up with courage to the executioner. [sorrow had blanched the queen's once beautiful hair; but her features and air still commanded the admiration of all who beheld her; her cheeks, pale and emaciated, were occasionally tinged with a vivid colour at the mention of those she had lost. when led out to execution, she was dressed in white; she had cut off her hair with her own hands. placed in a tumbrel, with her arms tied behind her, she was taken by a circuitous route to the place de la revolution, and she ascended the scaffold with a firm and dignified step, as if she had been about to take her place on a throne by the side of her husband.-lacretelle.] the infamous wretch exhibited her head to the people, as he was accustomed to do when he had sacrificed an illustrious victim. the last separation.--execution of madame elisabeth. --death of the dauphin. the two princesses left in the temple were now almost inconsolable; they spent days and nights in tears, whose only alleviation was that they were shed together. "the company of my aunt, whom i loved so tenderly," said madame royale, "was a great comfort to me. but alas! all that i loved was perishing around me, and i was soon to lose her also . . . . in the beginning of september i had an illness caused solely by my anxiety about my mother; i never heard a drum beat that i did not expect another d of september."--[when the head of the princesse de lamballe was carried to the temple.] in the course of the month the rigour of their captivity was much increased. the commune ordered that they should only have one room; that tison (who had done the heaviest of the household work for them, and since the kindness they showed to his insane wife had occasionally given them tidings of the dauphin) should be imprisoned in the turret; that they should be supplied with only the barest necessaries; and that no one should enter their room save to carry water and firewood. their quantity of firing was reduced, and they were not allowed candles. they were also forbidden to go on the leads, and their large sheets were taken away, "lest--notwithstanding the gratings!--they should escape from the windows." on th october, , madame royale was ordered to go downstairs, that she might be interrogated by some municipal officers. "my aunt, who was greatly affected, would have followed, but they stopped her. she asked whether i should be permitted to come up again; chaumette assured her that i should. 'you may trust,' said he, 'the word of an honest republican. she shall return.' i soon found myself in my brother's room, whom i embraced tenderly; but we were torn asunder, and i was obliged to go into another room.--[this was the last time the brother and sister met] . . . chaumette then questioned me about a thousand shocking things of which they accused my mother and aunt; i was so indignant at hearing such horrors that, terrified as i was, i could not help exclaiming that they were infamous falsehoods. "but in spite of my tears they still pressed their questions. there were some things which i did not comprehend, but of which i understood enough to make me weep with indignation and horror . . . . they then asked me about varennes, and other things. i answered as well as i could without implicating anybody. i had always heard my parents say that it were better to die than to implicate anybody." when the examination was over the princess begged to be allowed to join her mother, but chaumette said he could not obtain permission for her to do so. she was then cautioned to say nothing about her examination to her aunt, who was next to appear before them. madame elisabeth, her niece declares, "replied with still more contempt to their shocking questions." the only intimation of the queen's fate which her daughter and her sister-in-law were allowed to receive was through hearing her sentence cried by the newsman. but "we could not persuade ourselves that she was dead," writes madame royale. "a hope, so natural to the unfortunate, persuaded us that she must have been saved. for eighteen months i remained in this cruel suspense. we learnt also by the cries of the newsman the death of the duc d'orleans. [the duc d'orleans, the early and interested propagator of the revolution, was its next victim. billaud varennes said in the convention: "the time has come when all the conspirators should be known and struck. i demand that we no longer pass over in silence a man whom we seem to have forgotten, despite the numerous facts against him. i demand that d'orleans be sent to the revolutionary tribunal." the convention, once his hireling adulators, unanimously supported the proposal. in vain he alleged his having been accessory to the disorders of th october, his support of the revolt on th august, , his vote against the king on th january, . his condemnation was pronounced. he then asked only for a delay of twenty-four hours, and had a repast carefully prepared, on which he feasted with avidity. when led out for execution he gazed with a smile on the palais royal, the scene of his former orgies. he was detained for a quarter of an hour before that palace by the order of robespierre, who had asked his daughter's hand, and promised in return to excite a tumult in which the duke's life should be saved. depraved though he was, he would not consent to such a sacrifice, and he met his fate with stoical fortitude.--allison, vol. iii., p. .] it was the only piece of news that reached us during the whole winter." the severity with which the prisoners were treated was carried into every detail of their life. the officers who guarded them took away their chessmen and cards because some of them were named kings and queens, and all the books with coats of arms on them; they refused to get ointment for a gathering on madame elisabeth's arm; they, would not allow her to make a herb-tea which she thought would strengthen her niece; they declined to supply fish or eggs on fast-days or during lent, bringing only coarse fat meat, and brutally replying to all remonstances, "none but fools believe in that stuff nowadays." madame elisabeth never made the officials another request, but reserved some of the bread and cafe-au-lait from her breakfast for her second meal. the time during which she could be thus tormented was growing short. on th may, , as the princesses were going to bed, the outside bolts of the door were unfastened and a loud knocking was heard. "when my aunt was dressed," says madame royale, "she opened the door, and they said to her, 'citoyenne, come down.'--'and my niece?'--'we shall take care of her afterwards.' she embraced me, and to calm my agitation promised to return. 'no, citoyenne,' said the men, 'bring your bonnet; you shall not return.' they overwhelmed her with abuse, but she bore it patiently, embracing me, and exhorting me to trust in heaven, and never to forget the last commands of my father and mother." madame elisabeth was then taken to the conciergerie, where she was interrogated by the vice-president at midnight, and then allowed to take some hours rest on the bed on which marie antoinette had slept for the last time. in the morning she was brought before the tribunal, with twenty-four other prisoners, of varying ages and both sexes, some of whom had once been frequently seen at court. "of what has elisabeth to complain?" fouquier-tinville satirically asked. "at the foot of the guillotine, surrounded by faithful nobility, she may imagine herself again at versailles." "you call my brother a tyrant," the princess replied to her accuser; "if he had been what you say, you would not be where you are, nor i before you!" she was sentenced to death, and showed neither surprise nor grief. "i am ready to die," she said, "happy in the prospect of rejoining in a better world those whom i loved on earth." on being taken to the room where those condemned to suffer at the same time as herself were assembled, she spoke to them with so much piety and resignation that they were encouraged by her example to show calmness and courage like her own. the women, on leaving the cart, begged to embrace her, and she said some words of comfort to each in turn as they mounted the scaffold, which she was not allowed to ascend till all her companions had been executed before her eyes. [madame elisabeth was one of those rare personages only seen at distant intervals during the course of ages; she set an example of steadfast piety in the palace of kings, she lived amid her family the favourite of all and the admiration of the world .... when i went to versailles madame elisabeth was twenty-two years of age. her plump figure and pretty pink colour must have attracted notice, and her air of calmness and contentment even more than her beauty. she was fond of billiards, and her elegance and courage in riding were remarkable. but she never allowed these amusements to interfere with her religious observances. at that time her wish to take the veil at st. cyr was much talked of, but the king was too fond of his sister to endure the separation. there were also rumours of a marriage between madame elisabeth and the emperor joseph. the queen was sincerely attached to her brother, and loved her sister-in-law most tenderly; she ardently desired this marriage as a means of raising the princess to one of the first thrones in europe, and as a possible means of turning the emperor from his innovations. she had been very carefully educated, had talent in music and painting, spoke italian and a little latin, and understood mathematics.... her last moments were worthy of her courage and virtue.--d'hezecques's "recollections," pp. - .] "it is impossible to imagine my distress at finding myself separated from my aunt," says madame royale. "since i had been able to appreciate her merits, i saw in her nothing but religion, gentleness, meekness, modesty, and a devoted attachment to her family; she sacrificed her life for them, since nothing could persuade her to leave the king and queen. i never can be sufficiently grateful to her for her goodness to me, which ended only with her life. she looked on me as her child, and i honoured and loved her as a second mother. i was thought to be very like her in countenance, and i feel conscious that i have something of her character. would to god i might imitate her virtues, and hope that i may hereafter deserve to meet her, as well as my dear parents, in the bosom of our creator, where i cannot doubt that they enjoy the reward of their virtuous lives and meritorious deaths." madame royale vainly begged to be allowed to rejoin her mother or her aunt, or at least to know their fate. the municipal officers would tell her nothing, and rudely refused her request to have a woman placed with her. "i asked nothing but what seemed indispensable, though it was often harshly refused," she says. "but i at least could keep myself clean. i had soap and water, and carefully swept out my room every day. i had no light, but in the long days i did not feel this privation much . . . . i had some religious works and travels, which i had read over and over. i had also some knitting, 'qui m'ennuyait beaucoup'." once, she believes, robespierre visited her prison: [it has been said that robespierre vainly tried to obtain the hand of mademoiselle d'orleans. it was also rumoured that madame royale herself owed her life to his matrimonial ambition.] "the officers showed him great respect; the people in the tower did not know him, or at least would not tell me who he was. he stared insolently at me, glanced at my books, and, after joining the municipal officers in a search, retired." [on another occasion "three men in scarfs," who entered the princess's room, told her that they did not see why she should wish to be released, as she seemed very comfortable! "it is dreadful,' i replied, 'to be separated for more than a year from one's mother, without even hearing what has become of her or of my aunt.'--'you are not ill?'--'no, monsieur, but the cruellest illness is that of the heart'--' we can do nothing for you. be patient, and submit to the justice and goodness of the french people: i had nothing more to say."--duchesse d'angouleme, "royal memoirs," p. .] when laurent was appointed by the convention to the charge of the young prisoners, madame royale was treated with more consideration. "he was always courteous," she says; he restored her tinderbox, gave her fresh books, and allowed her candles and as much firewood as she wanted, "which pleased me greatly." this simple expression of relief gives a clearer idea of what the delicate girl must have suffered than a volume of complaints. but however hard madame royale's lot might be, that of the dauphin was infinitely harder. though only eight years old when he entered the temple, he was by nature and education extremely precocious; "his memory retained everything, and his sensitiveness comprehended everything." his features "recalled the somewhat effeminate look of louis xv., and the austrian hauteur of maria theresa; his blue eyes, aquiline nose, elevated nostrils, well-defined mouth, pouting lips, chestnut hair parted in the middle and falling in thick curls on his shoulders, resembled his mother before her years of tears and torture. all the beauty of his race, by both descents, seemed to reappear in him."--[lamartine]--for some time the care of his parents preserved his health and cheerfulness even in the temple; but his constitution was weakened by the fever recorded by his sister, and his gaolers were determined that he should never regain strength. "what does the convention intend to do with him?" asked simon, when the innocent victim was placed in his clutches. "transport him?" "no." "kill him?" "no." "poison him?" "no." "what, then?" "why, get rid of him." for such a purpose they could not have chosen their instruments better. "simon and his wife, cut off all those fair locks that had been his youthful glory and his mother's pride. this worthy pair stripped him of the mourning he wore for his father; and as they did so, they called it 'playing at the game of the spoiled king.' they alternately induced him to commit excesses, and then half starved him. they beat him mercilessly; nor was the treatment by night less brutal than that by day. as soon as the weary boy had sunk into his first profound sleep, they would loudly call him by name, 'capet! capet!' startled, nervous, bathed in perspiration, or sometimes trembling with cold, he would spring up, rush through the dark, and present himself at simon's bedside, murmuring, tremblingly, 'i am here, citizen.'--'come nearer; let me feel you.' he would approach the bed as he was ordered, although he knew the treatment that awaited him. simon would buffet him on the head, or kick him away, adding the remark, 'get to bed again, wolfs cub; i only wanted to know that you were safe.' on one of these occasions, when the child had fallen half stunned upon his own miserable couch, and lay there groaning and faint with pain, simon roared out with a laugh, 'suppose you were king, capet, what would you do to me?' the child thought of his father's dying words, and said, 'i would forgive you.'"--[thiers] the change in the young prince's mode of life, and the cruelties and caprices to which he was subjected, soon made him fall ill, says his sister. "simon forced him to eat to excess, and to drink large quantities of wine, which he detested . . . . he grew extremely fat without increasing in height or strength." his aunt and sister, deprived of the pleasure of tending him, had the pain of hearing his childish voice raised in the abominable songs his gaolers taught him. the brutality of simon "depraved at once the body and soul of his pupil. he called him the young wolf of the temple. he treated him as the young of wild animals are treated when taken from the mother and reduced to captivity,--at once intimidated by blows and enervated by taming. he punished for sensibility; he rewarded meanness; he encouraged vice; he made the child wait on him at table, sometimes striking him on the face with a knotted towel, sometimes raising the poker and threatening to strike him with it." [simon left the temple to become a municipal officer. he was involved in the overthrow of robespierre, and guillotined the day after him, th july, .] yet when simon was removed the poor young prince's condition became even worse. his horrible loneliness induced an apathetic stupor to which any suffering would have been preferable. "he passed his days without any kind of occupation; they did not allow him light in the evening. his keepers never approached him but to give him food;" and on the rare occasions when they took him to the platform of the tower, he was unable or unwilling to move about. when, in november, , a commissary named gomin arrived at the temple, disposed to treat the little prisoner with kindness, it was too late. "he took extreme care of my brother," says madame royale. "for a long time the unhappy child had been shut up in darkness, and he was dying of fright. he was very grateful for the attentions of gomin, and became much attached to him." but his physical condition was alarming, and, owing to gomin's representations, a commission was instituted to examine him. "the commissioners appointed were harmond, mathieu, and reverchon, who visited 'louis charles,' as he was now called, in the month of february, . they found the young prince seated at a square deal table, at which he was playing with some dirty cards, making card houses and the like,--the materials having been furnished him, probably, that they might figure in the report as evidences of indulgence. he did not look up from the table as the commissioners entered. he was in a slate-coloured dress, bareheaded; the room was reported as clean, the bed in good condition, the linen fresh; his clothes were also reported as new; but, in spite of all these assertions, it is well known that his bed had not been made for months, that he had not left his room, nor was permitted to leave it, for any purpose whatever, that it was consequently uninhabitable, and that he was covered with vermin and with sores. the swellings at his knees alone were sufficient to disable him from walking. one of the commissioners approached the young prince respectfully. the latter did not raise his head. harmond in a kind voice begged him to speak to them. the eyes of the boy remained fixed on the table before him. they told him of the kindly intentions of the government, of their hopes that he would yet be happy, and their desire that he would speak unreservedly to the medical man that was to visit him. he seemed to listen with profound attention, but not a single word passed his lips. it was an heroic principle that impelled that poor young heart to maintain the silence of a mute in presence of these men. he remembered too well the days when three other commissaries waited on him, regaled him with pastry and wine, and obtained from him that hellish accusation against the mother that he loved. he had learnt by some means the import of the act, so far as it was an injury to his mother. he now dreaded seeing again three commissaries, hearing again kind words, and being treated again with fine promises. dumb as death itself he sat before them, and remained motionless as stone, and as mute." [thiers] his disease now made rapid progress, and gomin and lasne, superintendents of the temple, thinking it necessary to inform the government of the melancholy condition of their prisoner, wrote on the register: "little capet is unwell." no notice was taken of this account, which was renewed next day in more urgent terms: "little capet is dangerously ill." still there was no word from beyond the walls. "we must knock harder," said the keepers to each other, and they added, "it is feared he will not live," to the words "dangerously ill." at length, on wednesday, th may, , three days after the first report, the authorities appointed m. desault to give the invalid the assistance of his art. after having written down his name on the register he was admitted to see the prince. he made a long and very attentive examination of the unfortunate child, asked him many questions without being able to obtain an answer, and contented himself with prescribing a decoction of hops, to be taken by spoonfuls every half-hour, from six o'clock in the morning till eight in the evening. on the first day the prince steadily refused to take it. in vain gomin several times drank off a glass of the potion in his presence; his example proved as ineffectual as his words. next day lasne renewed his solicitations. "monsieur knows very well that i desire nothing but the good of his health, and he distresses me deeply by thus refusing to take what might contribute to it. i entreat him as a favour not to give me this cause of grief." and as lasne, while speaking, began to taste the potion in a glass, the child took what he offered him out of his hands. "you have, then, taken an oath that i should drink it," said he, firmly; "well, give it me, i will drink it." from that moment he conformed with docility to whatever was required of him, but the policy of the commune had attained its object; help had been withheld till it was almost a mockery to supply it. the prince's weakness was excessive; his keepers could scarcely drag him to the, top of the tower; walking hurt his tender feet, and at every step he stopped to press the arm of lasne with both hands upon his breast. at last he suffered so much that it was no longer possible for him to walk, and his keeper carried him about, sometimes on the platform, and sometimes in the little tower, where the royal family had lived at first. but the slight improvement to his health occasioned by the change of air scarcely compensated for the pain which his fatigue gave him. on the battlement of the platform nearest the left turret, the rain had, by perseverance through ages, hollowed out a kind of basin. the water that fell remained there for several days; and as, during the spring of , storms were of frequent occurrence, this little sheet of water was kept constantly supplied. whenever the child was brought out upon the platform, he saw a little troop of sparrows, which used to come to drink and bathe in this reservoir. at first they flew away at his approach, but from being accustomed to see him walking quietly there every day, they at last grew more familiar, and did not spread their wings for flight till he came up close to them. they were always the same, he knew them by sight, and perhaps like himself they were inhabitants of that ancient pile. he called them his birds; and his first action, when the door into the terrace was opened, was to look towards that side,--and the sparrows were always there. he delighted in their chirping, and he must have envied them their wings. though so little could be done to alleviate his sufferings, a moral improvement was taking place in him. he was touched by the lively interest displayed by his physician, who never failed to visit him at nine o'clock every morning. he seemed pleased with the attention paid him, and ended by placing entire confidence in m. desault. gratitude loosened his tongue; brutality and insult had failed to extort a murmur, but kind treatment restored his speech he had no words for anger, but he found them to express his thanks. m. desault prolonged his visits as long as the officers of the municipality would permit. when they announced the close of the visit, the child, unwilling to beg them to allow a longer time, held back m. desault by the skirt of his coat. suddenly m. desault's visits ceased. several days passed and nothing was heard of him. the keepers wondered at his absence, and the poor little invalid was much distressed at it. the commissary on duty (m. benoist) suggested that it would be proper to send to the physician's house to make inquiries as to the cause of so long an absence. gomin and larne had not yet ventured to follow this advice, when next day m. benoist was relieved by m. bidault, who, hearing m. desault's name mentioned as he came in, immediately said, "you must not expect to see him any more; he died yesterday." m. pelletan, head surgeon of the grand hospice de l'humanite, was next directed to attend the prisoner, and in june he found him in so alarming a state that he at once asked for a coadjutor, fearing to undertake the responsibility alone. the physician--sent for form's sake to attend the dying child, as an advocate is given by law to a criminal condemned beforehand--blamed the officers of the municipality for not having removed the blind, which obstructed the light, and the numerous bolts, the noise of which never failed to remind the victim of his captivity. that sound, which always caused him an involuntary shudder, disturbed him in the last mournful scene of his unparalleled tortures. m. pelletan said authoritatively to the municipal on duty, "if you will not take these bolts and casings away at once, at least you can make no objection to our carrying the child into another room, for i suppose we are sent here to take charge of him." the prince, being disturbed by these words, spoken as they were with great animation, made a sign to the physician to come nearer. "speak lower, i beg of you," said he; "i am afraid they will hear you up-stairs, and i should be very sorry for them to know that i am ill, as it would give them much uneasiness." at first the change to a cheerful and airy room revived the prince and gave him evident pleasure, but the improvement did not last. next day m. pelletan learned that the government had acceded to his request for a colleague. m. dumangin, head physician of the hospice de l'unite, made his appearance at his house on the morning of sunday, th june, with the official despatch sent him by the committee of public safety. they repaired together immediately to the tower. on their arrival they heard that the child, whose weakness was excessive, had had a fainting fit, which had occasioned fears to be entertained that his end was approaching. he had revived a little, however, when the physicians went up at about nine o'clock. unable to contend with increasing exhaustion, they perceived there was no longer any hope of prolonging an existence worn out by so much suffering, and that all their art could effect would be to soften the last stage of this lamentable disease. while standing by the prince's bed, gomin noticed that he was quietly crying, and asked him. kindly what was the matter. "i am always alone," he said. "my dear mother remains in the other tower." night came,--his last night,--which the regulations of the prison condemned him to pass once more in solitude, with suffering, his old companion, only at his side. this time, however, death, too, stood at his pillow. when gomin went up to the child's room on the morning of th june, he said, seeing him calm, motionless, and mute: "i hope you are not in pain just now?" "oh, yes, i am still in pain, but not nearly so much,--the music is so beautiful!" now there was no music to be heard, either in the tower or anywhere near. gomin, astonished, said to him, "from what direction do you hear this music?" "from above!" "have you heard it long?" "since you knelt down. do you not hear it? listen! listen!" and the child, with a nervous motion, raised his faltering hand, as he opened his large eyes illuminated by delight. his poor keeper, unwilling to destroy this last sweet illusion, appeared to listen also. after a few minutes of attention the child again started, and cried out, in intense rapture, "amongst all the voices i have distinguished that of my mother!" these were almost his last words. at a quarter past two he died, lasne only being in the room at the time. lasne acquainted gomin and damont, the commissary on duty, with the event, and they repaired to the chamber of death. the poor little royal corpse was carried from the room into that where he had suffered so long,--where for two years he had never ceased to suffer. from this apartment the father had gone to the scaffold, and thence the son must pass to the burial-ground. the remains were laid out on the bed, and the doors of the apartment were set open,--doors which had remained closed ever since the revolution had seized on a child, then full of vigour and grace and life and health! at eight o'clock next morning ( th june) four members of the committee of general safety came to the tower to make sure that the prince was really dead. when they were admitted to the death-chamber by lasne and damont they affected the greatest indifference. "the event is not of the least importance," they repeated, several times over; "the police commissary of the section will come and receive the declaration of the decease; he will acknowledge it, and proceed to the interment without any ceremony; and the committee will give the necessary directions." as they withdrew, some officers of the temple guard asked to see the remains of little capet. damont having observed that the guard would not permit the bier to pass without its being opened, the deputies decided that the officers and non-commissioned officers of the guard going off duty, together with those coming on, should be all invited to assure themselves of the child's death. all having assembled in the room where the body lay, he asked them if they recognised it as that of the ex-dauphin, son of the last king of france. those who had seen the young prince at the tuileries, or at the temple (and most of them had), bore witness to its being the body of louis xvii. when they were come down into the council-room, darlot drew up the minutes of this attestation, which was signed by a score of persons. these minutes were inserted in the journal of the temple tower, which was afterwards deposited in the office of the minister of the interior. during this visit the surgeons entrusted with the autopsy arrived at the outer gate of the temple. these were dumangin, head physician of the hospice de l'unite; pelletan, head surgeon of the grand hospice de l'humanite; jeanroy, professor in the medical schools of paris; and laasus, professor of legal medicine at the ecole de sante of paris. the last two were selected by dumangin and pelletan because of the former connection of m. lassus with mesdames de france, and of m. jeanroy with the house of lorraine, which gave a peculiar weight to their signatures. gomin received them in the council-room, and detained them until the national guard, descending from the second floor, entered to sign the minutes prepared by darlot. this done, lasne, darlot, and bouquet went up again with the surgeons, and introduced them into the apartment of louis xvii., whom they at first examined as he lay on his death-bed; but m. jeanroy observing that the dim light of this room was but little favourable to the accomplishment of their mission, the commissaries prepared a table in the first room, near the window, on which the corpse was laid, and the surgeons began their melancholy operation. at seven o'clock the police commissary ordered the body to be taken up, and that they should proceed to the cemetery. it was the season of the longest days, and therefore the interment did not take place in secrecy and at night, as some misinformed narrators have said or written; it took place in broad daylight, and attracted a great concourse of people before the gates of the temple palace. one of the municipals wished to have the coffin carried out secretly by the door opening into the chapel enclosure; but m. duaser, police commiasary, who was specially entrusted with the arrangement of the ceremony, opposed this indecorous measure, and the procession passed out through the great gate. the crowd that was pressing round was kept back, and compelled to keep a line, by a tricoloured ribbon, held at short distances by gendarmes. compassion and sorrow were impressed on every countenance. a small detachment of the troops of the line from the garrison of paris, sent by the authorities, was waiting to serve as an escort. the bier, still covered with the pall, was carried on a litter on the shoulders of four men, who relieved each other two at a time; it was preceded by six or eight men, headed by a sergeant. the procession was accompanied a long way by the crowd, and a great number of persona followed it even to the cemetery. the name of "little capet," and the more popular title of dauphin, spread from lip to lip, with exclamations of pity and compassion. the funeral entered the cemetery of ste. marguerite, not by the church, as some accounts assert, but by the old gate of the cemetery. the interment was made in the corner, on the left, at a distance of eight or nine feet from the enclosure wall, and at an equal distance from a small house, which subsequently served as a school. the grave was filled up,--no mound marked its place, and not even a trace remained of the interment! not till then did the commissaries of police and the municipality withdraw, and enter the house opposite the church to draw up the declaration of interment. it was nearly nine o'clock, and still daylight. release of madame royale.--her marriage to the duc d'angouleme. --return to france.--death. the last person to hear of the sad events in the temple was the one for whom they had the deepest and most painful interest. after her brother's death the captivity of madame royale was much lightened. she was allowed to walk in the temple gardens, and to receive visits from some ladies of the old court, and from madame de chantereine, who at last, after several times evading her questions, ventured cautiously to tell her of the deaths of her mother, aunt, and brother. madame royale wept bitterly, but had much difficulty in expressing her feelings. "she spoke so confusedly," says madame de la ramiere in a letter to madame de verneuil, "that it was difficult to understand her. it took her more than a month's reading aloud, with careful study of pronunciation, to make herself intelligible,--so much had she lost the power of expression." she was dressed with plainness amounting to poverty, and her hands were disfigured by exposure to cold and by the menial work she had been so long accustomed to do for herself, and which it was difficult to persuade her to leave off. when urged to accept the services of an attendant, she replied, with a sad prevision of the vicissitudes of her future life, that she did not like to form a habit which she might have again to abandon. she suffered herself, however, to be persuaded gradually to modify her recluse and ascetic habits. it was well she did so, as a preparation for the great changes about to follow. nine days after the death of her brother, the city of orleans interceded for the daughter of louis xvi., and sent deputies to the convention to pray for her deliverance and restoration to her family. names followed this example; and charette, on the part of the vendeans, demanded, as a condition of the pacification of la vendee, that the princess should be allowed to join her relations. at length the convention decreed that madame royale should be exchanged with austria for the representatives and ministers whom dumouriez had given up to the prince of cobourg,--drouet, semonville, maret, and other prisoners of importance. at midnight on th december, , which was her birthday, the princess was released from prison, the minister of the interior, m. benezech, to avoid attracting public attention and possible disturbance, conducting her on foot from the temple to a neighbouring street, where his carriage awaited her. she made it her particular request that gomin, who had been so devoted to her brother, should be the commissary appointed to accompany her to the frontier; madame de soucy, formerly under-governess to the children of france, was also in attendance; and the princess took with her a dog named coco, which had belonged to louis xvi. [the mention of the little dog taken from the temple by madame royale reminds me how fond all the family were of these creatures. each princess kept a different kind. mesdames had beautiful spaniels; little grayhounds were preferred by madame elisabeth. louis xvi. was the only one of all his family who had no dogs in his room. i remember one day waiting in the great gallery for the king's retiring, when he entered with all his family and the whole pack, who were escorting him. all at once all the dogs began to bark, one louder than another, and ran away, passing like ghosts along those great dark rooms, which rang with their hoarse cries. the princesses shouting, calling them, running everywhere after them, completed a ridiculous spectacle, which made those august persons very merry.--d'hezecques, p. .] she was frequently recognised on her way through france, and always with marks of pleasure and respect. it might have been supposed that the princess would rejoice to leave behind her the country which had been the scene of so many horrors and such bitter suffering. but it was her birthplace, and it held the graves of all she loved; and as she crossed the frontier she said to those around her, "i leave france with regret, for i shall never cease to consider it my country." she arrived in vienna on th january, , and her first care was to attend a memorial service for her murdered relatives. after many weeks of close retirement she occasionally began to appear in public, and people looked with interest at the pale, grave, slender girl of seventeen, dressed in the deepest mourning, over whose young head such terrible storms had swept. the emperor wished her to marry the archduke charles of austria, but her father and mother had, even in the cradle, destined her hand for her cousin, the duc d'angouleme, son of the comte d'artois, and the memory of their lightest wish was law to her. her quiet determination entailed anger and opposition amounting to persecution. every effort was made to alienate her from her french relations. she was urged to claim provence, which had become her own if louis xviii. was to be considered king of france. a pressure of opinion was brought to bear upon her which might well have overawed so young a girl. "i was sent for to the emperor's cabinet," she writes, "where i found the imperial family assembled. the ministers and chief imperial counsellors were also present . . . . when the emperor invited me to express my opinion, i answered that to be able to treat fittingly of such interests i thought, i ought to be surrounded not only by my mother's relatives, but also by those of my father . . . . besides, i said, i was above all things french, and in entire subjection to the laws of france, which had rendered me alternately the subject of the king my father, the king my brother, and the king my uncle, and that i would yield obedience to the latter, whatever might be his commands. this declaration appeared very much to dissatisfy all who were present, and when they observed that i was not to be shaken, they declared that my right being independent of my will, my resistance would not be the slightest obstacle to the measures they might deem it necessary to adopt for the preservation of my interests." in their anxiety to make a german princess of marie therese, her imperial relations suppressed her french title as much as possible. when, with some difficulty, the duc de grammont succeeded in obtaining an audience of her, and used the familiar form of address, she smiled faintly, and bade him beware. "call me madame de bretagne, or de bourgogne, or de lorraine," she said, "for here i am so identified with these provinces--[which the emperor wished her to claim from her uncle louis xviii.]--that i shall end in believing in my own transformation." after these discussions she was so closely watched, and so many restraints were imposed upon her, that she was scarcely less a prisoner than in the old days of the temple, though her cage was this time gilded. rescue, however, was at hand. in louis xviii. accepted a refuge offered to him at mittau by the czar paul, who had promised that he would grant his guest's first request, whatever it might be. louis begged the czar to use his influence with the court of vienna to allow his niece to join him. "monsieur, my brother," was paul's answer, "madame royale shall be restored to you, or i shall cease to be paul i." next morning the czar despatched a courier to vienna with a demand for the princess, so energetically worded that refusal must have been followed by war. accordingly, in may, , madame royale was allowed to leave the capital which she had found so uncongenial an asylum. in the old ducal castle of mittau, the capital of courland, louis xviii. and his wife, with their nephews, the ducs d'angouleme [the duc d'angonleme was quiet and reserved. he loved hunting as means of killing time; was given to early hours and innocent pleasures. he was a gentleman, and brave as became one. he had not the "gentlemanly vices" of his brother, and was all the better for it. he was ill educated, but had natural good sense, and would have passed for having more than that had he cared to put forth pretensions. of all his family he was the one most ill spoken of, and least deserving of it.--doctor doran.] and de berri, were awaiting her, attended by the abbe edgeworth, as chief ecclesiastic, and a little court of refugee nobles and officers. with them were two men of humbler position, who must have been even more welcome to madame royale,--de malden, who had acted as courier to louis xvi. during the flight to varennes, and turgi, who had waited on the princesses in the temple. it was a sad meeting, though so long anxiously desired, and it was followed on th june, , by an equally sad wedding,--exiles, pensioners on the bounty of the russian monarch, fulfilling an engagement founded, not on personal preference, but on family policy and reverence for the wishes of the dead, the bride and bridegroom had small cause for rejoicing. during the eighteen months of tranquil seclusion which followed her marriage, the favourite occupation of the duchess was visiting and relieving the poor. in january, , the czar paul, in compliance with the demand of napoleon, who was just then the object of his capricious enthusiasm, ordered the french royal family to leave mittau. their wanderings commenced on the st, a day of bitter memories; and the young duchess led the king to his carriage through a crowd of men, women, and children, whose tears and blessings attended them on their way. [the queen was too ill to travel. the duc d'angouleme took another route to join a body of french gentlemen in arms for the legitimist cause.] the exiles asked permission from the king of prussia to settle in his dominions, and while awaiting his answer at munich they were painfully surprised by the entrance of five old soldiers of noble birth, part of the body-guard they had left behind at mittau, relying on the protection of paul. the "mad czar" had decreed their immediate expulsion, and, penniless and almost starving, they made their way to louis xviii. all the money the royal family possessed was bestowed on these faithful servants, who came to them in detachments for relief, and then the duchess offered her diamonds to the danish consul for an advance of two thousand ducats, saying she pledged her property "that in our common distress it may be rendered of real use to my uncle, his faithful servants, and myself." the duchess's consistent and unselfish kindness procured her from the king, and those about him who knew her best, the name of "our angel." warsaw was for a brief time the resting-place of the wanderers, but there they were disturbed in by napoleon's attempt to threaten and bribe louis xviii. into abdication. it was suggested that refusal might bring upon them expulsion from prussia. "we are accustomed to suffering," was the king's answer, "and we do not dread poverty. i would, trusting in god, seek another asylum." in , after many changes of scene, this asylum was sought in england, gosfield hall, essex, being placed at their disposal by the marquis of buckingham. from gosfield, the king moved to hartwell hall, a fine old elizabethan mansion rented from sir george lee for l a year. a yearly grant of l , was made to the exiled family by the british government, out of which a hundred and forty persons were supported, the royal dinner-party generally numbering two dozen. at hartwell, as in her other homes, the duchess was most popular amongst the poor. in general society she was cold and reserved, and she disliked the notice of strangers. in march, , the royalist successes at bordeaux paved the way for the restoration of royalty in france, and amidst general sympathy and congratulation, with the prince regent himself to wish them good fortune, the king, the duchess, and their suite left hartwell in april, . the return to france was as triumphant as a somewhat half-hearted and doubtful enthusiasm could make it, and most of such cordiality as there was fell to the share of the duchess. as she passed to notre-dame in may, , on entering paris, she was vociferously greeted. the feeling of loyalty, however, was not much longer-lived than the applause by which it was expressed; the duchess had scarcely effected one of the strongest wishes of her heart,--the identification of what remained of her parents' bodies, and the magnificent ceremony with which they were removed from the cemetery of the madeleine to the abbey of st. denis,--when the escape of napoleon from elba in february, , scattered the royal family and their followers like chaff before the wind. the duc d'angouleme, compelled to capitulate at toulouse, sailed from cette in a swedish vessel. the comte d'artois, the duc de berri, and the prince de conde withdrew beyond the frontier. the king fled from the capital. the duchesse d'angouleme, then at bordeaux celebrating the anniversary of the proclamation of louis xviii., alone of all her family made any stand against the general panic. day after day she mounted her horse and reviewed the national guard. she made personal and even passionate appeals to the officers and men, standing firm, and prevailing on a handful of soldiers to remain by her, even when the imperialist troops were on the other side of the river and their cannon were directed against the square where the duchess was reviewing her scanty followers. ["it was the duchesse d'angouleme who saved you," said the gallant general clauzel, after these events, to a royalist volunteer; "i could not bring myself to order such a woman to be fired upon, at the moment when she was providing material for the noblest page in her history."--"fillia dolorosa," vol. vii., p. .] with pain and difficulty she was convinced that resistance was vain; napoleon's banner soon floated over bordeaux; the duchess issued a farewell proclamation to her "brave bordelais," and on the st april, , she started for pouillac, whence she embarked for spain. during a brief visit to england she heard that the reign of a hundred days was over, and the th of july, , saw her second triumphal return to the tuileries. she did not take up her abode there with any wish for state ceremonies or court gaieties. her life was as secluded as her position would allow. her favourite retreat was the pavilion, which had been inhabited by her mother, and in her little oratory she collected relics of her family, over which on the anniversaries of their deaths she wept and prayed. in her daily drives through paris she scrupulously avoided the spot on which they had suffered; and the memory of the past seemed to rule all her sad and self-denying life, both in what she did and what she refrained from doing. [she was so methodical and economical, though liberal in her charities, that one of her regular evening occupations was to tear off the seals from the letters she had received during the day, in order that the wax might be melted down and sold; the produce made one poor family "passing rich with forty pounds a year."--see "filia dolorosa," vol. ii., p. .] her somewhat austere goodness was not of a nature to make her popular. the few who really understood her loved her, but the majority of her pleasure-seeking subjects regarded her either with ridicule or dread. she is said to have taken no part in politics, and to have exerted no influence in public affairs, but her sympathies were well known, and "the very word liberty made her shudder;" like madame roland, she had seen "so many crimes perpetrated under that name." the claims of three pretended dauphins--hervagault, the son of the tailor of st. lo; bruneau, son of the shoemaker of vergin; and naundorf or norndorff, the watchmaker somewhat troubled her peace, but never for a moment obtained her sanction. of the many other pseudo-dauphins (said to number a dozen and a half) not even the names remain. in february, , a fresh tragedy befell the royal family in the assassination of the duc de berri, brother-in-law of the duchesse d'angouleme, as he was seeing his wife into her carriage at the door of the opera-house. he was carried into the theatre, and there the dying prince and his wife were joined by the duchess, who remained till he breathed his last, and was present when he, too, was laid in the abbey of st. denis. she was present also when his son, the duc de bordeaux, was born, and hoped that she saw in him a guarantee for the stability of royalty in france. in september, , she stood by the death-bed of louis xviii., and thenceforward her chief occupation was directing the education of the little duc de bordeaux, who generally resided with her at villeneuve l'etang, her country house near st. cloud. thence she went in july, , to the baths of vichy, stopping at dijon on her way to paris, and visiting the theatre on the evening of the th. she was received with "a roar of execrations and seditious cries," and knew only too well what they signified. she instantly left the theatre and proceeded to tonnere, where she received news of the rising in paris, and, quitting the town by night, was driven to joigny with three attendants. soon after leaving that place it was thought more prudent that the party should separate and proceed on foot, and the duchess and m. de foucigny, disguised as peasants, entered versailles arm-in-arm, to obtain tidings of the king. the duchess found him at rambouillet with her husband, the dauphin, and the king met her with a request for "pardon," being fully conscious, too late, that his unwise decrees and his headlong flight had destroyed the last hopes of his family. the act of abdication followed, by which the prospect of royalty passed from the dauphin and his wife, as well as from charles x.--henri v. being proclaimed king, and the duc d'orleans (who refused to take the boy monarch under his personal protection) lieutenant-general of the kingdom. then began the duchess's third expatriation. at cherbourg the royal family, accompanied by the little king without a kingdom, embarked in the 'great britain', which stood out to sea. the duchess, remaining on deck for a last look at the coast of france, noticed a brig which kept, she thought, suspiciously near them. "who commands that vessel?" she inquired. "captain thibault." and what are his orders?" "to fire into and sink the vessels in which we sail, should any attempt be made to return to france." such was the farewell of their subjects to the house of bourbon. the fugitives landed at weymouth; the duchesse d'angouleme under the title of comtesse de marne, the duchesse de berri as comtesse de rosny, and her son, henri de bordeaux, as comte de chambord, the title he retained till his death, originally taken from the estate presented to him in infancy by his enthusiastic people. holyrood, with its royal and gloomy associations, was their appointed dwelling. the duc and duchesse d'angouleme, and the daughter of the duc de berri, travelled thither by land, the king and the young comte de chambord by sea. "i prefer my route to that of my sister," observed the latter, "because i shall see the coast of france again, and she will not." the french government soon complained that at holyrood the exiles were still too near their native land, and accordingly, in , charles x., with his son and grandson, left scotland for hamburg, while the duchesse d'angouleme and her niece repaired to vienna. the family were reunited at prague in , where the birthday of the comte de chambord was celebrated with some pomp and rejoicing, many legitimists flocking thither to congratulate him on attaining the age of thirteen, which the old law of monarchical france had fixed as the majority of her princes. three years later the wanderings of the unfortunate family recommenced; the emperor francis ii. was dead, and his successor, ferdinand, must visit prague to be crowned, and charles x. feared that the presence of a discrowned monarch might be embarrassing on such an occasion. illness and sorrow attended the exiles on their new journey, and a few months after they were established in the chateau of graffenburg at goritz, charles x. died of cholera, in his eightieth year. at goritz, also, on the st may, , the duchesse d'angouleme, who had sat beside so many death-beds, watched over that of her husband. theirs had not been a marriage of affection in youth, but they respected each other's virtues, and to a great extent shared each other's tastes; banishment and suffering had united them very closely, and of late years they had been almost inseparable,--walking, riding, and reading together. when the duchesse d'angouleme had seen her husband laid by his father's side in the vault of the franciscan convent, she, accompanied by her nephew and niece, removed to frohsdorf, where they spent seven tranquil years. here she was addressed as "queen" by her household for the first time in her life, but she herself always recognised henri, comte de chambord, as her sovereign. the duchess lived to see the overthrow of louis philippe, the usurper of the inheritance of her family. her last attempt to exert herself was a characteristic one. she tried to rise from a sick-bed in order to attend the memorial service held for her mother, marie antoinette, on the th october, the anniversary of her execution. but her strength was not equal to the task; on the th she expired, with her hand in that of the comte de chambord, and on th october, , marie therese charlotte, duchesse d'angouleme, was buried in the franciscan convent. the ceremony of expiation. "in the spring of a ceremony took place in paris at which i was present because there was nothing in it that could be mortifying to a french heart. the death of louis xvi. had long been admitted to be one of the most serious misfortunes of the revolution. the emperor napoleon never spoke of that sovereign but in terms of the highest respect, and always prefixed the epithet unfortunate to his name. the ceremony to which i allude was proposed by the emperor of russia and the king of prussia. it consisted of a kind of expiation and purification of the spot on which louis xvi. and his queen were beheaded. i went to see the ceremony, and i had a place at a window in the hotel of madame de remusat, next to the hotel de crillon, and what was termed the hotel de courlande. "the expiation took place on the th of april. the weather was extremely fine and warm for the season. the emperor of russia and king of prussia, accompanied by prince schwartzenberg, took their station at the entrance of the rue royale; the king of prussia being on the right of the emperor alexander, and prince schwartzenberg on his left. there was a long parade, during which the russian, prussian and austrian military bands vied with each other in playing the air, 'vive henri iv.!' the cavalry defiled past, and then withdrew into the champs elysees; but the infantry ranged themselves round an altar which was raised in the middle of the place, and which was elevated on a platform having twelve or fifteen steps. the emperor of russia alighted from his horse, and, followed by the king of prussia, the grand duke constantine, lord cathcart, and prince schwartzenberg, advanced to the altar. when the emperor had nearly reached the altar the "te deum" commenced. at the moment of the benediction, the sovereigns and persons who accompanied them, as well as the twenty-five thousand troops who covered the place, all knelt down. the greek priest presented the cross to the emperor alexander, who kissed it; his example was followed by the individuals who accompanied him, though they were not of the greek faith. on rising, the grand duke constantine took off his hat, and immediately salvoes of artillery were heard." note. the following titles have the signification given below during the period covered by this work: monseigneur........... the dauphin. monsieur.............. the eldest brother of the king, comte de provence, afterwards louis xviii. monsieur le prince.... the prince de conde, head of the house of conde. monsieur le duc....... the duc de bourbon, the eldest son of the prince de condo (and the father of the duc d'enghien shot by napoleon). monsieur le grand..... the grand equerry under the ancien regime. monsieur le premier... the first equerry under the ancien regime. enfans de france...... the royal children. madame & mesdames..... sisters or daughters of the king, or princesses near the throne (sometimes used also for the wife of monsieur, the eldest brother of the king, the princesses adelaide, victoire, sophie, louise, daughters of louis xv., and aunts of louis xvi.) madame elisabeth...... the princesse elisabeth, sister of louis xvi. madame royale......... the princesse marie therese, daughter of louis xvi., afterwards duchesse d'angouleme. mademoiselle.......... the daughter of monsieur, the brother of the king. etext editor's bookmarks: allowed her candles and as much firewood as she wanted better to die than to implicate anybody duc d'orleans, when called on to give his vote for death of king formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend how can i have any regret when i partake your misfortunes louis philippe, the usurper of the inheritance of her family my father fortunately found a library which amused him no one is more dangerous than a man clothed with recent authority rabble, always ready to insult genius, virtue, and misfortune so many crimes perpetrated under that name (liberty) subjecting the vanquished to be tried by the conquerors memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen volume chapter vi. during the first few months of his reign louis xvi. dwelt at la muette, marly, and compiegne. when settled at versailles he occupied himself with a general examination of his grandfather's papers. he had promised the queen to communicate to her all that he might discover relative to the history of the man with the iron mask, who, he thought, had become so inexhaustible a source of conjecture only in consequence of the interest which the pen of a celebrated writer had excited respecting the detention of a prisoner of state, who was merely a man of whimsical tastes and habits. i was with the queen when the king, having finished his researches, informed her that he had not found anything among the secret papers elucidating the existence of this prisoner; that he had conversed on the matter with m. de maurepas, whose age made him contemporary with the epoch during which the story must have been known to the ministers; and that m. de maurepas had assured him he was merely a prisoner of a very dangerous character, in consequence of his disposition for intrigue. he was a subject of the duke of mantua, and was enticed to the frontier, arrested there, and kept prisoner, first at pignerol, and afterwards in the bastille. this transfer took place in consequence of the appointment of the governor of the former place to the government of the latter. it was for fear the prisoner should profit by the inexperience of a new governor that he was sent with the governor of pignerol to the bastille. such was, in fact, the truth about the man on whom people have been pleased to fix an iron mask. and thus was it related in writing, and published by m. ----- twenty years ago. he had searched the archives of the foreign office, and laid the real story before the public; but the public, prepossessed in favour of a marvellous version, would not acknowledge the authenticity of his account. every man relied upon the authority of voltaire; and it was believed that a natural or a twin brother of louis xiv. lived many years in prison with a mask over his face. the story of this mask, perhaps, had its origin in the old custom, among both men and women in italy, of wearing a velvet mask when they exposed themselves to the sun. it is possible that the italian captive may have sometimes shown himself upon the terrace of his prison with his face thus covered. as to the silver plate which this celebrated prisoner is said to have thrown from his window, it is known that such a circumstance did happen, but it happened at valzin, in the time of cardinal richelieu. this anecdote has been mixed up with the inventions respecting the piedmontese prisoner. in this survey of the papers of louis xv. by his grandson some very curious particulars relative to his private treasury were found. shares in various financial companies afforded him a revenue, and had in course of time produced him a capital of some amount, which he applied to his secret expenses. the king collected his vouchers of title to these shares, and made a present of them to m. thierry de ville d'avray, his chief valet de chambre. the queen was desirous to secure the comfort of mesdames, the daughters of louis xv., who were held in the highest respect. about this period she contributed to furnish them with a revenue sufficient to provide them an easy, pleasant existence: the king gave them the chateau of bellevue; and added to the produce of it, which was given up to them, the expenses of their table and equipage, and payment of all the charges of their household, the number of which was even increased. during the lifetime of louis xv., who was a very selfish prince, his daughters, although they had attained forty years of age, had no other place of residence than their apartments in the chateau of versailles; no other walks than such as they could take in the large park of that palace; and no other means of gratifying their taste for the cultivation of plants but by having boxes and vases, filled with them, in their balconies or their closets. they had, therefore, reason to be much pleased with the conduct of marie antoinette, who had the greatest influence in the king's kindness towards his aunts. paris did not cease, during the first years of the reign, to give proofs of pleasure whenever the queen appeared at any of the plays of the capital. at the representation of "iphigenia in aulis," the actor who sang the words, "let us sing, let us celebrate our queen!" which were repeated by the chorus, directed by a respectful movement the eyes of the whole assembly upon her majesty. reiterated cries of 'bis'! and clapping of hands, were followed by such a burst of enthusiasm that many of the audience added their voices to those of the actors in order to celebrate, it might too truly be said, another iphigenia. the queen, deeply affected, covered her eyes with her handkerchief; and this proof of sensibility raised the public enthusiasm to a still higher pitch. the king gave marie antoinette petit trianon. [the chateau of petit trianon, which was built for louis xv., was not remarkably handsome as a building. the luxuriance of the hothouses rendered the place agreeable to that prince. he spent a few days there several times in the year. it was when he was setting off from versailles for petit trianon that he was struck in the side by the knife of damiens, and it was there that he was attacked by the smallpox, of which he died on the th of may, .--madame campan.] henceforward she amused herself with improving the gardens, without allowing any addition to the building, or any change in the furniture, which was very shabby, and remained, in , in the same state as during the reign of louis xv. everything there, without exception, was preserved; and the queen slept in a faded bed, which had been used by the comtesse du barry. the charge of extravagance, generally made against the queen, is the most unaccountable of all the popular errors respecting her character. she had exactly the contrary failing; and i could prove that she often carried her economy to a degree of parsimony actually blamable, especially in a sovereign. she took a great liking for trianon, and used to go there alone, followed by a valet; but she found attendants ready to receive her,--a concierge and his wife, who served her as femme de chambre, women of the wardrobe, footmen, etc. when she first took possession of petit trianon, it was reported that she changed the name of the seat which the king had given her, and called it little vienna, or little schoenbrunn. a person who belonged to the court, and was silly enough to give this report credit, wishing to visit petit trianon with a party, wrote to m. campan, requesting the queen's permission to do so. in his note he called trianon little vienna. similar requests were usually laid before the queen just as they were made: she chose to give the permissions to see her gardens herself, liking to grant these little favours. when she came to the words i have quoted she was very, much offended, and exclaimed, angrily, that there were too many, fools ready, to aid the malicious; that she had been told of the report circulated, which pretended that she had thought of nothing but her own country, and that she kept an austrian heart, while the interests of france alone ought to engage her. she refused the request so awkwardly made, and desired m. campan to reply, that trianon was not to be seen for some time, and that the queen was astonished that any man in good society should believe she would do so ill-judged a thing as to change the french names of her palaces to foreign ones. before the emperor joseph ii's first visit to france the queen received a visit from the archduke maximilian in . a stupid act of the ambassador, seconded on the part of the queen by the abbe de vermond, gave rise at that period to a discussion which offended the princes of the blood and the chief nobility of the kingdom. travelling incognito, the young prince claimed that the first visit was not due from him to the princes of the blood; and the queen supported his pretension. from the time of the regency, and on account of the residence of the family of orleans in the bosom of the capital, paris had preserved a remarkable degree of attachment and respect for that branch of the royal house; and although the crown was becoming more and more remote from the princes of the house of orleans, they had the advantage (a great one with the parisians) of being the descendants of henri iv. an affront to that popular family was a serious ground of dislike to the queen. it was at this period that the circles of the city, and even of the court, expressed themselves bitterly about her levity, and her partiality for the house of austria. the prince for whom the queen had embarked in an important family quarrel--and a quarrel involving national prerogatives--was, besides, little calculated to inspire interest. still young, uninformed, and deficient in natural talent, he was always making blunders. he went to the jardin du roi; m. de buffon, who received him there, offered him a copy of his works; the prince declined accepting the book, saying to m. de buffon, in the most polite manner possible, "i should be very sorry to deprive you of it." [joseph ii, on his visit to france, also went to see m. de buffon, and said to that celebrated man, "i am come to fetch the copy of your works which my brother forgot."--note by the editor.] it may be supposed that the parisians were much entertained with this answer. the queen was exceedingly mortified at the mistakes made by her brother; but what hurt her most was being accused of preserving an austrian heart. marie antoinette had more than once to endure that imputation during the long course of her misfortunes. habit did not stop the tears such injustice caused; but the first time she was suspected of not loving france, she gave way to her indignation. all that she could say on the subject was useless; by seconding the pretensions of the archduke she had put arms into her enemies' hands; they were labouring to deprive her of the love of the people, and endeavoured, by all possible means, to spread a belief that the queen sighed for germany, and preferred that country to france. marie antoinette had none but herself to rely on for preserving the fickle smiles of the court and the public. the king, too indifferent to serve her as a guide, as yet had conceived no love for her, notwithstanding the intimacy that grew between them at choisy. in his closet louis xvi. was immersed in deep study. at the council he was busied with the welfare of his people; hunting and mechanical occupations engrossed his leisure moments, and he never thought on the subject of an heir. the coronation took place at rheims, with all the accustomed pomp. at this period the people's love for louis xvi. burst forth in transports not to be mistaken for party demonstrations or idle curiosity. he replied to this enthusiasm by marks of confidence, worthy of a people happy in being governed by a good king; he took a pleasure in repeatedly walking without guards, in the midst of the crowd which pressed around him, and called down blessings on his head. i remarked the impression made at this time by an observation of louis xvi. on the day of his coronation he put his hand up to his head, at the moment of the crown being placed upon it, and said, "it pinches me." henri iii. had exclaimed, "it pricks me." those who were near the king were struck with the similarity between these two exclamations, though not of a class likely to be blinded by the superstitious fears of ignorance. while the queen, neglected as she was, could not even hope for the happiness of being a mother, she had the mortification of seeing the comtesse d'artois give birth to the duc d'angouleme. custom required that the royal family and the whole court should be present at the accouchement of the princesses; the queen was therefore obliged to stay a whole day in her sister-in-law's chamber. the moment the comtesse d'artois was informed a prince was born, she put her hand to her forehead and exclaimed with energy, "my god, how happy i am!" the queen felt very differently at this involuntary and natural exclamation. nevertheless, her behaviour was perfect. she bestowed all possible marks of tenderness upon the young mother, and would not leave her until she was again put into bed; she afterwards passed along the staircase, and through the hall of the guards, with a calm demeanour, in the midst of an immense crowd. the poissardes, who had assumed a right of speaking to sovereigns in their own vulgar language, followed her to the very doors of her apartments, calling out to her with gross expressions, that she ought to produce heirs. the queen reached her inner room, hurried and agitated; he shut herself up to weep with me alone, not from jealousy of her sister-in-law's happiness,--of that he was incapable,--but from sorrow at her own situation. deprived of the happiness of giving an heir to the crown, the queen endeavoured to interest herself in the children of the people of her household. she had long been desirous to bring up one of them herself, and to make it the constant object of her care. a little village boy, four or five years old, full of health, with a pleasing countenance, remarkably large blue eyes, and fine light hair, got under the feet of the queen's horses, when she was taking an airing in a calash, through the hamlet of st. michel, near louveciennes. the coachman and postilions stopped the horses, and the child was rescued without the slightest injury. its grandmother rushed out of the door of her cottage to take it; but the queen, standing up in her calash and extending her arms, called out that the child was hers, and that destiny had given it to her, to console her, no doubt, until she should have the happiness of having one herself. "is his mother alive?" asked the queen. "no, madame; my daughter died last winter, and left five small children upon my hands." "i will take this one, and provide for all the rest; do you consent?" "ah, madame, they are too fortunate," replied the cottager; "but jacques is a bad boy. i hope he will stay with you!" the queen, taking little jacques upon her knee, said that she would make him used to her, and gave orders to proceed. it was necessary, however, to shorten the drive, so violently did jacques scream, and kick the queen and her ladies. the arrival of her majesty at her apartments at versailles, holding the little rustic by the hand, astonished the whole household; he cried out with intolerable shrillness that he wanted his grandmother, his brother louis, and his sister marianne; nothing could calm him. he was taken away by the wife of a servant, who was appointed to attend him as nurse. the other children were put to school. little jacques, whose family name was armand, came back to the queen two days afterwards; a white frock trimmed with lace, a rose-coloured sash with silver fringe, and a hat decorated with feathers, were now substituted for the woollen cap, the little red frock, and the wooden shoes. the child was really very beautiful. the queen was enchanted with him; he was brought to her every morning at nine o'clock; he breakfasted and dined with her, and often even with the king. she liked to call him my child, [this little unfortunate was nearly twenty in ; the fury of the people and the fear of being thought a favourite of the queen's had made him the most sanguinary terrorist of versailles. he was killed at the battle of jemappes.] and lavished caresses upon him, still maintaining a deep silence respecting the regrets which constantly occupied her heart. this child remained with the queen until the time when madame was old enough to come home to her august mother, who had particularly taken upon herself the care of her education. the queen talked incessantly of the qualities which she admired in louis xvi., and gladly attributed to herself the slightest favourable change in his manner; perhaps she displayed too unreservedly the joy she felt, and the share she appropriated in the improvement. one day louis xvi. saluted her ladies with more kindness than usual, and the queen laughingly said to them, "now confess, ladies, that for one so badly taught as a child, the king has saluted you with very good grace!" the queen hated m. de la vauguyon; she accused him alone of those points in the habits, and even the sentiments, of the king which hurt her. a former first woman of the bedchamber to queen maria leczinska had continued in office near the young queen. she was one of those people who are fortunate enough to spend their lives in the service of kings without knowing anything of what is passing at court. she was a great devotee; the abbe grisel, an ex-jesuit, was her director. being rich from her savings and an income of , livres, she kept a very good table; in her apartment, at the grand commun, the most distinguished persons who still adhered to the order of jesuits often assembled. the duc de la vauguyon was intimate with her; their chairs at the eglise des reollets were placed near each other; at high mass and at vespers they sang the "gloria in excelsis" and the "magnificat" together; and the pious virgin, seeing in him only one of god's elect, little imagined him to be the declared enemy of a princess whom she served and revered. on the day of his death she ran in tears to relate to the queen the piety, humility, and repentance of the last moments of the duc de la vauguyon. he had called his people together, she said, to ask their pardon. "for what?" replied the queen, sharply; "he has placed and pensioned off all his servants; it was of the king and his brothers that the holy man you bewail should have asked pardon, for having paid so little attention to the education of princes on whom the fate and happiness of twenty-five millions of men depend. luckily," added she, "the king and his brothers, still young, have incessantly laboured to repair the errors of their preceptor." the progress of time, and the confidence with which the king and the princes, his brothers, were inspired by the change in their situation since the death of louis xv., had developed their characters. i will endeavour to depict them. the features of louis xvi. were noble enough, though somewhat melancholy in expression; his walk was heavy and unmajestic; his person greatly neglected; his hair, whatever might be the skill of his hairdresser, was soon in disorder. his voice, without being harsh, was not agreeable; if he grew animated in speaking he often got above his natural pitch, and became shrill. the abbe de radonvilliers, his preceptor, one of the forty of the french academy, a learned and amiable man, had given him and monsieur a taste for study. the king had continued to instruct himself; he knew the english language perfectly; i have often heard him translate some of the most difficult passages in milton's poems. he was a skilful geographer, and was fond of drawing and colouring maps; he was well versed in history, but had not perhaps sufficiently studied the spirit of it. he appreciated dramatic beauties, and judged them accurately. at choisy, one day, several ladies expressed their dissatisfaction because the french actors were going to perform one of moliere's pieces. the king inquired why they disapproved of the choice. one of them answered that everybody must admit that moliere had very bad taste; the king replied that many things might be found in moliere contrary to fashion, but that it appeared to him difficult to point out any in bad taste? [the king, having purchased the chateau of rambouillet from the duc de penthievre, amused himself with embellishing it. i have seen a register entirely in his own handwriting, which proves that he possessed a great variety of information on the minutiae of various branches of knowledge. in his accounts he would not omit an outlay of a franc. his figures and letters, when he wished to write legibly, were small and very neat, but in general he wrote very ill. he was so sparing of paper that he divided a sheet into eight, six, or four pieces, according to the length of what he had to write. towards the close of the page he compressed the letters, and avoided interlineations. the last words were close to the edge of the paper; he seemed to regret being obliged to begin another page. he was methodical and analytical; he divided what he wrote into chapters and sections. he had extracted from the works of nicole and fenelon, his favourite authors, three or four hundred concise and sententious phrases; these he had classed according to subject, and formed a work of them in the style of montesquieu. to this treatise he had given the following general title: "of moderate monarchy" (de la monarchie temperee), with chapters entitled, "of the person of the prince;" "of the authority of bodies in the state;" "of the character of the executive functions of the monarchy." had he been able to carry into effect all the grand precepts he had observed in fenelon, louis xvi. would have been an accomplished monarch, and france a powerful kingdom. the king used to accept the speeches his ministers presented to him to deliver on important occasions; but he corrected and modified them; struck out some parts, and added others; and sometimes consulted the queen on the subject. the phrase of the minister erased by the king was frequently unsuitable, and dictated by the minister's private feelings; but the king's was always the natural expression. he himself composed, three times or oftener, his famous answers to the parliament which he banished. but in his letters he was negligent, and always incorrect. simplicity was the characteristic of the king's style; the figurative style of m. necker did not please him; the sarcasms of maurepas were disagreeable to him. unfortunate prince! he would predict, in his observations, that if such a calamity should happen, the monarchy would be ruined; and the next day he would consent in council to the very measure which he had condemned the day before, and which brought him nearer the brink of the precipice.--soulavie, "historical and political memoirs of the reign of louis xvi.," vol. ii.] this prince combined with his attainments the attributes of a good husband, a tender father, and an indulgent master. unfortunately he showed too much predilection for the mechanical arts; masonry and lock-making so delighted him that he admitted into his private apartment a common locksmith, with whom he made keys and locks; and his hands, blackened by that sort of work, were often, in my presence, the subject of remonstrances and even sharp reproaches from the queen, who would have chosen other amusements for her husband. [louis xvi. saw that the art of lock-making was capable of application to a higher study, he was an excellent geographer. the most valuable and complete instrument for the study of that science was begun by his orders and under his direction. it was an immense globe of copper, which was long preserved, though unfinished, in the mazarine library. louis xvi. invented and had executed under his own eyes the ingenious mechanism required for this globe.--note by the editor.] austere and rigid with regard to himself alone, the king observed the laws of the church with scrupulous exactness. he fasted and abstained throughout the whole of lent. he thought it right that the queen should not observe these customs with the same strictness. though sincerely pious, the spirit of the age had disposed his mind to toleration. turgot, malesherbes, and necker judged that this prince, modest and simple in his habits, would willingly sacrifice the royal prerogative to the solid greatness of his people. his heart, in truth, disposed him towards reforms; but his prejudices and fears, and the clamours of pious and privileged persons, intimidated him, and made him abandon plans which his love for the people had suggested. monsieur-- [during his stay at avignon, monsieur, afterwards louis xviii, lodged with the duc de crillon; he refused the town-guard which was offered him, saying, "a son of france, under the roof of a crillon, needs no guard."--note by the editor.] had more dignity of demeanour than the king; but his corpulence rendered his gait inelegant. he was fond of pageantry and magnificence. he cultivated the belles lettres, and under assumed names often contributed verses to the mercury and other papers. his wonderful memory was the handmaid of his wit, furnishing him with the happiest quotations. he knew by heart a varied repertoire, from the finest passages of the latin classics to the latin of all the prayers, from the works of racine to the vaudeville of "rose et colas." the comte d'artoisi had an agreeable countenance, was well made, skilful in bodily exercises, lively, impetuous, fond of pleasure, and very particular in his dress. some happy observations made by him were repeated with approval, and gave a favourable idea of his heart. the parisians liked the open and frank character of this prince, which they considered national, and showed real affection for him. the dominion that the queen gained over the king's mind, the charms of a society in which monsieur displayed his wit, and to which the comte d'artois--[afterwards charles x.]--gave life by the vivacity of youth, gradually softened that ruggedness of manner in louis xvi. which a better-conducted education might have prevented. still, this defect often showed itself, and, in spite of his extreme simplicity, the king inspired those who had occasion to speak to him with diffidence. courtiers, submissive in the presence of their sovereign, are only the more ready to caricature him; with little good breeding, they called those answers they so much dreaded, les coups de boutoir du roi.--[the literal meaning of the phrase "coup de boutoir," is a thrust from the snout of a boar.] methodical in all his habits, the king always went to bed at eleven precisely. one evening the queen was going with her usual circle to a party, either at the duc de duras's or the princesse de glumenee's. the hand of the clock was slily put forward to hasten the king's departure by a few minutes; he thought bed-time was come, retired, and found none of his attendants ready to wait on him. this joke became known in all the drawing-rooms of versailles, and was disapproved of there. kings have no privacy. queens have no boudoirs. if those who are in immediate attendance upon sovereigns be not themselves disposed to transmit their private habits to posterity, the meanest valet will relate what he has seen or heard; his gossip circulates rapidly, and forms public opinion, which at length ascribes to the most august persons characters which, however untrue they may be, are almost always indelible. note. the only passion ever shown by louis xvi. was for hunting. he was so much occupied by it that when i went up into his private closets at versailles, after the th of august, i saw upon the staircase six frames, in which were seen statements of all his hunts, when dauphin and when king. in them was detailed the number, kind, and quality of the game he had killed at each hunting party during every month, every season, and every year of his reign. the interior of his private apartments was thus arranged: a salon, ornamented with gilded mouldings, displayed the engravings which had been dedicated to him, drawings of the canals he had dug, with the model of that of burgundy, and the plan of the cones and works of cherbourg. the upper hall contained his collection of geographical charts, spheres, globes, and also his geographical cabinet. there were to be seen drawings of maps which he had begun, and some that he had finished. he had a clever method of washing them in. his geographical memory was prodigious. over the hall was the turning and joining room, furnished with ingenious instruments for working in wood. he inherited some from louis xv., and he often busied himself, with duret's assistance, in keeping them clean and bright. above was the library of books published during his reign. the prayer books and manuscript books of anne of brittany, francois i, the later valois, louis xiv., louis xv., and the dauphin formed the great hereditary library of the chateau. louis xvi. placed separately, in two apartments communicating with each other, the works of his own time, including a complete collection of didot's editions, in vellum, every volume enclosed in a morocco case. there were several english works, among the rest the debates of the british parliament, in a great number of volumes in folio (this is the moniteur of england, a complete collection of which is so valuable and so scarce). by the side of this collection was to be seen a manuscript history of all the schemes for a descent upon that island, particularly that of comte de broglie. one of the presses of this cabinet was full of cardboard boxes, containing papers relative to the house of austria, inscribed in the king's own hand: "secret papers of my family respecting the house of austria; papers of my family respecting the houses of stuart and hanover." in an adjoining press were kept papers relative to russia. satirical works against catherine ii. and against paul i. were sold in france under the name of histories; louis xviii. collected and sealed up with his small seal the scandalous anecdotes against catherine ii., as well as the works of rhulieres, of which he had a copy, to be certain that the secret life of that princess, which attracted the curiosity of her contemporaries, should not be made public by his means. above the king's private library were a forge, two anvils, and a vast number of iron tools; various common locks, well made and perfect; some secret locks, and locks ornamented with gilt copper. it was there that the infamous gamin, who afterwards accused the king of having tried to poison him, and was rewarded for his calumny with a pension of twelve thousand livres, taught him the art of lock-making. this gamin, who became our guide, by order of the department and municipality of versailles, did not, however, denounce the king on the th december, . he had been made the confidant of that prince in an immense number of important commissions; the king had sent him the "red book," from paris, in a parcel; and the part which was concealed during the constituent assembly still remained so in . gamin hid it in a part of the chateau inaccessible to everybody, and took it from under the shelves of a secret press before our eyes. this is a convincing proof that louis xvi. hoped to return to his chiteau. when teaching louis xvi. his trade gamin took upon himself the tone and authority of a master. "the king was good, forbearing, timid, inquisitive, and addicted to sleep," said gamin to me; "he was fond to excess of lock-making, and he concealed himself from the queen and the court to file and forge with me. in order to convey his anvil and my own backwards and forwards we were obliged to use a thousand stratagems, the history of which would: never end." above the king's and gamin's forges and anvils was an, observatory, erected upon a platform covered with lead. there, seated on an armchair, and assisted by a telescope, the king observed all that was passing in the courtyards of versailles, the avenue of paris, and the neighbouring gardens. he had taken a liking to duret, one of the indoor servants of the palace, who sharpened his tools, cleaned his anvils, pasted his maps, and adjusted eyeglasses to the king's sight, who was short-sighted. this good duret, and indeed all the indoor servants, spoke of their master with regret and affection, and with tears in their eyes. the king was born weak and delicate; but from the age of twenty-four he possessed a robust constitution, inherited from his mother, who was of the house of saxe, celebrated for generations for its robustness. there were two men in louis xvi., the man of knowledge and the man of will. the king knew the history of his own family and of the first houses of france perfectly. he composed the instructions for m. de la peyrouse's voyage round the world, which the minister thought were drawn up by several members of the academy of sciences. his memory retained an infinite number of names and situations. he remembered quantities and numbers wonderfully. one day an account was presented to him in which the minister had ranked among the expenses an item inserted in the account of the preceding year. "there is a double charge," said the king; "bring me last year's account, and i will show it yet there." when the king was perfectly master of the details of any matter, and saw injustice, he was obdurate even to harshness. then he would be obeyed instantly, in order to be sure that he was obeyed. but in important affairs of state the man of will was not to be found. louis xvi. was upon the throne exactly what those weak temperaments whom nature has rendered incapable of an opinion are in society. in his pusillanimity, he gave his confidence to a minister; and although amidst various counsels he often knew which was the best, he never had the resolution to say, "i prefer the opinion of such a one." herein originated the misfortunes of the state.--soulavie's "historical and political memoirs of the reign of louis xvi.," vol ii. chapter vii. the winter following the confinement of the comtesse d'artois was very severe; the recollections of the pleasure which sleighing-parties had given the queen in her childhood made her wish to introduce similar ones in france. this amusement had already been known in that court, as was proved by sleighs being found in the stables which had been used by the dauphin, the father of louis xvi. some were constructed for the queen in a more modern style. the princes also ordered several; and in a few days there was a tolerable number of these vehicles. they were driven by the princes and noblemen of the court. the noise of the bells and balls with which the harness of the horses was furnished, the elegance and whiteness of their plumes, the varied forms of the carriages, the gold with which they were all ornamented, rendered these parties delightful to the eye. the winter was very favourable to them, the snow remaining on the ground nearly six weeks; the drives in the park afforded a pleasure shared by the spectators. [louis xvi., touched with the wretched condition of the poor of versailles during the winter of , had several cart-loads of wood distributed among them. seeing one day a file of those vehicles passing by, while several noblemen were preparing to be drawn swiftly over the ice, he uttered these memorable words: "gentlemen, here are my sleighs!"--note by the editor.] no one imagined that any blame could attach to so innocent an amusement. but the party were tempted to extend their drives as far as the champs elysees; a few sleighs even crossed the boulevards; the ladies being masked, the queen's enemies took the opportunity of saying that she had traversed the streets of paris in a sleigh. this became a matter of moment. the public discovered in it a predilection for the habits of vienna; but all that marie antoinette did was criticised. sleigh-driving, savouring of the northern courts, had no favour among the parisians. the queen was informed of this; and although all the sleighs were preserved, and several subsequent winters lent themselves to the amusement, she would not resume it. it was at the time of the sleighing-parties that the queen became intimately acquainted with the princesse de lamballe, who made her appearance in them wrapped in fur, with all the brilliancy and freshness of the age of twenty,--the emblem of spring, peeping from under sable and ermine. her situation, moreover, rendered her peculiarly interesting; married, when she was scarcely past childhood, to a young prince, who ruined himself by the contagious example of the duc d'orleans, she had had nothing to do from the time of her arrival in france but to weep. a widow at eighteen, and childless, she lived with the duc de penthievre as an adopted daughter. she had the tenderest respect and attachment for that venerable prince; but the queen, though doing justice to his virtues, saw that the duc de penthievre's way of life, whether at paris or at his country-seat, could neither afford his young daughter-in-law the amusements suited to her time of life, nor ensure her in the future an establishment such as she was deprived of by her widowhood. she determined, therefore, to establish her at versailles; and for her sake revived the office of superintendent, which had been discontinued at court since the death of mademoiselle de clermont. it is said that maria leczinska had decided that this place should continue vacant, the superintendent having so extensive a power in the houses of queens as to be frequently a restraint upon their inclinations. differences which soon took place between marie antoinette and the princesse de lamballe respecting the official prerogatives of the latter, proved that the wife of louis xv. had acted judiciously in abolishing the office; but a kind of treaty made between the queen and the princess smoothed all difficulties. the blame for too strong an assertion of claims fell upon a secretary of the superintendent, who had been her adviser; and everything was so arranged that a firm friendship existed between these two princesses down to the disastrous period which terminated their career. notwithstanding the enthusiasm which the splendour, grace, and kindness of the queen generally inspired, secret intrigues continued in operation against her. a short time after the ascension of louis xvi. to the throne, the minister of the king's household was informed that a most offensive libel against the queen was about to appear. the lieutenant of police deputed a man named goupil, a police inspector, to trace this libel; he came soon after to say that he had found out the place where the work was being printed, and that it was at a country house near yverdun. he had already got possession of two sheets, which contained the most atrocious calumnies, conveyed with a degree of art which might make them very dangerous to the queen's reputation. goupil said that he could obtain the rest, but that he should want a considerable sum for that purpose. three thousand louis were given him, and very soon afterwards he brought the whole manuscript and all that had been printed to the lieutenant of police. he received a thousand louis more as a reward for his address and zeal; and a much more important office was about to be given him, when another spy, envious of goupil's good fortune, gave information that goupil himself was the author of the libel; that, ten years before, he had been put into the bicetre for swindling; and that madame goupil had been only three years out of the salpetriere, where she had been placed under another name. this madame goupil was very pretty and very intriguing; she had found means to form an intimacy with cardinal de rohan, whom she led, it is said, to hope for a reconciliation with the queen. all this affair was hushed up; but it shows that it was the queen's fate to be incessantly attacked by the meanest and most odious machinations. another woman, named cahouette de millers, whose husband held an office in the treasury, being very irregular in conduct, and of a scheming turn of mind, had a mania for appearing in the eyes of her friends at paris as a person in favour at court, to which she was not entitled by either birth or office. during the latter years of the life of louis xv. she had made many dupes, and picked up considerable sums by passing herself off as the king's mistress. the fear of irritating madame du barry was, according to her, the only thing which prevented her enjoying that title openly. she came regularly to versailles, kept herself concealed in a furnished lodging, and her dupes imagined she was secretly summoned to court. this woman formed the scheme of getting admission, if possible, to the presence of the queen, or at least causing it to be believed that she had done so. she adopted as her lover gabriel de saint charles, intendant of her majesty's finances,--an office, the privileges of which were confined to the right of entering the queen's apartment on sunday. madame de villers came every saturday to versailles with m. de saint charles, and lodged in his apartment. m. campan was there several times. she painted tolerably well, and she requested him to do her the favour to present to the queen a portrait of her majesty which she had just copied. m. campan knew the woman's character, and refused her. a few days after, he saw on her majesty's couch the portrait which he had declined to present to her; the queen thought it badly painted, and gave orders that it should be carried back to the princesse de lamballe, who had sent it to her. the ill success of the portrait did not deter the manoeuvrer from following up her designs; she easily procured through m. de saint charles patents and orders signed by the queen; she then set about imitating her writing, and composed a great number of notes and letters, as if written by her majesty, in the tenderest and most familiar style. for many months she showed them as great secrets to several of her particular friends. afterwards, she made the queen appear to write to her, to procure various fancy articles. under the pretext of wishing to execute her majesty's commissions accurately, she gave these letters to the tradesmen to read, and succeeded in having it said, in many houses, that the queen had a particular regard for her. she then enlarged her scheme, and represented the queen as desiring to borrow , francs which she had need of, but which she did not wish to ask of the king from his private funds. this letter, being shown to m. beranger, 'fermier general' of the finances, took effect; he thought himself fortunate in being able to render this assistance to his sovereign, and lost no time in sending the , francs to madame de villers. this first step was followed by some doubts, which he communicated to people better informed than himself of what was passing at court; they added to his uneasiness; he then went to m. de sartine, who unravelled the whole plot. the woman was sent to st. pelagie; and the unfortunate husband was ruined, by replacing the sum borrowed, and by paying for the jewels fraudulently purchased in the queen's name. the forged letters were sent to her majesty; i compared them in her presence with her own handwriting, and the only distinguishable difference was a little more regularity in the letters. this trick, discovered and punished with prudence and without passion, produced no more sensation out of doors than that of the inspector goupil. a year after the nomination of madame de lamballe to the post of superintendent of the queen's household, balls and quadrilles gave rise to the intimacy of her majesty with the comtesse jules de polignac. this lady really interested marie antoinette. she was not rich, and generally lived upon her estate at claye. the queen was astonished at not having seen her at court earlier. the confession that her want of fortune had even prevented her appearance at the celebration of the marriages of the princes added to the interest which she had inspired. the queen was full of consideration, and took delight in counteracting the injustice of fortune. the countess was induced to come to court by her husband's sister, madame diane de polignac, who had been appointed lady of honour to the comtesse d'artois. the comtesse jules was really fond of a tranquil life; the impression she made at court affected her but little; she felt only the attachment manifested for her by the queen. i had occasion to see her from the commencement of her favour at court; she often passed whole hours with me, while waiting for the queen. she conversed with me freely and ingenuously about the honour, and at the same time the danger, she saw in the kindness of which she was the object. the queen sought for the sweets of friendship; but can this gratification, so rare in any rank, exist between a queen and a subject, when they are surrounded, moreover, by snares laid by the artifice of courtiers? this pardonable error was fatal to the happiness of marie antoinette. the retiring character of the comtesse jules, afterwards duchesse de polignac, cannot be spoken of too favourably; but if her heart was incapable of forming ambitious projects, her family and friends in her fortune beheld their own, and endeavoured to secure the favour of the queen. [the comtesse, afterwards duchesse de polignac, nee polastron, married the comte (in the duc) jules de polignac, the father of the prince de polignac of napoleon's and of charles x.'s time. she emigrated in , and died in vienna in .] the comtesse de diane, sister of m. de polignac, and the baron de besenval and m. de vaudreuil, particular friends of the polignac family, made use of means, the success of which was infallible. one of my friends (comte de moustier), who was in their secret, came to tell me that madame de polignac was about to quit versailles suddenly; that she would take leave of the queen only in writing; that the comtesse diane and m. de vaudreuil had dictated her letter, and the whole affair was arranged for the purpose of stimulating the attachment of marie antoinette. the next day, when i went up to the palace, i found the queen with a letter in her hand, which she was reading with much emotion; it was the letter from the comtesse jules; the queen showed it to me. the countess expressed in it her grief at leaving a princess who had loaded her with kindness. the narrowness of her fortune compelled her to do so; but she was much more strongly impelled by the fear that the queen's friendship, after having raised up dangerous enemies against her, might abandon her to their hatred, and to the regret of having lost the august favour of which she was the object. this step produced the full effect that had been expected from it. a young and sensitive queen cannot long bear the idea of contradiction. she busied herself in settling the comtesse jules near her, by making such a provision for her as should place her beyond anxiety. her character suited the queen; she had merely natural talents, no pedantry, no affectation of knowledge. she was of middle size; her complexion very fair, her eyebrows and hair dark brown, her teeth superb, her smile enchanting, and her whole person graceful. she was seen almost always in a demi-toilet, remarkable only for neatness and good taste. i do not think i ever once saw diamonds about her, even at the climax of her fortune, when she had the rank of duchess at court. i have always believed that her sincere attachment for the queen, as much as her love of simplicity, induced her to avoid everything that might cause her to be thought a wealthy favourite. she had not one of the failings which usually accompany that position. she loved the persons who shared the queen's affections, and was entirely free from jealousy. marie antoinette flattered herself that the comtesse jules and the princesse de lamballe would be her especial friends, and that she should possess a society formed according to her own taste. "i will receive them in my closet, or at trianon," said she; "i will enjoy the comforts of private life, which exist not for us, unless we have the good sense to secure them for ourselves." the happiness the queen thought to secure was destined to turn to vexation. all those courtiers who were not admitted to this intimacy became so many jealous and vindictive enemies. it was necessary to make a suitable provision for the countess. the place of first equerry, in reversion after the comte de tesse, given to comte jules unknown to the titular holder, displeased the family of noailles. this family had just sustained another mortification, the appointment of the princesse de lamballe having in some degree rendered necessary the resignation of the comtesse de noailles, whose husband was thereupon made a marshal of france. the princesse de lamballe, although she did not quarrel with the queen, was alarmed at the establishment of the comtesse jules at court, and did not form, as her majesty had hoped, a part of that intimate society, which was in turn composed of mesdames jules and diane de polignac, d'andlau and de chalon, and messieurs de guignes, de coigny, d'adhemar, de besenval, lieutenant-colonel of the swiss, de polignac, de vaudreuil, and de guiche; the prince de ligne and the duke of dorset, the english ambassador, were also admitted. it was a long time before the comtesse jules maintained any great state at court. the queen contented herself with giving her very fine apartments at the top of the marble staircase. the salary of first equerry, the trifling emoluments derived from m. de polignac's regiment, added to their slender patrimony, and perhaps some small pension, at that time formed the whole fortune of the favourite. i never saw the queen make her a present of value; i was even astonished one day at hearing her majesty mention, with pleasure, that the countess had gained ten thousand francs in the lottery. "she was in great want of it," added the queen. thus the polignacs were not settled at court in any degree of splendour which could justify complaints from others, and the substantial favours bestowed upon that family were less envied than the intimacy between them and their proteges and the queen. those who had no hope of entering the circle of the comtesse jules were made jealous by the opportunities of advancement it afforded. however, at the time i speak of, the society around the comtesse jules was fully engaged in gratifying the young queen. of this the marquis de vaudreuil was a conspicuous member; he was a brilliant man, the friend and protector of men of letters and celebrated artists. the baron de besenval added to the bluntness of the swiss all the adroitness of a french courtier. his fifty years and gray hairs made him enjoy among women the confidence inspired by mature age, although he had not given up the thought of love affairs. he talked of his native mountains with enthusiasm. he would at any time sing the "ranz des vaches" with tears in his eyes, and was the best story-teller in the comtesse jules's circle. the last new song or 'bon mot' and the gossip of the day were the sole topics of conversation in the queen's parties. wit was banished from them. the comtesse diane, more inclined to literary pursuits than her sister-in-law, one day, recommended her to read the "iliad" and "odyssey." the latter replied, laughing, that she was perfectly acquainted with the greek poet, and said to prove it: "homere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois." (homer was blind and played on the hautboy.) [this lively repartee of the duchesse de polignac is a droll imitation of a line in the "mercure galant." in the quarrel scene one of the lawyers says to his brother quill: 'ton pere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois.'] the queen found this sort of humour very much to her taste, and said that no pedant should ever be her friend. before the queen fixed her assemblies at madame de polignac's, she occasionally passed the evening at the house of the duc and duchesse de duras, where a brilliant party of young persons met together. they introduced a taste for trifling games, such as question and answer, 'guerre panpan', blind man's buff, and especially a game called 'descampativos'. the people of paris, always criticising, but always imitating the customs of the court, were infected with the mania for these childish sports. madame de genlis, sketching the follies of the day in one of her plays, speaks of these famous 'descampativos'; and also of the rage for making a friend, called the 'inseparable', until a whim or the slightest difference might occasion a total rupture. chapter viii. the duc de choiseul had reappeared at court on the ceremony of the king's coronation for the first time after his disgrace under louis xv. in . the state of public feeling on the subject gave his friends hope of seeing him again in administration, or in the council of state; but the opposite party was too firmly seated at versailles, and the young queen's influence was outweighed, in the mind of the king, by long-standing prejudices; she therefore gave up for ever her attempt to reinstate the duke. thus this princess, who has been described as so ambitious, and so strenuously supporting the interest of the house of austria, failed twice in the only scheme which could forward the views constantly attributed to her; and spent the whole of her reign surrounded by enemies of herself and her house. marie antoinette took little pains to promote literature and the fine arts. she had been annoyed in consequence of having ordered a performance of the "connstable de bourbon," on the celebration of the marriage of madame clotilde with the prince of piedmont. the court and the people of paris censured as indecorous the naming characters in the piece after the reigning family, and that with which the new alliance was formed. the reading of this piece by the comte de guibert in the queen's closet had produced in her majesty's circle that sort of enthusiasm which obscures the judgment. she promised herself she would have no more readings. yet, at the request of m. de cubieres, the king's equerry, the queen agreed to hear the reading of a comedy written by his brother. she collected her intimate circle, messieurs de coigny, de vaudreuil, de besenval, mesdames de polignac, de chalon, etc., and to increase the number of judges, she admitted the two parnys, the chevalier de bertin, my father-in-law, and myself. mold read for the author. i never could satisfy myself by what magic the skilful reader gained our unanimous approbation of a ridiculous work. surely the delightful voice of mold, by awakening our recollection of the dramatic beauties of the french stage, prevented the wretched lines of dorat cubieres from striking on our ears. i can assert that the exclamation charming! charming! repeatedly interrupted the reader. the piece was admitted for performance at fontainebleau; and for the first time the king had the curtain dropped before the end of the play. it was called the "dramomane" or "dramaturge." all the characters died of eating poison in a pie. the queen, highly disconcerted at having recommended this absurd production, announced that she would never hear another reading; and this time she kept her word. the tragedy of "mustapha and mangir," by m. de chamfort, was highly successful at the court theatre at fontainebleau. the queen procured the author a pension of , francs, but his play failed on being performed at paris. the spirit of opposition which prevailed in that city delighted in reversing the verdicts of the court. the queen determined never again to give any marked countenance to new dramatic works. she reserved her patronage for musical composers, and in a few years their art arrived at a perfection it had never before attained in france. it was solely to gratify the queen that the manager of the opera brought the first company of comic actors to paris. gluck, piccini, and sacchini were attracted there in succession. these eminent composers were treated with great distinction at court. immediately on his arrival in france, gluck was admitted to the queen's toilet, and she talked to him all the time he remained with her. she asked him one day whether he had nearly brought his grand opera of "armide" to a conclusion, and whether it pleased him. gluck replied very coolly, in his german accent, "madame, it will soon be finished, and really it will be superb." there was a great outcry against the confidence with which the composer had spoken of one of his own productions. the queen defended him warmly; she insisted that he could not be ignorant of the merit of his works; that he well knew they were generally admired, and that no doubt he was afraid lest a modesty, merely dictated by politeness, should look like affectation in him. [gluck often had to deal with self-sufficiency equal to his own. he was very reluctant to introduce long ballets into "iphigenia." vestris deeply regretted that the opera was not terminated by a piece they called a chaconne, in which he displayed all his power. he complained to gluck about it. gluck, who treated his art with all the dignity it merits, replied that in so interesting a subject dancing would be misplaced. being pressed another time by vestris on the same subject, "a chaconne! a chaconne!" roared out the enraged musician; "we must describe the greeks; and had the greeks chaconnes?" "they had not?" returned the astonished dancer; "why, then, so much the worse for them!"--note by the editor.] the queen did not confine her admiration to the lofty style of the french and italian operas; she greatly valued gretry's music, so well adapted to the spirit and feeling of the words. a great deal of the poetry set to music by gretry is by marmontel. the day after the first performance of "zemira and azor," marmontel and gretry were presented to the queen as she was passing through the gallery of fontainebleau to go to mass. the queen congratulated gretry on the success of the new opera, and told him that she had dreamed of the enchanting effect of the trio by zemira's father and sisters behind the magic mirror. gretry, in a transport of joy, took marmontel in his arms, "ah! my friend," cried he, "excellent music may be made of this."--"and execrable words," coolly observed marmontel, to whom her majesty had not addressed a single compliment. the most indifferent artists were permitted to have the honour of painting the queen. a full-length portrait, representing her in all the pomp of royalty, was exhibited in the gallery of versailles. this picture, which was intended for the court of vienna, was executed by a man who does not deserve even to be named, and disgusted all people of taste. it seemed as if this art had, in france, retrograded several centuries. the queen had not that enlightened judgment, or even that mere taste, which enables princes to foster and protect great talents. she confessed frankly that she saw no merit in any portrait beyond the likeness. when she went to the louvre, she would run hastily over all the little "genre" pictures, and come out, as she acknowledged, without having once raised her eyes to the grand compositions. there is no good portrait of the queen, save that by werthmuller, chief painter to the king of sweden, which was sent to stockholm, and that by madame lebrun, which was saved from the revolutionary fury by the commissioners for the care of the furniture at versailles. [a sketch of very great interest made when the queen was in the temple and discovered many years afterwards there, recently reproduced in the memoirs of the marquise de tourzel (paris, plon), is the last authentic portrait of the unhappy queen. see also the catalogue of portraits made by lord ronald gower.] the composition of the latter picture resembles that of henriette of france, the wife of the unfortunate charles i., painted by vandyke. like marie antoinette, she is seated, surrounded by her children, and that resemblance adds to the melancholy interest raised by this beautiful production. while admitting that the queen gave no direct encouragement to any art but that of music, i should be wrong to pass over in silence the patronage conferred by her and the princes, brothers of the king, on the art of printing. [in the king gave a proof of his particular good-will to the bookselling trade. a company consisting of the first parisian booksellers, being on the eve of stopping payment, succeeded in laying before the king a statement of their distressed situation. the monarch was affected by it; he took from the civil list the sum of which the society stood in immediate need, and became security for the repayment of the remainder of the , , livres, which they wanted to borrow, and for the repayment of which he fixed no particular time.] to marie antoinette we are indebted for a splendid quarto edition of the works of metastasio; to monsieur, the king's brother, for a quarto tasso, embellished with engravings after cochin; and to the comte d'artois for a small collection of select works, which is considered one of the chef d'oeuvres of the press of the celebrated didot. in , on the death of the marechal du muy, the ascendency obtained by the sect of innovators occasioned m. de saint-germain to be recalled to court and made minister of war. his first care was the destruction of the king's military household establishment, an imposing and effectual rampart round the sovereign power. when chancellor maupeou obtained from louis xv. the destruction of the parliament and the exile of all the ancient magistrates, the mousquetaires were charged with the execution of the commission for this purpose; and at the stroke of midnight, the presidents and members were all arrested, each by two mousquetaires. in the spring of a popular insurrection had taken place in consequence of the high price of bread. m. turgot's new regulation, which permitted unlimited trade in corn, was either its cause or the pretext for it; and the king's household troops again rendered the greatest services to public tranquillity. i have never be enable to discover the true cause of the support given to m. de saint-germain's policy by the queen, unless in the marked favour shown to the captains and officers of the body guards, who by this reduction became the only soldiers of their rank entrusted with the safety of the sovereign; or else in the queen's strong prejudice against the duc d'aiguillon, then commander of the light-horse. m. de saint-germain, however, retained fifty gens d'armes and fifty light-horse to form a royal escort on state occasions; but in the king reduced both these military bodies. the queen then said with satisfaction that at last she should see no more red coats in the gallery of versailles. from to were the gayest years of the queen's life. in the little journeys to choisy, performances frequently took place at the theatre twice in one day: grand opera and french or italian comedy at the usual hour; and at eleven at night they returned to the theatre for parodies in which the best actors of the opera presented themselves in whimsical parts and costumes. the celebrated dancer guimard always took the leading characters in the latter performance; she danced better than she acted; her extreme leanness, and her weak, hoarse voice added to the burlesque in the parodied characters of ernelinde and iphigenie. the most magnificent fete ever given to the queen was one prepared for her by monsieur, the king's brother, at brunoy. that prince did me the honour to admit me, and i followed her majesty into the gardens, where she found in the first copse knights in full armour asleep at the foot of trees, on which hung their spears and shields. the absence of the beauties who had incited the nephews of charlemagne and the gallants of that period to lofty deeds was supposed to occasion this lethargic slumber. but when the queen appeared at the entrance of the copse they were on foot in an instant, and melodious voices announced their eagerness to display their valour. they then hastened into a vast arena, magnificently decorated in the exact style of the ancient tournaments. fifty dancers dressed as pages presented to the knights twenty-five superb black horses, and twenty-five of a dazzling whiteness, all most richly caparisoned. the party led by augustus vestris wore the queen's colours. picq, balletmaster at the russian court, commanded the opposing band. there was running at the negro's head, tilting, and, lastly, combats 'a outrance', perfectly well imitated. although the spectators were aware that the queen's colours could not but be victorious, they did not the less enjoy the apparent uncertainty. nearly all the agreeable women of paris were ranged upon the steps which surrounded the area of the tourney. the queen, surrounded by the royal family and the whole court, was placed beneath an elevated canopy. a play, followed by a ballet-pantomime and a ball, terminated the fete. fireworks and illuminations were not spared. finally, from a prodigiously high scaffold, placed on a rising ground, the words 'vive louis! vive marie antoinette!' were shown in the air in the midst of a very dark but calm night. pleasure was the sole pursuit of every one of this young family, with the exception of the king. their love of it was perpetually encouraged by a crowd of those officious people who, by anticipating the desires and even the passions of princes, find means of showing their zeal, and hope to gain or maintain favour for themselves. who would have dared to check the amusements of a queen, young, lively, and handsome? a mother or a husband alone would have had the right to do it; and the king threw no impediment in the way of marie antoinette's inclinations. his long indifference had been followed by admiration and love. he was a slave to all the wishes of the queen, who, delighted with the happy change in the heart and habits of the king, did not sufficiently conceal the ascendency she was gaining over him. the king went to bed every night at eleven precisely; he was very methodical, and nothing was allowed to interfere with his rules. the noise which the queen unavoidably made when she returned very late from the evenings which she spent with the princesse de gugmenee or the duc de duras, at last annoyed the king, and it was amicably agreed that the queen should apprise him when she intended to sit up late. he then began to sleep in his own apartment, which had never before happened from the time of their marriage. during the winter the queen attended the opera balls with a single lady of the palace, and always found there monsieur and the comte d'artois. her people concealed their liveries under gray cloth greatcoats. she never thought she was recognized, while all the time she was known to the whole assembly, from the first moment she entered the theatre; they pretended, however, not to recognise her, and some masquerade manoeuvre was always adopted to give her the pleasure of fancying herself incognito. louis xvi. determined once to accompany the queen to a masked ball; it was agreed that the king should hold not only the grand but the petit coucher, as if actually going to bed. the queen went to his apartment through the inner corridors of the palace, followed by one of her women with a black domino; she assisted him to put it on, and they went alone to the chapel court, where a carriage waited for them, with the captain of the guard of the quarter, and a lady of the palace. the king was but little amused, spoke only to two or three persons, who knew him immediately, and found nothing to admire at the masquerade but punches and harlequins, which served as a joke against him for the royal family, who often amused themselves with laughing at him about it. an event, simple in itself, brought dire suspicion upon the queen. she was going out one evening with the duchesse de lupnes, lady of the palace, when her carriage broke down at the entrance into paris; she was obliged to alight; the duchess led her into a shop, while a footman called a 'fiacre'. as they were masked, if they had but known how to keep silence, the event would never have been known; but to ride in a fiacre is so unusual an adventure for a queen that she had hardly entered the opera-house when she could not help saying to some persons whom she met there: "that i should be in a fiacre! is it not droll?" from that moment all paris was informed of the adventure of the fiacre. it was said that everything connected with it was mysterious; that the queen had kept an assignation in a private house with the duc de coigny. he was indeed very well received at court, but equally so by the king and queen. these accusations of gallantry once set afloat, there were no longer any bounds to the calumnies circulated at paris. if, during the chase or at cards, the queen spoke to lord edward dillon, de lambertye, or others, they were so many favoured lovers. the people of paris did not know that none of those young persons were admitted into the queen's private circle of friends; the queen went about paris in disguise, and had made use of a fiacre; and a single instance of levity gives room for the suspicion of others. conscious of innocence, and well knowing that all about her must do justice to her private life, the queen spoke of these reports with contempt, contenting herself with the supposition that some folly in the young men mentioned had given rise to them. she therefore left off speaking to them or even looking at them. their vanity took alarm at this, and revenge induced them either to say, or to leave others to think, that they were unfortunate enough to please no longer. other young coxcombs, placing themselves near the private box which the queen occupied incognito when she attended the public theatre at versailles, had the presumption to imagine that they were noticed by her; and i have known such notions entertained merely on account of the queen's requesting one of those gentlemen to inquire behind the scenes whether it would be long before the commencement of the second piece. the list of persons received into the queen's closet which i gave in the preceding chapter was placed in the hands of the ushers of the chamber by the princesse de lamballe; and the persons there enumerated could present themselves to enjoy the distinction only on those days when the queen chose to be with her intimates in a private manner; and this was only when she was slightly indisposed. people of the first rank at court sometimes requested special audiences of her; the queen then received them in a room within that called the closet of the women on duty, and these women announced them in her majesty's apartment. the duc de lauzun had a good deal of wit, and chivalrous manners. the queen was accustomed to see him at the king's suppers, and at the house of the princesse de guemenee, and always showed him attention. one day he made his appearance at madame de guemenee's in uniform, and with the most magnificent plume of white heron's feathers that it was possible to behold. the queen admired the plume, and he offered it to her through the princesse de guemenee. as he had worn it the queen had not imagined that he could think of giving it to her; much embarrassed with the present which she had, as it were, drawn upon herself, she did not like to refuse it, nor did she know whether she ought to make one in return; afraid, if she did give anything, of giving either too much or too little, she contented herself with once letting m. de lauzun see her adorned with the plume. in his secret "memoirs" the duke attaches an importance to his present, which proves him utterly unworthy of an honour accorded only to his name and rank a short time afterwards he solicited an audience; the queen granted it, as she would have done to any other courtier of equal rank. i was in the room adjoining that in which he was received; a few minutes after his arrival the queen reopened the door, and said aloud, and in an angry tone of voice, "go, monsieur." m. de lauzun bowed low, and withdrew. the queen was much agitated. she said to me: "that man shall never again come within my doors." a few years before the revolution of the marechal de biron died. the duc de lauzun, heir to his name, aspired to the important post of colonel of the regiment of french guards. the queen, however, procured it for the duc du chaatelet. the duc de biron espoused the cause of the duc d'orleans, and became one of the most violent enemies of marie antoinette. it is with reluctance that i enter minutely on a defence of the queen against two infamous accusations with which libellers have dared to swell their envenomed volumes. i mean the unworthy suspicions of too strong an attachment for the comte d'artois, and of the motives for the tender friendship which subsisted between the queen, the princesse de lamballe, and the duchesse de polignac. i do not believe that the comte d'artois was, during his own youth and that of the queen, so much smitten as has been said with the loveliness of his sister-in-law; i can affirm that i always saw that prince maintain the most respectful demeanour towards the queen; that she always spoke of his good-nature and cheerfulness with that freedom which attends only the purest sentiments; and that none of those about the queen ever saw in the affection she manifested towards the comte d'artois more than that of a kind and tender sister for her youngest brother. as to the intimate connection between marie antoinette and the ladies i have named, it never had, nor could have, any other motive than the very innocent wish to secure herself two friends in the midst of a numerous court; and notwithstanding this intimacy, that tone of respect observed by persons of the most exalted rank towards majesty never ceased to be maintained. the queen, much occupied with the society of madame de polignac, and an unbroken series of amusements, found less time for the abbe de vermond; he therefore resolved to retire from court. the world did him the honour to believe that he had hazarded remonstrances upon his august pupil's frivolous employment of her time, and that he considered himself, both as an ecclesiastic and as instructor, now out of place at court. but the world was deceived his dissatisfaction arose purely from the favour shown to the comtesse jules. after a fortnight's absence we saw him at versailles again, resuming his usual functions. the queen could express herself with winning graciousness to persons who merited her praise. when m. loustonneau was appointed to the reversion of the post of first surgeon to the king, he came to make his acknowledgments. he was much beloved by the poor, to whom he had chiefly devoted his talents, spending nearly thirty thousand francs a year on indigent sufferers. the queen replied to his thanks by saying: "you are satisfied, monsieur; but i am far from being so with the inhabitants of versailles. on the news of your appointment the town should have been illuminated."--"how so, madame?" asked the astonished surgeon, who was very modest. "why," replied the queen, "if the poor whom you have succoured for the past twenty years had each placed a single candle in their windows it would have been the most beautiful illumination ever witnessed." the queen did not limit her kindness to friendly words. there was frequently seen in the apartments of versailles a veteran captain of the grenadiers of france, called the chevalier d'orville, who for four years had been soliciting from the minister of war the post of major, or of king's lieutenant. he was known to be very poor; but he supported his lot without complaining of this vexatious delay in rewarding his honourable services. he regularly attended the marechal de segur, at the hour appointed for receiving the numerous solicitations in his department. one day the marshal said to him: "you are still at versailles, m. d'orville?"--"monsieur," he replied, "you may observe that by this board of the flooring where i regularly place myself; it is already worn down several lines by the weight of my body." the queen frequently stood at the window of her bedchamber to observe with her glass the people walking in the park. sometimes she inquired the names of those who were unknown to her. one day she saw the chevalier d'orville passing, and asked me the name of that knight of saint louis, whom she had seen everywhere for a long time past. i knew who he was, and related his history. "that must be put an end to," said the queen, with some vivacity. "such an example of indifference is calculated to discourage our soldiers." next day, in crossing the gallery to go to mass, the queen perceived the chevalier d'orville; she went directly towards him. the poor man fell back in the recess of a window, looking to the right and left to discover the person whom the queen was seeking, when she thus addressed him: "m. d'orville, you have been several years at versailles, soliciting a majority or a king's lieutenancy. you must have very powerless patrons."--"i have none, madame," replied the chevalier, in great confusion. "well! i will take you under my protection. to-morrow at the same hour be here with a petition, and a memorial of your services." a fortnight after, m. d'orville was appointed king's lieutenant, either at la rochelle or at rochefort. [louis xvi. vied with his queen in benevolent actions of this kind. an old officer had in vain solicited a pension during the administration of the duc de choiseul. he returned to the charge in the times of the marquis de montesnard and the duc d'aiguillon. he urged his claims, to comte du muy, who made a note of them. tired of so many fruitless efforts, he at last appeared at the king's supper, and, having placed himself so as to be seen and heard, cried out at a moment when silence prevailed, "sire." the people near him said, "what are you about? this is not the way to speak to the king."--"i fear nothing," said he, and raising his voice, repeated, "sire." the king, much surprised, looked at him and said, "what do you want, monsieur."--"sire," answered he, "i am seventy years of age; i have served your majesty more than fifty years, and i am dying for want."--"have you a memorial?" replied the king. "yes, sire, i have."--"give it to me;" and his majesty took it without saying anything more. next morning he was sent for by the, king, who said, "monsieur, i grant you an annuity of , livres out of my privy purse, and you may go and receive the first year's payment, which is now due." ("secret correspondence of the court: reign of louis xvi.") the king preferred to spend money in charity rather than in luxury or magnificence. once during his absence, m. d'augivillers caused an unused room in the king's apartment to be repaired at a cost of , francs. on his return the king made versailles resound with complaints against m. d'augivillers: "with that sum i could have made thirty families happy," he said.] chapter ix. from the time of louis xvi.'s accession to the throne, the queen had been expecting a visit from her brother, the emperor joseph ii. that prince was the constant theme of her discourse. she boasted of his intelligence, his love of occupation, his military knowledge, and the perfect simplicity of his manners. those about her majesty ardently wished to see at versailles a prince so worthy of his rank. at length the coming of joseph ii., under the title of count falkenstein, was announced, and the very day on which he would be at versailles was mentioned. the first embraces between the queen and her august brother took place in the presence of all the queen's household. the sight of their emotion was extremely affecting. the emperor was at first generally admired in france; learned men, well-informed officers, and celebrated artists appreciated the extent of his information. he made less impression at court, and very little in the private circle of the king and queen. his eccentric manners, his frankness, often degenerating into rudeness, and his evidently affected simplicity,--all these characteristics caused him to be looked upon as a prince rather singular than admirable. the queen spoke to him about the apartment she had prepared for him in the chateau; the emperor answered that he would not accept it, and that while travelling he always lodged at a cabaret (that was his very expression); the queen insisted, and assured him that he should be at perfect liberty, and placed out of the reach of noise. he replied that he knew the chateau of versailles was very large, and that so many scoundrels lived there that he could well find a place; but that his valet de chambre had made up his camp-bed in a lodging-house, and there he would stay. he dined with the king and queen, and supped with the whole family. he appeared to take an interest in the young princesse elisabeth, then just past childhood, and blooming in all the freshness of that age. an intended marriage between him and this young sister of the king was reported at the time, but i believe it had no foundation in truth. the table was still served by women only, when the queen dined in private with the king, the royal family, or crowned heads. [the custom was, even supposing dinner to have commenced, if a princess of the blood arrived, and she was asked to sit down at the queen's table, the comptrollers and gentlemen-in-waiting came immediately to attend, and the queen's women withdrew. these had succeeded the maids of honour in several parts of their service, and had preserved some of their privileges. one day the duchesse d'orleans arrived at fontainebleau, at the queen's dinner-hour. the queen invited her to the table, and herself motioned to her women to leave the room, and let the men take their places. her majesty said she was resolved to continue a privilege which kept places of that description most honourable, and render them suitable for ladies of nobility without fortune. madame de misery, baronne de biache, the queen's first lady of the chamber, to whom i was made reversioner, was a daughter of m. le comte de chemant, and her grandmother was a montmorency. m. le prince de tingry, in the presence of the queen, used to call her cousin. the ancient household of the kings of france had prerogatives acknowledged in the state. many of the offices were tenable only by those of noble blood, and were sold at from , to , franca. a collection of edicts of the kings in favour of the prerogatives and right of precedence of the persons holding office in the royal household is still in existence.] i was present at the queen's dinner almost every day. the emperor would talk much and fluently; he expressed himself in french with facility, and the singularity, of his expressions added a zest to his conversation. i have often heard him say that he liked spectaculous objects, when he meant to express such things as formed a show, or a scene worthy of interest. he disguised none of his prejudices against the etiquette and customs of the court of france; and even in the presence of the king made them the subject of his sarcasms. the king smiled, but never made any answer; the queen appeared pained. the emperor frequently terminated his observations upon the objects in paris which he had admired by reproaching the king for suffering himself to remain in ignorance of them. he could not conceive how such a wealth of pictures should remain shut up in the dust of immense stores; and told him one day that but for the practice of placing some of them in the apartments of versailles he would not know even the principal chef d'oeuvres that he possessed. [the emperor loudly censured the existing practice of allowing shopkeepers to erect shops near the outward walls of all the palaces, and even to establish something like a fair in the galleries of versailles and fontainebleau, and even upon the landings of the staircases.] he also reproached him for not having visited the hotel des invalides nor the ecole militaire; and even went so far as to tell him before us that he ought not only to know what paris contained, but to travel in france, and reside a few days in each of his large towns. at last the queen was really hurt at the emperor's remarks, and gave him a few lectures upon the freedom with which he allowed himself to lecture others. one day she was busied in signing warrants and orders for payment for her household, and was conversing with m. augeard, her secretary for such matters, who presented the papers one after another to be signed, and replaced them in his portfolio. while this was going forward, the emperor walked about the room; all at once he stood still, to reproach the queen rather severely for signing all those papers without reading them, or, at least, without running her eye over them; and he spoke most judiciously to her upon the danger of signing her name inconsiderately. the queen answered that very wise principles might be very ill applied; that her secretary, who deserved her implicit confidence, was at that moment laying before her nothing but orders for payment of the quarter's expenses of her household, registered in the chamber of accounts; and that she ran no risk of incautiously giving her signature. the queen's toilet was likewise a never-failing subject for animadversion with the emperor. he blamed her for having introduced too many new fashions; and teased her about her use of rouge. one day, while she was laying on more of it than usual, before going to the play, he pointed out a lady who was in the room, and who was, in truth, highly painted. "a little more under the eyes," said the emperor to the queen; "lay on the rouge like a fury, as that lady does." the queen entreated her brother to refrain from his jokes, or at all events to address them, when they were so outspoken, to her alone. the queen had made an appointment to meet her brother at the italian theatre; she changed her mind, and went to the french theatre, sending a page to the italian theatre to request the emperor to come to her there. he left his box, lighted by the comedian clairval, and attended by m. de la ferte, comptroller of the queen's privy purse, who was much hurt at hearing his imperial majesty, after kindly expressing his regret at not being present during the italian performance, say to clairval, "your young queen is very giddy; but, luckily, you frenchmen have no great objection to that." i was with my father-in-law in one of the queen's apartments when the emperor came to wait for her there, and, knowing that m. campan was librarian, he conversed with him about such books as would of course be found in the queen's library. after talking of our most celebrated authors, he casually said, "there are doubtless no works on finance or on administration here?" these words were followed by his opinion on all that had been written on those topics, and the different systems of our two famous ministers, sully and colbert; on errors which were daily committed in france, in points essential to the prosperity of the empire; and on the reform he himself would make at vienna. holding m. campan by the button, he spent more than an hour, talking vehemently, and without the slightest reserve, about the french government. my father-in-law and myself maintained profound silence, as much from astonishment as from respect; and when we were alone we agreed not to speak of this interview. the emperor was fond of describing the italian courts that he had visited. the jealous quarrels between the king and queen of naples amused him highly; he described to the life the manner and speech of that sovereign, and the simplicity with which he used to go and solicit the first chamberlain to obtain permission to return to the nuptial bed, when the angry queen had banished him from it. the time which he was made to wait for this reconciliation was calculated between the queen and her chamberlain, and always proportioned to the gravity of the offence. he also related several very amusing stories relative to the court of parma, of which he spoke with no little contempt. if what this prince said of those courts, and even of vienna, had been written down, the whole would have formed an interesting collection. the emperor told the king that the grand duke of tuscany and the king of naples being together, the former said a great deal about the changes he had effected in his state. the grand duke had issued a mass of new edicts, in order to carry the precepts of the economists into execution, and trusted that in so doing he was labouring for the welfare of his people. the king of naples suffered him to go on speaking for a long time, and then casually asked how many neapolitan families there were in tuscany. the duke soon reckoned them up, as they were but few. "well, brother," replied the king of naples, "i do not understand the indifference of your people towards your great reforms; for i have four times the number of tuscan families settled in my states that you have of neapolitan families in yours." the queen being at the opera with the emperor, the latter did not wish to show himself; but she took him by the hand, and gently drew him to the front of the box. this kind of presentation to the public was most warmly received. the performance was "iphigenia in aulis," and for the second time the chorus, "chantons, celebrons notre reine!" was called for with universal plaudits. a fete of a novel description was given at petit trianon. the art with which the english garden was not illuminated, but lighted, produced a charming effect. earthen lamps, concealed by boards painted green, threw light upon the beds of shrubs and flowers, and brought out their varied tints. several hundred burning fagots in the moat behind the temple of love made a blaze of light, which rendered that spot the most brilliant in the garden. after all, this evening's entertainment had nothing remarkable about it but the good taste of the artists, yet it was much talked of. the situation did not allow the admission of a great part of the court; those who were uninvited were dissatisfied; and the people, who never forgive any fetes but those they share in, so exaggerated the cost of this little fete as to make it appear that the fagots burnt in the moat had required the destruction of a whole forest. the queen being informed of these reports, was determined to know exactly how much wood had been consumed; and she found that fifteen hundred fagots had sufficed to keep up the fire until four o'clock in the morning. after staying a few months the emperor left france, promising his sister to come and see her again. all the officers of the queen's chamber had many opportunities of serving him during his stay, and expected that he would make them presents before his departure. their oath of office positively forbade them to receive a gift from any foreign prince; they had therefore agreed to refuse the emperor's presents at first, but to ask the time necessary for obtaining permission to accept them. the emperor, probably informed of this custom, relieved the good people from their difficulty by setting off without making a single present. about the latter end of the queen, being alone in her closet, sent for my father-in-law and myself, and, giving us her hand to kiss; told us that, looking upon us both as persons deeply interested in her happiness, she wished to receive our congratulations,--that at length she was the queen of france, and that she hoped soon to have children; that till now she had concealed her grief, but that she had shed many tears in secret. dating from this happy but long-delayed moment, the king's attachment to the queen assumed every characteristic of love. the good lassone, first physician to the king and queen, frequently spoke to me of the uneasiness that the king's indifference, the cause of which he had been so long in overcoming, had given him, and appeared to me at that time to entertain no anxiety except of a very different description. in the winter of the king's permission for the return of voltaire; after an absence of twenty-seven years, was obtained. a few strict persons considered this concession on the part of the court very injudicious. the emperor, on leaving france, passed by the chateau of ferney without stopping there. he had advised the queen not to suffer voltaire to be presented to her. a lady belonging to the court learned the emperor's opinion on that point, and reproached him with his want of enthusiasm towards the greatest genius of the age. he replied that for the good of the people he should always endeavour to profit by the knowledge of the philosophers; but that his own business of sovereign would always prevent his ranking himself amongst that sect. the clergy also took steps to hinder voltaire's appearance at court. paris, however, carried to the highest pitch the honours and enthusiasm shown to the great poet. it was very unwise to let paris pronounce with such transport an opinion so opposite to that of the court. this was pointed out to the queen, and she was told that, without conferring on voltaire the honour of a presentation, she might see him in the state apartments. she was not averse to following this advice, and appeared embarrassed solely about what she should say to him. she was recommended to talk about nothing but the "henriade," "merope," and "zaira." the queen replied that she would still consult a few other persons in whom she had great confidence. the next day she announced that it was irrevocably decided voltaire should not see any member of the royal family,--his writings being too antagonistic to religion and morals. "it is, however, strange," said the queen, "that while we refuse to admit voltaire into our presence as the leader of philosophical writers, the marechale de mouchy should have presented to me some years ago madame geoffrin, who owed her celebrity to the title of foster-mother of the philosophers." on the occasion of the duel of the comte d'artois with the prince de bourbon the queen determined privately to see the baron de besenval, who was to be one of the witnesses, in order to communicate the king's intentions. i have read with infinite pain the manner in which that simple fact is perverted in the first volume of m. de besenval's "memoirs." he is right in saying that m. campan led him through the upper corridors of the chateau, and introduced him into an apartment unknown to him; but the air of romance given to the interview is equally culpable and ridiculous. m. de besenval says that he found himself, without knowing how he came there, in an apartment unadorned, but very conveniently furnished, of the existence of which he was till then utterly ignorant. he was astonished, he adds, not that the queen should have so many facilities, but that she should have ventured to procure them. ten printed sheets of the woman lamotte's libels contain nothing so injurious to the character of marie antoinette as these lines, written by a man whom she honoured by undeserved kindness. he could not have had any opportunity of knowing the existence of the apartments, which consisted of a very small antechamber, a bedchamber, and a closet. ever since the queen had occupied her own apartment, these had been appropriated to her majesty's lady of honour in cases of illness, and were actually so used when the queen was confined. it was so important that it should not be known the queen had spoken to the baron before the duel that she had determined to go through her inner room into this little apartment, to which m. campan was to conduct him. when men write of recent times they should be scrupulously exact, and not indulge in exaggerations or inventions. the baron de besenval appears mightily surprised at the queen's sudden coolness, and refers it to the fickleness of her disposition. i can explain the reason for the change by repeating what her majesty said to me at the time; and i will not alter one of her expressions. speaking of the strange presumption of men, and the reserve with which women ought always to treat them, the queen added that age did not deprive them of the hope of pleasing, if they retained any agreeable qualities; that she had treated the baron de besenval as a brave swiss, agreeable, polished, and witty, whose gray hairs had induced her to look upon him as a man whom she might see without harm; but that she had been much deceived. her majesty, after having enjoined me to the strictest secrecy, told me that, finding herself alone with the baron, he began to address her with so much gallantry that she was thrown into the utmost astonishment, and that he was mad enough to fall upon his knees, and make her a declaration in form. the queen added that she said to him: "rise, monsieur; the king shall be ignorant of an offence which would disgrace you for ever;" that the baron grew pale and stammered apologies; that she left her closet without saying another word, and that since that time she hardly ever spoke to him. "it is delightful to have friends," said the queen; "but in a situation like mine it is sometimes difficult for the friends of our friends to suit us." in the beginning of the year mademoiselle d'eon obtained permission to return to france, on condition that she should appear there in female dress. the comte de vergennes entreated my father, m. genet, chief clerk of foreign affairs, who had long known the chevalier d'eon, to receive that strange personage at his house, to guide and restrain, if possible, her ardent disposition. the queen, on learning her arrival at versailles, sent a footman to desire my father to bring her into her presence; my father thought it his duty first to inform the minister of her majesty's wish. the comte de vergennes expressed himself pleased with my father's prudence, and desired that he would accompany him to the queen. the minister had a few minutes' audience; her majesty came out of her closet with him, and condescended to express to my father the regret she felt at having troubled him to no purpose; and added, smiling, that a few words from m. de vergennes had for ever cured her of her curiosity. the discovery in london of the true sex of this pretended woman makes it probable that the few words uttered by the minister contained a solution of the enigma. the chevalier d'eon had been useful in russia as a spy of louis xv. while very young he had found means to introduce himself at the court of the empress elizabeth, and served that sovereign in the capacity of reader. resuming afterwards his military dress, he served with honour and was wounded. appointed chief secretary of legation, and afterwards minister plenipotentiary at london, he unpardonably insulted comte de guerchy, the ambassador. the official order for the chevalier's return to france was actually delivered to the king's council; but louis xv. delayed the departure of the courier who was to be its bearer, and sent off another courier privately, who gave the chevalier d'eon a letter in his own writing, in which he said, "i know that you have served me as effectually in the dress of a woman as in that which you now wear. resume it instantly; withdraw into the city; i warn you that the king yesterday signed an order for your return to france; you are not safe in your hotel, and you would here find too powerful enemies." i heard the chevalier d'eon repeat the contents of this letter, in which louis xv. thus separated himself from the king of france, several times at my father's. the chevalier, or rather the chevalaere d'eon had preserved all the king's letters. messieurs de maurepas and de vergennes wished to get them out of his hands, as they were afraid he would print them. this eccentric being had long solicited permission to return to france; but it was necessary to find a way of sparing the family he had offended the insult they would see in his return; he was therefore made to resume the costume of that sex to which in france everything is pardoned. the desire to see his native land once more determined him to submit to the condition, but he revenged himself by combining the long train of his gown and the three deep ruffles on his sleeves with the attitude and conversation of a grenadier, which made him very disagreeable company. [the account given by madame campan of the chevalier d'eon is now known to be incorrect in many particulars. enough details for most readers will be found in the duc de broglie's "secret of the king," vol. ii., chaps. vi. and g., and at p. , vol. ii. of that work, where the duke refers to the letter of most dubious authenticity spoken of by madame campan. the following details will be sufficient for these memoirs: the chevalier charles d'eon de beaumont (who was born in ) was an ex-captain of dragoons, employed in both the open and secret diplomacy of louis xv. when at the embassy in london he quarrelled with the ambassador, his superior, the comte de guerchy (marquis do nangis), and used his possession of papers concerning the secret diplomacy to shield himself. it was when hiding in london, in , on account of this business, that he seems first to have assumed woman's dress, which he retained apparently chiefly from love of notoriety. in a formal agreement with the french court, made by the instrumentality of beaumarchais, of all people in the world, permitted him to return to france, retaining the dress of a woman. he went back to france, but again came to england, and died there, at his residence in millman street, near the foundling hospital, may , . he had been a brave and distinguished officer, but his form and a certain coldness of temperament always remarked in him assisted him in his assumption of another sex. there appears to be no truth in the story of his proceedings at the russian court, and his appearing in female attire was a surprise to those who must have known of any earlier affair of the sort.] at last, the event so long desired by the queen, and by all those who wished her well, took place; her majesty became enceinte. the king was in ecstasies. never was there a more united or happier couple. the disposition of louis xvi. entirely altered, and became prepossessing and conciliatory; and the queen was amply compensated for the uneasiness which the king's indifference during the early part of their union had caused her. the summer of was extremely hot. july and august passed, but the air was not cooled by a single storm. the queen spent whole days in close rooms, and could not sleep until she had breathed the fresh night air, walking with the princesses and her brothers upon the terrace under her apartments. these promenades at first gave rise to no remark; but it occurred to some of the party to enjoy the music of wind instruments during these fine summer nights. the musicians belonging to the chapel were ordered to perform pieces suited to instruments of that description, upon steps constructed in the middle of the garden. the queen, seated on one of the terrace benches, enjoyed the effect of this music, surrounded by all the royal family with the exception of the king, who joined them but, twice, disliking to change his hour of going to bed. nothing could be more innocent than these parties; yet paris, france, nay, all europe, were soon canvassing them in a manner most disadvantageous to the reputation of marie antoinette. it is true that all the inhabitants of versailles enjoyed these serenades, and that there was a crowd near the spot from eleven at night until two or three in the morning. the windows of the ground floor occupied by monsieur and madame--[the wife of monsieur, the comte de provence.]--were kept open, and the terrace was perfectly well lighted by the numerous wax candles burning in the two apartments. lamps were likewise placed in the garden, and the lights of the orchestra illuminated the rest of the place. i do not know whether a few incautious women might not have ventured farther, and wandered to the bottom of the park; it may have been so; but the queen, madame, and the comtesse d'artois were always arm-in-arm, and never left the terrace. the princesses were not remarkable when seated on the benches, being dressed in cambric muslin gowns, with large straw hats and muslin veils, a costume universally adopted by women at that time; but when standing up their different figures always distinguished them; and the persons present stood on one side to let them pass. it is true that when they seated themselves upon the benches private individuals would sometimes, to their great amusement, sit down by their side. a young clerk in the war department, either not knowing or pretending not to know the queen, spoke to her of the beauty of the night, and the delightful effect of the music. the queen, fancying she was not recognised, amused herself by keeping up the incognito, and they talked of several private families of versailles, consisting of persons belonging to the king's household or her own. after a few minutes the queen and princesses rose to walk, and on leaving the bench curtsied to the clerk. the young man knowing, or having subsequently discovered, that he had been conversing with the queen, boasted of it in his office. he was merely, desired to hold his tongue; and so little attention did he excite that the revolution found him still only a clerk. another evening one of monsieur's body-guard seated himself near the princesses, and, knowing them, left the place where he was sitting, and placed himself before the queen, to tell her that he was very fortunate in being able to seize an opportunity of imploring the kindness of his sovereign; that he was "soliciting at court"--at the word soliciting the queen and princesses rose hastily and withdrew into madame's apartment.--[soulavie has most criminally perverted these two facts.--madame campan.]--i was at the queen's residence that day. she talked of this little occurrence all the time of her 'coucher'; though she only complained that one of monsieur's guards should have had the effrontery to speak to her. her majesty added that he ought to have respected her incognito; and that that was not the place where he should have ventured to make a request. madame had recognised him, and talked of making a complaint to his captain; the queen opposed it, attributing his error to his ignorance and provincial origin. the most scandalous libels were based on these two insignificant occurrences, which i have related with scrupulous exactness. nothing could be more false than those calumnies. it must be confessed, however, that such meetings were liable to ill consequences. i ventured to say as much to the queen, and informed her that one evening, when her majesty beckoned to me to go and speak to her, i thought i recognised on the bench on which she was sitting two women deeply veiled, and keeping profound silence; that those women were the comtesse du barry and her sister-in-law; and that my suspicions were confirmed, when, at a few paces from the seat, and nearer to her majesty, i met a tall footman belonging to madame du barry, whom i had seen in her service all the time she resided at court. my advice was disregarded. misled by the pleasure she found in these promenades, and secure in the consciousness of blameless conduct, the queen would not see the lamentable results which must necessarily follow. this was very unfortunate; for besides the mortifications they brought upon her, it is highly probable that they prompted the vile plot which gave rise to the cardinal de rohan's fatal error. having enjoyed these evening promenades about a month, the queen ordered a private concert within the colonnade which contained the group of pluto and proserpine. sentinels were placed at all the entrances, and ordered to admit within the colonnade only such persons as should produce tickets signed by my father-in-law. a fine concert was performed there by the musicians of the chapel and the female musicians belonging to the. queen's chamber. the queen went with mesdames de polignac, de chalon, and d'andlau, and messieurs de polignac, de coigny, de besenval, and de vaudreuil; there were also a few equerries present. her majesty gave me permission to attend the concert with some of my female relations. there was no music upon the terrace. the crowd of inquisitive people, whom the sentinels kept at a distance from the enclosure of the colonnade, went away highly discontented; the small number of persons admitted no doubt occasioned jealousy, and gave rise to offensive comments which were caught up by the public with avidity. i do not pretend to apologise for the kind of amusements with which the queen indulged herself during this and the following summer; the consequences were so lamentable that the error was no doubt very great; but what i have said respecting the character of these promenades may be relied on as true. when the season for evening walks was at an end, odious couplets were circulated in paris; the 'queen was treated in them in the most insulting manner; her situation ranked among her enemies persons attached to the only prince who for several years had appeared likely to give heirs to the crown. people uttered the most inconsiderate language; and those improper conversations took place in societies wherein the imminent danger of violating to so criminal an extent both truth and the respect due to sovereigns ought to have been better understood. a few days before the queen's confinement a whole volume of manuscript songs, concerning her and all the ladies about her remarkable for rank or station was, thrown down in the oiel-de-boeuf.--[a large room at versailles lighted by a bull's-eye window, and used as a waiting-room.]--this manuscript was immediately put into the hands of the king, who was highly incensed at it, and said that he had himself been at those promenades; that he had seen nothing connected with them but what was perfectly harmless; that such songs would disturb the harmony of twenty families in the court and city; that it was a capital crime to have made any against the queen herself; and that he wished the author of the infamous libels to be discovered and punished. a fortnight afterwards it was known publicly that the verses were by m. champcenetz de riquebourg, who was not even reprimanded. [the author of a great many songs, some of which are very well written. lively and satirical by nature, he did not lose either his cheerfulness or his carelessness before the revolutionary tribunal. after hearing his own sentence read, he asked his judges if he might not be allowed to find a substitute.--madame campan.] i knew for a certainty that the king spoke to m. de maurepas, before two of his most confidential servants, respecting the risk which he saw the queen ran from these night walks upon the terrace of versailles, which the public ventured to censure thus openly, and that the old minister had the cruelty to advise that she should be suffered to go on; she possessed talent; her friends were very ambitious, and longed to see her take a part in public affairs; and to let her acquire the reputation of levity would do no harm. m. de vergennes was as hostile to the queen's influence as m. de maurepas. it may therefore be fairly presumed, since the prime minister durst point out to his king an advantage to be gained by the queen's discrediting herself, that he and m. de vergennes employed all means within the reach of powerful ministers in order to ruin her in the opinion of the public. the queen's accouchement approached; te deums were sung and prayers offered up in all the cathedrals. on the th of december, , the royal family, the princes of the blood, and the great officers of state passed the night in the rooms adjoining the queen's bedchamber. madame, the king's daughter, came into the world before mid-day on the th of december.--[marie therese charlotte ( - ), madame royale; married in louis, duc d'angouleme, eldest son of the comte d'artois.]--the etiquette of allowing all persons indiscriminately to enter at the moment of the delivery of a queen was observed with such exaggeration that when the accoucheur said aloud, "la reine va s'accoucher," the persons who poured into the chamber were so numerous that the rush nearly destroyed the queen. during the night the king had taken the precaution to have the enormous tapestry screens which surrounded her majesty's bed secured with cords; but for this they certainly would have been thrown down upon her. it was impossible to move about the chamber, which was filled with so motley a crowd that one might have fancied himself in some place of public amusement. two savoyards got upon the furniture for a better sight of the queen, who was placed opposite the fireplace. the noise and the sex of the infant, with which the queen was made acquainted by a signal previously agreed on, as it is said, with the princesse do lamballe, or some error of the accoucheur, brought on symptoms which threatened fatal consequences; the accoucheur exclaimed, "give her air--warm water--she must be bled in the foot!" the windows were stopped up; the king opened them with a strength which his affection for the queen gave him at the moment. they were of great height, and pasted over with strips of paper all round. the basin of hot water not being brought quickly enough, the accoucheur desired the chief surgeon to use his lancet without waiting for it. he did so; the blood streamed out freely, and the queen opened her eyes. the princesse de lamballe was carried through the crowd in a state of insensibility. the valets de chambre and pages dragged out by the collar such inconsiderate persons as would not leave the room. this cruel custom was abolished afterwards. the princes of the family, the princes of the blood, the chancellor, and the ministers are surely sufficient to attest the legitimacy of an hereditary prince. the queen was snatched from the very jaws of death; she was not conscious of having been bled, and on being replaced in bed asked why she had a linen bandage upon her foot. the delight which succeeded the moment of fear was equally lively and sincere. we were all embracing each other, and shedding tears of joy. the comte d'esterhazy and the prince de poix, to whom i was the first to announce that the queen was restored to life, embraced me in the midst of the cabinet of nobles. we little imagined, in our happiness at her escape from death, for how much more terrible a fate our beloved princess was reserved. note. the two following specimens of the emperor joseph's correspondence forcibly demonstrate the vigour, shrewdness, and originality of his mind, and complete the portrait left of him by madame campan. few sovereigns have given their reasons for refusing appointments with the fullness and point of the following letter to a lady. madam.--i do not think that it is amongst the duties of a monarch to grant places to one of his subjects merely because he is a gentleman. that, however, is the inference from the request you have made to me. your late husband was, you say, a distinguished general, a gentleman of good family, and thence you conclude that my kindness to your family can do no less than give a company of foot to your second son, lately returned from his travels. madam, a man may be the son of a general and yet have no talent for command. a man may be of a good family and yet possess no other merit than that which he owes to chance,--the name of gentleman. i know your son, and i know what makes the soldier; and this twofold knowledge convinces me that your son has not the disposition of a warrior, and that he is too full of his birth to leave the country a hope of his ever rendering it any important service. what you are to be pitied for, madam, is, that your son is not fit either for an officer, a statesman or a priest; in a word, that he is nothing more than a gentleman in the most extended acceptation of the word. you may be thankful to that destiny, which, in refusing talents to your son, has taken care to put him in possession of great wealth, which will sufficiently compensate him for other deficiencies, and enable him at the same time to dispense with any favour from me. i hope you will be impartial enough to see the reasons which prompt me to refuse your request. it may be disagreeable to you, but i consider it necessary. farewell, madam.--your sincere well-wisher, joseph lachsenburg, th august, . the application of another anxious and somewhat covetous mother was answered with still more decision and irony: to a lady. madam.--you know my disposition; you are not ignorant that the society of the ladies is to me a mere recreation, and that i have never sacrificed my principles to the fair sex. i pay but little attention to recommendations, and i only take them into consideration when the person in whose behalf i may be solicited possesses real merit. two of your sons are already loaded with favours. the eldest, who is not yet twenty, is chief of a squadron in my army, and the younger has obtained a canonry at cologne, from the elector, my brother. what would you have more? would you have the first a general and the second a bishop? in france you may see colonels in leading-strings, and in spain the royal princes command armies even at eighteen; hence prince stahremberg forced them to retreat so often that they were never able all the rest of their lives to comprehend any other manoeuvre. it is necessary to be sincere at court, and severe in the field, stoical without obduracy, magnanimous without weakness, and to gain the esteem of our enemies by the justice of our actions; and this, madam, is what i aim at. joseph vienna, september, . (from the inedited letters of joseph il, published at paris, by persan, .) chapter x. during the alarm for the life of the queen, regret at not possessing an heir to the throne was not even thought of. the king himself was wholly occupied with the care of preserving an adored wife. the young princess was presented to her mother. "poor little one," said the queen, "you were not wished for, but you are not on that account less dear to me. a son would have been rather the property of the state. you shall be mine; you shall have my undivided care, shall share all my happiness, and console me in all my troubles." the king despatched a courier to paris, and wrote letters himself to vienna, by the queen's bedside; and part of the rejoicings ordered took place in the capital. a great number of attendants watched near the queen during the first nights of her confinement. this custom distressed her; she knew how to feel for others, and ordered large armchairs for her women, the backs of which were capable of being let down by springs, and which served perfectly well instead of beds. m. de lassone, the chief physician, the chief surgeon, the chief apothecary, the principal officers of the buttery, etc., were likewise nine nights without going to bed. the royal children were watched for a long time, and one of the women on duty remained, nightly, up and dressed, during the first three years from their birth. the queen made her entry into paris for the churching. one hundred maidens were portioned and married at notre-dame. there were few popular acclamations, but her majesty was perfectly well received at the opera. a few days after the queen's recovery from her confinement, the cure of the magdelaine de la city at paris wrote to m. campan and requested a private interview with him; it was to desire he would deliver into the hands of the queen a little box containing her wedding ring, with this note written by the cure: "i have received under the seal of confession the ring which i send to your majesty; with an avowal that it was stolen from you in , in order to be used in sorceries, to prevent your having any children." on seeing her ring again the queen said that she had in fact lost it about seven years before, while washing her hands, and that she had resolved to use no endeavour to discover the superstitious woman who had done her the injury. the queen's attachment to the comtesse jules increased every day; she went frequently to her house at paris, and even took up her own abode at the chateau de la muette to be nearer during her confinement. she married mademoiselle de polignac, when scarcely thirteen years of age, to m. de grammont, who, on account of this marriage, was made duc de guiche, and captain of the king's guards, in reversion after the duc de villeroi. the duchesse de civrac, madame victoire's dame d'honneur, had been promised the place for the duc de lorges, her son. the number of discontented families at court increased. the title of favourite was too openly given to the comtesse jules by her friends. the lot of the favourite of a queen is not, in france, a happy one; the favourites of kings are treated, out of gallantry, with much greater indulgence. a short time after the birth of madame the queen became again enceinte; she had mentioned it only to the king, to her physician, and to a few persons honoured with her intimate confidence, when, having overexerted her strength in pulling lip one of the glasses of her carriage, she felt that she had hurt herself, and eight days afterwards she miscarried. the king spent the whole morning at her bedside, consoling her, and manifesting the tenderest concern for her. the queen wept exceedingly; the king took her affectionately in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers. the king enjoined silence among the small number of persons who were informed of this unfortunate occurrence; and it remained generally unknown. these particulars furnish an accurate idea of the manner in which this august couple lived together. the empress maria theresa did not enjoy the happiness of seeing her daughter give an heir to the crown of france. that illustrious princess died at the close of , after having proved by her example that, as in the instance of queen blanche, the talents of a sovereign might be blended with the virtues of a pious princess. the king was deeply affected at the death of the empress; and on the arrival of the courier from vienna said that he could not bring himself to afflict the queen by informing her of an event which grieved even him so much. his majesty thought the abbe de vermond, who had possessed the confidence of maria theresa during his stay at vienna, the most proper person to discharge this painful duty. he sent his first valet de chambre, m. de chamilly, to the abbe on the evening of the day he received the despatches from vienna, to order him to come the next day to the queen before her breakfast hour, to acquit himself discreetly of the afflicting commission with which he was charged, and to let his majesty know the moment of his entering the queen's chamber. it was the king's intention to be there precisely a quarter of an hour after him, and he was punctual to his time; he was announced; the abbe came out; and his majesty said to him, as he drew up at the door to let him pass, "i thank you, monsieur l'abbe, for the service you have just done me." this was the only time during nineteen years that the king spoke to him. within an hour after learning the event the queen put on temporary mourning, while waiting until her court mourning should be ready; she kept herself shut up in her apartments for several days; went out only to mass; saw none but the royal family; and received none but the princesse de lamballe and the duchesse de polignac. she talked incessantly of the courage, the misfortunes, the successes, and the virtues of her mother. the shroud and dress in which maria theresa was to be buried, made entirely by her own hands, were found ready prepared in one of her closets. she often regretted that the numerous duties of her august mother had prevented her from watching in person over the education of her daughters; and modestly said that she herself would have been more worthy if she had had the good fortune to receive lessons directly from a sovereign so enlightened and so deserving of admiration. the queen told me one day that her mother was left a widow at an age when her beauty was yet striking; that she was secretly informed of a plot laid by her three principal ministers to make themselves agreeable to her; of a compact made between them, that the losers should not feel any jealousy towards him who should be fortunate enough to gain his sovereign's heart; and that they had sworn that the successful one should be always the friend of the other two. the empress being assured of this scheme, one day after the breaking up of the council over which she had presided, turned the conversation upon the subject of female sovereigns, and the duties of their sex and rank; and then applying her general reflections to herself in particular, told them that she hoped to guard herself all her life against weaknesses of the heart; but that if ever an irresistible feeling should make her alter her resolution, it should be only in favour of a man proof against ambition, not engaged in state affairs, but attached only to a private life and its calm enjoyments,--in a word, if her heart should betray her so far as to lead her to love a man invested with any important office, from the moment he should discover her sentiments he would forfeit his place and his influence with the public. this was sufficient; the three ministers, more ambitious than amorous, gave up their projects for ever. on the d of october, , the queen gave birth to a dauphin.--[the first dauphin, louis, born , died .]--so deep a silence prevailed in the room that the queen thought her child was a daughter; but after the keeper of the seals had declared the sex of the infant, the king went up to the queen's bed, and said to her, "madame, you have fulfilled my wishes and those of france: you are the mother of a dauphin." the king's joy was boundless; tears streamed from his eyes; he gave his hand to every one present; and his happiness carried away his habitual reserve. cheerful and affable, he was incessantly taking occasion to introduce the words, "my son," or "the dauphin." as soon as the queen was in bed, she wished to see the long-looked-for infant. the princesse de guemenee brought him to her. the queen said there was no need for commending him to the princess, but in order to enable her to attend to him more freely, she would herself share the care of the education of her daughter. when the dauphin was settled in his apartment, he received the customary homages and visits. the duc d'angouleme, meeting his father at the entrance of the dauphin's apartment, said to him, "oh, papa! how little my cousin is!"--"the day will come when you will think him great enough, my dear," answered the prince, almost involuntarily.--[eldest son of the comte d'artois, and till the birth of the dauphin with near prospects of the succession.] the birth of the dauphin appeared to give joy to all classes. men stopped one another in the streets, spoke without being acquainted, and those who were acquainted embraced each other. in the birth of a legitimate heir to the sovereign every man beholds a pledge of prosperity and tranquillity. [m. merard de saint just made a quatrain on the birth of the dauphin to the following effect: "this infant prince our hopes are centred in, will doubtless make us happy, rich, and free; and since with somebody he must begin, my fervent prayer is--that it may be me!" --note by the editor.] the rejoicings were splendid and ingenious. the artificers and tradesmen of paris spent considerable sums in order to go to versailles in a body, with their various insignia. almost every troop had music with it. when they arrived at the court of the palace, they there arranged themselves so as to present a most interesting living picture. chimney-sweepers, quite as well dressed as those that appear upon the stage, carried an ornamented chimney, at the top of which was perched one of the smallest of their fraternity. the chairmen carried a sedan highly gilt, in which were to be seen a handsome nurse and a little dauphin. the butchers made their appearance with their fat ox. cooks, masons, blacksmiths, all trades were on the alert. the smiths hammered away upon an anvil, the shoemakers finished off a little pair of boots for the dauphin, and the tailors a little suit of the uniform of his regiment. the king remained a long time upon a balcony to enjoy the sight. the whole court was delighted with it. so general was the enthusiasm that (the police not having carefully examined the procession) the grave-diggers had the imprudence to send their deputation also, with the emblematic devices of their ill-omened occupation. they were met by the princesse sophie, the king's aunt, who was thrilled with horror at the sight, and entreated the king to have the audacious, fellows driven out of the procession, which was then drawing up on the terrace. the 'dames de la halle' came to congratulate the queen, and were received with the suitable ceremonies. fifty of them appeared dressed in black silk gowns, the established full dress of their order, and almost all wore diamonds. the princesse de chimay went to the door of the queen's bedroom to receive three of these ladies, who were led up to the queen's bed. one of them addressed her majesty in a speech written by m. de la harpe. it was set down on the inside of a fan, to which the speaker repeatedly referred, but without any embarrassment. she was handsome, and had a remarkably fine voice. the queen was affected by the address, and answered it with great affability,--wishing a distinction to be made between these women and the poissardes, who always left a disagreeable impression on her mind. the king ordered a substantial repast for all these women. one of his majesty's maitres d'hotel, wearing his hat, sat as president and did the honours of the table. the public were admitted, and numbers of people had the curiosity to go. the garden-du-corps obtained the king's permission to give the queen a dress ball in the great hall of the opera at versailles. her majesty opened the ball in a minuet with a private selected by the corps, to whom the king granted the baton of an exempt. the fete was most splendid. all then was joy, happiness, and peace. the dauphin was a year old when the prince de guemenee's bankruptcy compelled the princess, his wife, who was governess to the children of france, to resign her situation. the queen was at la muette for the inoculation of her daughter. she sent for me, and condescended to say she wished to converse with me about a scheme which delighted her, but in the execution of which she foresaw some inconveniences. her plan was to appoint the duchesse de polignac to the office lately held by the princesse de guemenee. she saw with extreme pleasure the facilities which this appointment would give her for superintending the education of her children, without running any risk of hurting the pride of the governess; and that it would bring together the objects of her warmest affections, her children and her friend. "the friends of the duchesse de polignac," continued the queen, "will be gratified by the splendour and importance conferred by the employment. as to the duchess, i know her; the place by no means suits her simple and quiet habits, nor the sort of indolence of her disposition. she will give me the greatest possible proof of her devotion if she yields to my wish." the queen also spoke of the princesse de chimay and the duchesse de duras, whom the public pointed out as fit for the post; but she thought the princesse de chimay's piety too rigid; and as to the duchesse de duras, her wit and learning quite frightened her. what the queen dreaded as the consequence of her selection of the duchesse de polignac was principally the jealousy of the courtiers; but she showed so lively a desire to see her scheme executed that i had no doubt she would soon set at naught all the obstacles she discovered. i was not mistaken; a few days afterwards the duchess was appointed governess. the queen's object in sending for me was no doubt to furnish me with the means of explaining the feelings which induced her to prefer a governess disposed by friendship to suffer her to enjoy all the privileges of a mother. her majesty knew that i saw a great deal of company. the queen frequently dined with the duchess after having been present at the king's private dinner. sixty-one thousand francs were therefore added to the salary of the governess as a compensation for this increase of expense. the queen was tired of the excursions to marly, and had no great difficulty in setting the king against them. he did not like the expense of them, for everybody was entertained there gratis. louis xiv. had established a kind of parade upon these excursions, differing from that of versailles, but still more annoying. card and supper parties occurred every day, and required much dress. on sundays and holidays the fountains played, the people were admitted into the gardens, and there was as great a crowd as at the fetes of st. cloud. every age has its peculiar colouring; marly showed that of louis xiv. even more than versailles. everything in the former place appeared to have been produced by the magic power of a fairy's wand. not the slightest trace of all this splendour remains; the revolutionary spoilers even tore up the pipes which served to supply the fountains. perhaps a brief description of this palace and the usages established there by louis xiv. may be acceptable. the very extensive gardens of marly ascended almost imperceptibly to the pavilion of the sun., which was occupied only by the king and his family. the pavilions of the twelve zodiacal signs bounded the two sides of the lawn. they were connected by bowers impervious to the rays of the sun. the pavilions nearest to that of the sun were reserved for the princes of the blood and the ministers; the rest were occupied by persons holding superior offices at court, or invited to stay at marly. each pavilion was named after fresco paintings, which covered its walls, and which had been executed by the most celebrated artists of the age of louis xiv. on a line with the upper pavilion there was on the left a chapel; on the right a pavilion called la perspective, which concealed along suite of offices, containing a hundred lodging-rooms intended for the persons belonging to the service of the court, kitchens, and spacious dining-rooms, in which more than thirty tables were splendidly laid out. during half of louis xv.'s reign the ladies still wore the habit de cour de marly, so named by louis xiv., and which differed little from, that devised for versailles. the french gown, gathered in the back, and with great hoops, replaced this dress, and continued to be worn till the end of the reign of louis xvi. the diamonds, feathers, rouge, and embroidered stuffs spangled with gold, effaced all trace of a rural residence; but the people loved to see the splendour of their sovereign and a brilliant court glittering in the shades of the woods. after dinner, and before the hour for cards, the queen, the princesses, and their ladies, paraded among the clumps of trees, in little carriages, beneath canopies richly embroidered with gold, drawn by men in the king's livery. the trees planted by louis xiv. were of prodigious height, which, however, was surpassed in several of the groups by fountains of the clearest water; while, among others, cascades over white marble, the waters of which, met by the sunbeams, looked like draperies of silver gauze, formed a contrast to the solemn darkness of the groves. in the evening nothing more was necessary for any well-dressed man to procure admission to the queen's card parties than to be named and presented, by some officer of the court, to the gentleman usher of the card-room. this room, which was very, large, and of octagonal shape, rose to the top of the italian roof, and terminated in a cupola furnished with balconies, in which ladies who had not been presented easily obtained leave to place themselves, and enjoy, the sight of the brilliant assemblage. though not of the number of persons belonging to the court, gentlemen admitted into this salon might request one of the ladies seated with the queen at lansquenet or faro to bet upon her cards with such gold or notes as they presented to her. rich people and the gamblers of paris did not miss one of the evenings at the marly salon, and there were always considerable sums won and lost. louis xvi. hated high play, and very often showed displeasure when the loss of large sums was mentioned. the fashion of wearing a black coat without being in mourning had not then been introduced, and the king gave a few of his 'coups de boutoir' to certain chevaliers de st. louis, dressed in this manner, who came to venture two or three louis, in the hope that fortune would favour the handsome duchesses who deigned to place them on their cards. [bachaumont in his "memoirs," (tome xii., p. ), which are often satirical; and always somewhat questionable, speaks of the singular precautions taken at play at court. "the bankers at the queen's table," says he, "in order to prevent the mistakes [i soften the harshness of his expression] which daily happen, have obtained permission from her majesty that before beginning to play the table shall be bordered by a ribbon entirely round it, and that no other money than that upon the cards beyond the ribbon shall be considered as staked."--note by the editor.] singular contrasts are often seen amidst the grandeur of courts. in order to manage such high play at the queen's faro table, it was necessary to have a banker provided with large, sums of money; and this necessity placed at the table, to which none but the highest titled persons were admitted in general, not only m. de chalabre, who was its banker, but also a retired captain of foot, who officiated as his second. a word, trivial, but perfectly appropriate to express the manner in which the court was attended there, was often heard. gentlemen presented at court, who had not been invited to stay at marly, came there notwithstanding, as they did to versailles, and returned again to paris; under such circumstances, it was said such a one had been to marly only 'en polisson';--[a contemptuous expression, meaning literally "as a scamp" or "rascal"]--and it appeared odd to hear a captivating marquis, in answer to the inquiry whether he was of the royal party at marly, say, "no, i am only here 'en polisson'," meaning simply "i am here on the footing of all those whose nobility is of a later date than ." the marly excursions were exceedingly expensive to the king. besides the superior tables, those of the almoners, equerries, maitres d'hotel, etc., were all supplied with such a degree of magnificence as to allow of inviting strangers to them; and almost all the visitors from paris were boarded at the expense of the court. the personal frugality of the unfortunate prince who sank beneath the weight of the national debts thus favoured the queen's predilection for her petit trianon; and for five or six years preceding the revolution the court very seldom visited marly. the king, always attentive to the comfort of his family, gave mesdames, his aunts, the use of the chateau de bellevue, and afterwards purchased the princesse de guemenee's house, at the entrance to paris, for elisabeth. the comtesse de provence bought a small house at montreuil; monsieur already had brunoy; the comtesse d'artois built bagatelle; versailles became, in the estimation of all the royal family, the least agreeable of residences. they only fancied themselves at home in the plainest houses, surrounded by english gardens, where they better enjoyed the beauties of nature. the taste for cascades and statues was entirely past. the queen occasionally remained a whole month at petit trianon, and had established there all the ways of life in a chateau. she entered the sitting-room without driving the ladies from their pianoforte or embroidery. the gentlemen continued their billiards or backgammon without suffering her presence to interrupt them. there was but little room in the small chateau of trianon. madame elisabeth accompanied the queen there, but the ladies of honour and ladies of the palace had no establishment at trianon. when invited by the queen, they came from versailles to dinner. the king and princes came regularly to sup. a white gown, a gauze kerchief, and a straw hat were the uniform dress of the princesses. [the extreme simplicity of the queen's toilet began to be strongly censured, at first among the courtiers, and afterwards throughout the kingdom; and through one of those inconsistencies more common in france than elsewhere, while the queen was blamed, she was blindly imitated. there was not a woman but would have the same undress, the same cap, and the same feathers as she had been seen to wear. they crowded to mademoiselle bertin, her milliner; there was an absolute revolution in the dress of our ladies, which gave importance to that woman. long trains, and all those fashions which confer a certain nobility on dress, were discarded; and at last a duchess could not be distinguished from an actress. the men caught the mania; the upper classes had long before given up to their lackeys feathers, tufts of ribbon, and laced hats. they now got rid of red heels and embroidery; and walked about our streets in plain cloth, short thick shoes, and with knotty cudgels in their hands. many humiliating scrapes were the consequence of this metamorphosis. bearing no mark to distinguish them from the common herd, some of the lowest classes got into quarrels with them, in which the nobles had not always the best of it.--montjoie, "history of marie antoinette."] examining all the manufactories of the hamlet, seeing the cows milked, and fishing in the lake delighted the queen; and every year she showed increased aversion to the pompous excursions to marly. the idea of acting comedies, as was then done in almost all country houses, followed on the queen's wish to live at trianon without ceremony. [the queen got through the characters she assumed indifferently enough; she could hardly be ignorant of this, as her performances evidently excited little pleasure. indeed, one day while she was thus exhibiting, somebody ventured to say, by no means inaudibly, "well, this is royally ill played!" the lesson was thrown away upon her, for never did she sacrifice to the opinion of another that which she thought permissible. when she was told that her extreme plainness in dress, the nature of her amusements, and her dislike to that splendour which ought always to attend a queen, had an appearance of levity, which was misinterpreted by a portion of the public, she replied with madame de maintenon: "i am upon the stage, and of course i shall be either hissed or applauded." louis xiv. had a similar taste; he danced upon the stage; but he had shown by brilliant actions that he knew how to enforce respect; and besides, he unhesitatingly gave up the amusement from the moment he heard those beautiful lines in which racine pointed out how very unworthy of him such pastimes were.--montjoie, "history of marie antoinette."] it was agreed that no young man except the comte d'artois should be admitted into the company of performers, and that the audience should consist only of the king, monsieur, and the princesses, who did not play; but in order to stimulate the actors a little, the first boxes were to be occupied by the readers, the queen's ladies, their sisters and daughters, making altogether about forty persons. the queen laughed heartily at the voice of m. d'adhemar, formerly a very fine one, but latterly become rather tremulous. his shepherd's dress in colin, in the "devin du village," contrasted very ridiculously with his time of life, and the queen said it would be difficult for malevolence itself to find anything to criticise in the choice of such a lover. the king was highly amused with these plays, and was present at every performance. caillot, a celebrated actor, who had long quitted the stage, and dazincourt, both of acknowledged good character, were selected to give lessons, the first in comic opera, of which the easier sorts were preferred, and the second in comedy. the office of hearer of rehearsals, prompter, and stage manager was given to my father-in-law. the duc de fronsac, first gentleman of the chamber, was much hurt at this. he thought himself called upon to make serious remonstrances upon the subject, and wrote to the queen, who made him the following answer: "you cannot be first gentleman when we are the actors. besides, i have already intimated to you my determination respecting trianon. i hold no court there, i live like a private person, and m. campan shall be always employed to execute orders relative to the private fetes i choose to give there." this not putting a stop to the duke's remonstrances, the king was obliged to interfere. the duke continued obstinate, and insisted that he was entitled to manage the private amusements as much as those which were public. it became absolutely necessary to end the argument in a positive manner. the diminutive duc de fronsac never failed, when he came to pay his respects to the queen at her toilet, to turn the conversation upon trianon, in order to make some ironical remarks on my father-in-law, of whom, from the time of his appointment, he always spoke as "my colleague campan." the queen would shrug her shoulders, and say, when he was gone, "it is quite shocking to find so little a man in the son of the marechal de richelieu." so long as no strangers were admitted to the performances they were but little censured; but the praise obtained by the performers made them look for a larger circle of admirers. the company, for a private company, was good enough, and the acting was applauded to the skies; nevertheless, as the audience withdrew, adverse criticisms were occasionally heard. the queen permitted the officers of the body guards and the equerries of the king and princes to be present at the plays. private boxes were provided for some of the people belonging to the court; a few more ladies were invited; and claims arose on all sides for the favour of admission. the queen refused to admit the officers of the body guards of the princes, the officers of the king's cent suisses, and many other persons, who were highly mortified at the refusal. while delight at having given an heir to the throne of the bourbons, and a succession of fetes and amusements, filled up the happy days of marie antoinette, the public was engrossed by the anglo-american war. two kings, or rather their ministers, planted and propagated the love of liberty in the new world; the king of england, by shutting his ears and his heart against the continued and respectful representations of subjects at a distance from their native land, who had become numerous, rich, and powerful, through the resources of the soil they had fertilised; and the king of france, by giving support to this people in rebellion against their ancient sovereign. many young soldiers, belonging to the first families of the country, followed la fayette's example, and forsook luxury, amusement, and love, to go and tender their aid to the revolted americans. beaumarchais, secretly seconded by messieurs de maurepas and de vergennes, obtained permission to send out supplies of arms and clothing. franklin appeared at court in the dress of an american agriculturist. his unpowdered hair, his round hat, his brown cloth coat formed a contrast to the laced and embroidered coats and the powder and perfume of the courtiers of versailles. this novelty turned the light heads of the frenchwomen. elegant entertainments were given to doctor franklin, who, to the reputation of a man of science, added the patriotic virtues which invested him with the character of an apostle of liberty. i was present at one of these entertainments, when the most beautiful woman out of three hundred was selected to place a crown of laurels upon the white head of the american philosopher, and two kisses upon his cheeks. even in the palace of versailles franklin's medallion was sold under the king's eyes, in the exhibition of sevres porcelain. the legend of this medallion was "eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis." the king never declared his opinion upon an enthusiasm which his correct judgment no doubt led him to blame. the queen spoke out more plainly about the part france was taking respecting the independence of the american colonies, and constantly opposed it. far was she from foreseeing that a revolution at--such a distance could excite one in which a misguided populace would drag her from her palace to a death equally unjust and cruel. she only saw something ungenerous in the method which france adopted of checking the power of england. however, as queen of france, she enjoyed the sight of a whole people rendering homage to the prudence, courage, and good qualities of a young frenchman; and she shared the enthusiasm inspired by the conduct and military success of the marquis de la fayette. the queen granted him several audiences on his first return from america, and, until the th of august, on which day my house was plundered, i preserved some lines from gaston and bayard, in which the friends of m. de la fayette saw the exact outline of his character, written by her own hand: "why talk of youth, when all the ripe experience of the old dwells with him? in his schemes profound and cool, he acts with wise precaution, and reserves for time of action his impetuous fire. to guard the camp, to scale the leaguered wall, or dare the hottest of the fight, are toils that suit th' impetuous bearing of his youth; yet like the gray-hair'd veteran he can shun the field of peril. still before my eyes i place his bright example, for i love his lofty courage, and his prudent thought. gifted like him, a warrior has no age." [during the american war a general officer in the service of the united states advanced with a score of men under the english batteries to reconnoitre their position. his aide-de-camp, struck by a ball, fell at his side. the officers and orderly dragoons fled precipitately. the general, though under the fire of the cannon, approached the wounded man to see whether any help could be afforded him. finding the wound had been mortal, he slowly rejoined the group which had got out of the reach of the cannon. this instance of courage and humanity took place at the battle of monmouth. general clinton, who commanded the english troops, knew that the marquis de la fayette generally rode a white horse; it was upon a white horse that the general officer who retired so slowly was mounted; clinton desired the gunners not to fire. this noble forbearance probably saved m. de la fayette's life, for he it was. at that time he was but twenty-two years of age.--"historical anecdotes of the reign of louis xvi."] these lines had been applauded and encored at the french theatre; everybody's head was turned. there was no class of persons that did not heartily approve of the support given openly by the french government to the cause of american independence. the constitution planned for the new nation was digested at paris, and while liberty, equality, and the rights of man were commented upon by the condorcets, baillys, mirabeaus, etc., the minister segur published the king's edict, which, by repealing that of st november, , declared all officers not noble by four generations incapable of filling the rank of captain, and denied all military rank to the roturiers, excepting sons of the chevaliers de st. louis. ["m. de segur," says chamfort, "having published an ordinance which prohibited the admission of any other than gentlemen into the artillery corps, and, on the other hand, none but well-educated persons being proper for admission, a curious scene took place: the abbe bossat, examiner of the pupils, gave certificates only to plebeians, while cherin gave them only to gentlemen. out of one hundred pupils, there were not above four or five who were qualified in both respects."] the injustice and absurdity of this law was no doubt a secondary cause of the revolution. to understand the despair and rage with which this law inspired the tiers etat one should have belonged to that honourable class. the provinces were full of roturier families, who for ages had lived as people of property upon their own domains, and paid the taxes. if these persons had several sons, they would place one in the king's service, one in the church, another in the order of malta as a chevalier servant d'armes, and one in the magistracy; while the eldest preserved the paternal manor, and if he were situated in a country celebrated for wine, he would, besides selling his own produce, add a kind of commission trade in the wines of the canton. i have seen an individual of this justly respected class, who had been long employed in diplomatic business, and even honoured with the title of minister plenipotentiary, the son-in-law and nephew of colonels and town mayors, and, on his mother's side, nephew of a lieutenant-general with a cordon rouge, unable to introduce his sons as sous-lieutenants into a regiment of foot. another decision of the court, which could not be announced by an edict, was that all ecclesiastical benefices, from the humblest priory up to the richest abbey, should in future be appanages of the nobility. being the son of a village surgeon, the abbe de vermond, who had great influence in the disposition of benefices, was particularly struck with the justice of this decree. during the absence of the abbe in an excursion he made for his health, i prevailed on the queen to write a postscript to the petition of a cure, one of my friends, who was soliciting a priory near his curacy, with the intention of retiring to it. i obtained it for him. on the abbe's return he told me very harshly that i should act in a manner quite contrary to the king's wishes if i again obtained such a favour; that the wealth of the church was for the future to be invariably devoted to the support of the poorer nobility; that it was the interest of the state that it should be so; and a plebeian priest, happy in a good curacy, had only to remain curate. can we be astonished at the part shortly afterwards taken by the deputies of the third estate, when called to the states general? etext editor's bookmarks: elegant entertainments were given to doctor franklin fashion of wearing a black coat without being in mourning favourite of a queen is not, in france, a happy one history of the man with the iron mask of course i shall be either hissed or applauded. she often carried her economy to a degree of parsimony shocking to find so little a man in the son of the marechal simplicity of the queen's toilet began to be strongly censured the charge of extravagance the three ministers, more ambitious than amorous well, this is royally ill played! while the queen was blamed, she was blindly imitated memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen volume chapter v. in the beginning of the spring of , the king, tired of remaining at the tuileries, wished to return to st. cloud. his whole household had already gone, and his dinner was prepared there. he got into his carriage at one; the guard mutinied, shut the gates, and declared they would not let him pass. this event certainly proceeded from some suspicion of a plan to escape. two persons who drew near the king's carriage were very ill treated. my father-in-law was violently laid hold of by the guards, who took his sword from him. the king and his family were obliged to alight and return to their apartments. they did not much regret this outrage in their hearts; they saw in it a justification, even in the eyes of the people, of their intention to leave paris. so early as the month of march in the same year, the queen began to busy herself in preparing for her departure. i spent that month with her, and executed a great number of secret orders which she gave me respecting the intended event. it was with uneasiness that i saw her occupied with cares which seemed to me useless, and even dangerous, and i remarked to her that the queen of france would find linen and gowns everywhere. my observations were made in vain; she determined to have a complete wardrobe with her at brussels, as well for her children as herself. i went out alone and almost disguised to purchase the articles necessary and have them made up. i ordered six chemises at the shop of one seamstress, six at that of another, gowns, combing cloths, etc. my sister had a complete set of clothes made for madame, by the measure of her eldest daughter, and i ordered clothes for the dauphin from those of my son. i filled a trunk with these things, and addressed them, by the queen's orders, to one of her women, my aunt, madame cardon,--a widow living at arras, by virtue of an unlimited leave of absence,--in order that she might be ready to start for brussels, or any other place, as soon as she should be directed to do so. this lady had landed property in austrian flanders, and could at any time quit arras unobserved. the queen was to take only her first woman in attendance with her from paris. she apprised me that if i should not be on duty at the moment of departure, she would make arrangements for my joining her. she determined also to take her travelling dressing-case. she consulted me on her idea of sending it off, under pretence of making a present of it to the archduchess christina, gouvernante of the netherlands. i ventured to oppose this plan strongly, and observed that, amidst so many people who watched her slightest actions, there would be found a sufficient number sharp-sighted enough to discover that it was only a pretext for sending away the property in question before her own departure; she persisted in her intention, and all i could arrange was that the dressing-case should not be removed from her apartment, and that m. de charge d'afaires from the court of vienna during the absence of the comte de mercy, should come and ask her, at her toilet, before all her people, to order one exactly like her own for madame the gouvernante of the netherlands. the queen, therefore, commanded me before the charge d'affaires to order the article in question. this occasioned only an expense of five hundred louis, and appeared calculated to lull suspicion completely. about the middle of may, , a month after the queen had ordered me to bespeak the dressing-case, she asked me whether it would soon be finished. i sent for the ivory-turner who had it in hand. he could not complete it for six weeks. i informed the queen of this, and she told me she should not be able to wait for it, as she was to set out in the course of june. she added that, as she had ordered her sister's dressing-case in the presence of all her attendants, she had taken a sufficient precaution, especially by saying that her sister was out of patience at not receiving it, and that therefore her own must be emptied and cleaned, and taken to the charge d'affaires, who would send it off. i executed this order without any, appearance of mystery. i desired the wardrobe woman to take out of the dressing-case all that it contained, because that intended for the archduchess could not be finished for some time; and to take great care to leave no remains of the perfumes which might not suit that princess. the woman in question executed her commission punctually; but, on the evening of that very day, the th of may, , she informed m. bailly, the mayor of paris, that preparations were making at the queen's residence for a departure; and that the dressing-case was already sent off, under pretence of its being presented to the archduchess christina. [after the return from varennes m. bailly put this woman's deposition into the queen's hands.--madame campan.] it was necessary, likewise, to send off all the diamonds belonging to the queen. her majesty shut herself up with me in a closet in the entresol, looking into the garden of the tuileries, and we packed all the diamonds, rubies, and pearls she possessed in a small chest. the cases containing these ornaments, being altogether of considerable bulk, had been deposited, ever since the th of october, , with the valet de chambre who had the care of the queen's jewels. that faithful servant, himself detecting the use that was to be made of the valuables, destroyed all the boxes, which were, as usual, covered with red morocco, marked with the cipher and arms of france. it would have been impossible for him to hide them from the eyes of the popular inquisitors during the domiciliary visits in january, , and the discovery might have formed a ground of accusation against the queen. i had but a few articles to place in the box when the queen was compelled to desist from packing it, being obliged to go down to cards, which began at seven precisely. she therefore desired me to leave all the diamonds upon the sofa, persuaded that, as she took the key of her closet herself, and there was a sentinel under the window, no danger was to be apprehended for that night, and she reckoned upon returning very early next day to finish the work. the same woman who had given information of the sending away of the dressing-case was also deputed by the queen to take care of her more private rooms. no other servant was permitted to enter them; she renewed the flowers, swept the carpets, etc. the queen received back the key, when the woman had finished putting them in order, from her own hands; but, desirous of doing her duty well, and sometimes having the key in her possession for a few minutes only, she had probably on that account ordered one without the queen's knowledge. it is impossible not to believe this, since the despatch of the diamonds was the subject of a second accusation which the queen heard of after the return from varennes. she made a formal declaration that her majesty, with the assistance of madame campan, had packed up all her jewelry some time before the departure; that she was certain of it, as she had found the diamonds, and the cotton which served to wrap them, scattered upon the sofa in the queen's closet in the 'entresol'; and most assuredly she could only have seen these preparations in the interval between seven in the evening and seven in the morning. the queen having met me next day at the time appointed, the box was handed over to leonard, her majesty's hairdresser,--[this unfortunate man, after having emigrated for some time, returned to france, and perished upon the scaffold.--note by editor]--who left the country with the duc de choiseul. the box remained a long time at brussels, and at length got into the hands of madame la duchesse d'angouleme, being delivered to her by the emperor on her arrival at vienna. in order not to leave out any of the queen's diamonds, i requested the first tirewoman to give me the body of the full dress, and all the assortment which served for the stomacher of the full dress on days of state, articles which always remained at the wardrobe. the superintendent and the dame d'honneur being absent, the first tirewoman required me to sign a receipt, the terms of which she dictated, and which acquitted her of all responsibility for these diamonds. she had the prudence to burn this document on the th of august, .--[the date of the sack of the tuileries and slaughter of the swiss guard]--the queen having determined, upon the arrest at varennes, not to have her diamonds brought back to france, was often anxious about them during the year which elapsed between that period and the th of august, and dreaded above all things that such a secret should be discovered. in consequence of a decree of the assembly, which deprived the king of the custody of the crown diamonds, the queen had at this time already given up those which she generally used. she preferred the twelve brilliants called hazarins, from the name of the cardinal who had enriched the treasury with them, a few rose-cut diamonds, and the sanci. she determined to deliver, with her own hands, the box containing them to the commissioner nominated by the national assembly to place them with the crown diamonds. after giving them to him, she offered him a row of pearls of great beauty, saying to him that it had been brought into france by anne of austria; that it was invaluable, on account of its rarity; that, having been appropriated by that princess to the use of the queens and dauphinesses, louis xv. had placed it in her hands on her arrival in france; but that she considered it national property. "that is an open question, madame," said the commissary. "monsieur," replied the queen, "it is one for me to decide, and is now settled." my father-in-law, who was dying of the grief he felt for the misfortunes of his master and mistress, strongly interested and occupied the thoughts of the queen. he had been saved from the fury of the populace in the courtyard of the tuileries. on the day on which the king was compelled by an insurrection to give up a journey to st. cloud, her majesty looked upon this trusty servant as inevitably lost, if, on going away, she should leave him in the apartment he occupied in the tuileries. prompted by her apprehensions, she ordered m. vicq-d'azyr, her physician, to recommend him the waters of mont d'or in auvergne, and to persuade him to set off at the latter end of may. at the moment of my going away the queen assured me that the grand project would be executed between the th and the th of june; that as it was not my month to be on duty, madame thibaut would take the journey; but that she had many directions to give me before i went. she then desired me to write to my aunt, madame cardon, who was by that time in possession of the clothes which i had ordered, that as soon as she should receive a letter from m. augur, the date of which should be accompanied with a b, an l, or an m, she was to proceed with her property to brussels, luxembourg, or montmedy. she desired me to explain the meaning of these three letters clearly to my sister, and to leave them with her in writing, in order that at the moment of my going away she might be able to take my place in writing to arras. the queen had a more delicate commission for me; it was to select from among my acquaintance a prudent person of obscure rank, wholly devoted to the interests of the court, who would be willing to receive a portfolio which she was to give up only to me, or some one furnished with a note from the queen. she added that she would not travel with this portfolio, and that it was of the utmost importance that my opinion of the fidelity of the person to whom it was to be entrusted should be well founded. i proposed to her madame vallayer coster, a painter of the academy, and an amiable and worthy artist, whom i had known from my infancy. she lived in the galleries of the louvre. the choice seemed a good one. the queen remembered that she had made her marriage possible by giving her a place in the financial offices, and added that gratitude ought sometimes to be reckoned on. she then pointed out to me the valet belonging to her toilet, whom i was to take with me, to show him the residence of madame coster, so that he might not mistake it when he should take the portfolio to her. the day before her departure the queen particularly recommended me to proceed to lyons and the frontiers as soon as she should have started. she advised me to take with me a confidential person, fit to remain with m. campan when i should leave him, and assured me that she would give orders to m. ------ to set off as soon as she should be known to be at the frontiers in order to protect me in going out. she condescended to add that, having a long journey to make in foreign countries, she determined to give me three hundred louis. i bathed the queen's hands with tears at the moment of this sorrowful separation; and, having money at my disposal, i declined accepting her gold. i did not dread the road i had to travel in order to rejoin her; all my apprehension was that by treachery or miscalculation a scheme, the safety of which was not sufficiently clear to me, should fail. i could answer for all those who belonged to the service immediately about the queen's person, and i was right; but her wardrobe woman gave me well-founded reason for alarm. i mentioned to the queen many revolutionary remarks which this woman had made to me a few days before. her office was directly under the control of the first femme de chambre, yet she had refused to obey the directions i gave her, talking insolently to me about "hierarchy overturned, equality among men," of course more especially among persons holding offices at court; and this jargon, at that time in the mouths of all the partisans of the revolution, was terminated by an observation which frightened me. "you know many important secrets, madame," said this woman to me, "and i have guessed quite as many. i am not a fool; i see all that is going forward here in consequence of the bad advice given to the king and queen; i could frustrate it all if i chose." this argument, in which i had been promptly silenced, left me pale and trembling. unfortunately, as i began my narrative to the queen with particulars of this woman's refusal to obey me,--and sovereigns are all their lives importuned with complaints upon the rights of places,--she believed that my own dissatisfaction had much to do with the step i was taking; and she did not sufficiently fear the woman. her office, although a very inferior one, brought her in nearly fifteen thousand francs a year. still young, tolerably handsome, with comfortable apartments in the entresols of the tuileries, she saw a great deal of company, and in the evening had assemblies, consisting of deputies of the revolutionary party. m. de gouvion, major-general of the national guard, passed almost every day with her; and it is to be presumed that she had long worked for the party in opposition to the court. the queen asked her for the key of a door which led to the principal vestibule of the tuileries, telling her she wished to have a similar one, that she might not be under the necessity of going out through the pavilion of flora. m. de gouvion and m. de la fayette would, of course, be apprised of this circumstance, and well-informed persons have assured me that on the very night of the queen's departure this wretched woman had a spy with her, who saw the royal family set off. as soon as i had executed all the queen's orders, on the th of may, , i set out for auvergne, and was settled in the gloomy narrow valley of mont d'or, when, about four in the afternoon of the th of june, i heard the beat of a drum to call the inhabitants of the hamlet together. when it had ceased i heard a hairdresser from bresse proclaim in the provincial dialect of auvergne: "the king and queen were taking flight in order to ruin france, but i come to tell you that they are stopped, and are well guarded by a hundred thousand men under arms." i still ventured to hope that he was repeating only a false report, but he went on: "the queen," with her well-known haughtiness, lifted up the veil which covered her face, and said to the citizens who were upbraiding the king, "well, since you recognise your sovereign, respect him." upon hearing these expressions, which the jacobin club of clermont could not have invented, i exclaimed, "the news is true!" i immediately learnt that, a courier being come from paris to clermont, the 'procureur' of the commune had sent off messengers to the chief places of the canton; these again sent couriers to the districts, and the districts in like manner informed the villages and hamlets which they contained. it was through this ramification, arising from the establishment of clubs, that the afflicting intelligence of the misfortune of my sovereigns reached me in the wildest part of france, and in the midst of the snows by which we were environed. on the th i received a note written in a hand which i recognised as that of m. diet,--[this officer was slain in the queen's chamber on the th of august]--usher of the queen's chamber, but dictated by her majesty. it contained these words: "i am this moment arrived; i have just got into my bath; i and my family exist, that is all. i have suffered much. do not return to paris until i desire you. take good care of my poor campan, soothe his sorrow. look for happier times." this note was for greater safety addressed to my father-in-law's valet-de-chambre. what were my feelings on perceiving that after the most distressing crisis we were among the first objects of the kindness of that unfortunate princess! m. campan having been unable to benefit by the waters of mont d'or, and the first popular effervescence having subsided, i thought i might return to clermont. the committee of surveillance, or that of general safety, had resolved to arrest me there; but the abbe louis, formerly a parliamentary counsellor, and then a member of the constituent assembly, was kind enough to affirm that i was in auvergne solely for the purpose of attending my father-in-law, who was extremely ill. the precautions relative to my absence from paris were limited to placing us under the surveillance of the 'procureur' of the commune, who was at the same time president of the jacobin club; but he was also a physician of repute, and without having any doubt that he had received secret orders relative to me, i thought it would favour the chances of our safety if i selected him to attend my patient. i paid him according to the rate given to the best paris physicians, and i requested him to visit us every morning and every evening. i took the precaution to subscribe to no other newspaper than the moniteur. doctor monestier (for that was the physician's name) frequently took upon himself to read it to us. whenever he thought proper to speak of the king and queen in the insulting and brutal terms at that time unfortunately adopted throughout france, i used to stop him and say, coolly, "monsieur, you are here in company with the servants of louis xvi. and marie antoinette. whatever may be the wrongs with which the nation believes it has to reproach them, our principles forbid our losing sight of the respect due to them from us." notwithstanding that he was an inveterate patriot, he felt the force of this remark, and even procured the revocation of a second order for our arrest, becoming responsible for us to the committee of the assembly, and to the jacobin society. the two chief women about the dauphin, who had accompanied the queen to varennes, diet, her usher, and camot, her garcon de toilette,--the women on account of the journey, and the men in consequence of the denunciation of the woman belonging to the wardrobe,--were sent to the prisons of the abbaye. after my departure the garcon de toilette whom i had taken to madame vallayer coster's was sent there with the portfolio she had agreed to receive. this commission could not escape the detestable spy upon the queen. she gave information that a portfolio had been carried out on the evening of the departure, adding that the king had placed it upon the queen's easy-chair, that the garcon de toilette wrapped it up in a napkin and took it under his arm, and that she did not know where he had carried it. the man, who was remarkable for his fidelity, underwent three examinations without making the slightest disclosure. m. diet, a man of good family, a servant on whom the queen placed particular reliance, likewise experienced the severest treatment. at length, after a lapse of three weeks, the queen succeeded in obtaining the release of her servants. the queen, about the th of august, had me informed by letter that i might come back to paris without being under any apprehension of arrest there, and that she greatly desired my return. i brought my father-in-law back in a dying state, and on the day preceding that of the acceptation of the constitutional act, i informed the queen that he was no more. "the loss of lassonne and campan," said she, as she applied her handkerchief to her streaming eyes, "has taught me how valuable such subjects are to their masters. i shall never find their equals." i resumed my functions about the queen on the st of september, . she was unable then to converse with me on all the lamentable events which had occurred since the time of my leaving her, having on guard near her an officer whom she dreaded more than all the others. she merely told me that i should have some secret services to perform for her, and that she would not create uneasiness by long conversations with me, my return being a subject of suspicion. but next day the queen, well knowing the discretion of the officer who was to be on guard that night, had my bed placed very near hers, and having obtained the favour of having the door shut, when i was in bed she began the narrative of the journey, and the unfortunate arrest at varennes. i asked her permission to put on my gown, and kneeling by her bedside i remained until three o'clock in the morning, listening with the liveliest and most sorrowful interest to the account i am about to repeat, and of which i have seen various details, of tolerable exactness, in papers of the time. the king entrusted count fersen with all the preparations for departure. the carriage was ordered by him; the passport, in the name of madame de korf, was procured through his connection with that lady, who was a foreigner. and lastly, he himself drove the royal family, as their coachman, as far as bondy, where the travellers got into their berlin. madame brunier and madame neuville, the first women of madame and the dauphin, there joined the principal carriage. they were in a cabriolet. monsieur and madame set out from the luxembourg and took another road. they as well as the king were recognised by the master of the last post in france, but this man, devoting himself to the fortunes of the prince, left the french territory, and drove them himself as postilion. madame thibaut, the queen's first woman, reached brussels without the slightest difficulty. madame cardon, from arras, met with no hindrance; and leonard, the queen's hairdresser, passed through varennes a few hours before the royal family. fate had reserved all its obstacles for the unfortunate monarch. nothing worthy of notice occurred in the beginning of the journey. the travellers were detained a short time, about twelve leagues from paris, by some repairs which the carriage required. the king chose to walk up one of the hills, and these two circumstances caused a delay of three hours, precisely at the time when it was intended that the berlin should have been met, just before reaching varennes, by the detachment commanded by m. de goguelat. this detachment was punctually stationed upon the spot fixed on, with orders to wait there for the arrival of certain treasure, which it was to escort; but the peasantry of the neighbourhood, alarmed at the sight of this body of troops, came armed with staves, and asked several questions, which manifested their anxiety. m. de goguelat, fearful of causing a riot, and not finding the carriage arrive as he expected, divided his men into two companies, and unfortunately made them leave the highway in order to return to varennes by two cross roads. the king looked out of the carriage at ste. menehould, and asked several questions concerning the road. drouet, the post-master, struck by the resemblance of louis to the impression of his head upon the assignats, drew near the carriage, felt convinced that he recognised the queen also, and that the remainder of the travellers consisted of the royal family and their suite, mounted his horse, reached varennes by cross roads before the royal fugitives, and gave the alarm.--[varennes lies between verdun and montmedy, and not far from the french frontier.] the queen began to feel all the agonies of terror; they were augmented by the voice of a person unknown, who, passing close to the carriage in full gallop, cried out, bending towards the window without slackening his speed, "you are recognised!" they arrived with beating hearts at the gates of varennes without meeting one of the horsemen by whom they were to have been escorted into the place. they were ignorant where to find their relays, and some minutes were lost in waiting, to no purpose. the cabriolet had preceded them, and the two ladies in attendance found the bridge already blocked up with old carts and lumber. the town guards were all under arms. the king at last entered varennes. m. de goguelat had arrived there with his detachment. he came up to the king and asked him if he chose to effect a passage by force! what an unlucky question to put to louis xvi., who from the very beginning of the revolution had shown in every crisis the fear he entertained of giving the least order which might cause an effusion of blood! "would it be a brisk action?" said the king. "it is impossible that it should be otherwise, sire," replied the aide-decamp. louis xvi. was unwilling to expose his family. they therefore went to the house of a grocer, mayor of varennes. the king began to speak, and gave a summary of his intentions in departing, analogous to the declaration he had made at paris. he spoke with warmth and affability, and endeavoured to demonstrate to the people around him that he had only put himself, by the step he had taken, into a fit situation to treat with the assembly, and to sanction with freedom the constitution which he would maintain, though many of its articles were incompatible with the dignity of the throne, and the force by which it was necessary that the sovereign should be surrounded. nothing could be more affecting, added the queen, than this moment, in which the king felt bound to communicate to the very humblest class of his subjects his principles, his wishes for the happiness of his people, and the motives which had determined him to depart. whilst the king was speaking to this mayor, whose name was sauce, the queen, seated at the farther end of the shop, among parcels of soap and candles, endeavoured to make madame sauce understand that if she would prevail upon her husband to make use of his municipal authority to cover the flight of the king and his family, she would have the glory of having contributed to restore tranquillity to france. this woman was moved; she could not, without streaming eyes, see herself thus solicited by her queen; but she could not be got to say anything more than, "bon dieu, madame, it would be the destruction of m. sauce; i love my king, but i love my husband too, you must know, and he would be answerable, you see." whilst this strange scene was passing in the shop, the people, hearing that the king was arrested, kept pouring in from all parts. m. de goguelat, making a last effort, demanded of the dragoons whether they would protect the departure of the king; they replied only by murmurs, dropping the points of their swords. some person unknown fired a pistol at m. de goguelat; he was slightly wounded by the ball. m. romeuf, aide-de-camp to m. de la fayette, arrived at that moment. he had been chosen, after the th of october, , by the commander of the parisian guard to be in constant attendance about the queen. she reproached him bitterly with the object of his mission. "if you wish to make your name remarkable, monsieur," said the queen to him, "you have chosen strange and odious means, which will produce the most fatal consequences." this officer wished to hasten their departure. the queen, still cherishing the hope of seeing m. de bouille arrive with a sufficient force to extricate the king from his critical situation, prolonged her stay at varennes by every means in her power. the dauphin's first woman pretended to be taken ill with a violent colic, and threw herself upon a bed, in the hope of aiding the designs of her superiors; she went and implored for assistance. the queen understood her perfectly well, and refused to leave one who had devoted herself to follow them in such a state of suffering. but no delay in departing was allowed. the three body guards (valory, du moustier, and malden) were gagged and fastened upon the seat of the carriage. a horde of national guards, animated with fury and the barbarous joy with which their fatal triumph inspired them, surrounded the carriage of the royal family. the three commissioners sent by the assembly to meet the king, mm. de latour-maubourg, barnave, and potion, joined them in the environs of epernay. the two last mentioned got into the king's carriage. the queen astonished me by the favourable opinion she had formed of barnave. when i quitted paris a great many persons spoke of him only with horror. she told me he was much altered, that he was full of talent and noble feeling. "a feeling of pride which i cannot much blame in a young man belonging to the tiers etat," she said, "made him applaud everything which smoothed the road to rank and fame for that class in which he was born. and if we get the power in our own hands again, barnave's pardon is already written on our hearts." the queen added, that she had not the same feeling towards those nobles who had joined the revolutionary party, who had always received marks of favour, often to the injury of those beneath them in rank, and who, born to be the safeguard of the monarchy, could never be pardoned for having deserted it. she then told me that barnave's conduct upon the road was perfectly correct, while potion's republican rudeness was disgusting; that the latter ate and drank in the king's berlin in a slovenly manner, throwing the bones of the fowls out through the window at the risk of sending them even into the king's face; lifting up his glass, when madame elisabeth poured him out wine, to show her that there was enough, without saying a word; that this offensive behaviour must have been intentional, because the man was not without education; and that barnave was hurt at it. on being pressed by the queen to take something, "madame," replied barnave, "on so solemn an occasion the deputies of the national assembly ought to occupy your majesties solely about their mission, and by no means about their wants." in short, his respectful delicacy, his considerate attentions, and all that he said, gained the esteem not only of the queen, but of madame elisabeth also. the king began to talk to petion about the situation of france, and the motives of his conduct, which were founded upon the necessity of giving to the executive power a strength necessary for its action, for the good even of the constitutional act, since france could not be a republic. "not yet, 'tis true," replied petion, "because the french are not ripe enough for that." this audacious and cruel answer silenced the king, who said no more until his arrival at paris. potion held the little dauphin upon his knees, and amused himself with curling the beautiful light hair of the interesting child round his fingers; and, as he spoke with much gesticulation, he pulled his locks hard enough to make the dauphin cry out. "give me my son," said the queen to him; "he is accustomed to tenderness and delicacy, which render him little fit for such familiarity." the chevalier de dampierre was killed near the king's carriage upon leaving varennes. a poor village cure, some leagues from the place where the crime was committed, was imprudent enough to draw near to speak to the king; the cannibals who surrounded the carriage rushed upon him. "tigers," exclaimed barnave, "have you ceased to be frenchmen? nation of brave men, are you become a set of assassins?" these words alone saved the cure, who was already upon the ground, from certain death. barnave, as he spoke to them, threw himself almost out of the coach window, and madame elisabeth, affected by this noble burst of feeling, held him by the skirt of his coat. the queen, while speaking of this event, said that on the most momentous occasions whimsical contrasts always struck her, and that even at such a moment the pious elisabeth holding barnave by the flap of his coat was a ludicrous sight. the deputy was astonished in another way. madame elisabeth's comments upon the state of france, her mild and persuasive eloquence, and the, ease and simplicity with which she talked to him, yet without sacrificing her dignity in the slightest degree, appeared to him unique, and his heart, which was doubtless inclined to right principles though he had followed the wrong path, was overcome by admiration. the conduct of the two deputies convinced the queen of the total separation between the republican and constitutional parties. at the inns where she alighted she had some private conversation with barnave. the latter said a great deal about the errors committed by the royalists during the revolution, adding that he had found the interest of the court so feebly and so badly defended that he had been frequently tempted to go and offer it, in himself, an aspiring champion, who knew the spirit of the age and nation. the queen asked him what was the weapon he would have recommended her to use. "popularity, madame." "and how could i use that," replied her majesty, "of which i have been deprived?" "ah! madame, it was much more easy for you to regain it, than for me to acquire it." the queen mainly attributed the arrest at varennes to m. de goguelat; she said he calculated the time that would be spent in the journey erroneously. he performed that from montmedy to paris before taking the king's last orders, alone in a post-chaise, and he founded all his calculations upon the time he spent thus. the trial has been made since, and it was found that a light carriage without any courier was nearly three hours less in running the distance than a heavy carriage preceded by a courier. the queen also blamed him for having quitted the high-road at pont-de-sommevelle, where the carriage was to meet the forty hussars commanded by him. she thought that he ought to have dispersed the very small number of people at varennes, and not have asked the hussars whether they were for the king or the nation; that, particularly, he ought to have avoided taking the king's orders, as he was previously aware of the reply m. d'inisdal had received when it was proposed to carry off the king. after all that the queen had said to me respecting the mistakes made by m. de goguelat, i thought him of course disgraced. what was my surprise when, having been set at liberty after the amnesty which followed the acceptance of the constitution, he presented himself to the queen, and was received with the greatest kindness! she said he had done what he could, and that his zeal ought to form an excuse for all the rest. [full details of the preparations for the flight to varennes will be found in "le comte de fersen et la cour de france," paris, didot et cie, (a review of which was given in the quarterly review for july, ), and in the "memoirs of the marquis de bouille", london, cadell and davis, ; count fersen being the person who planned the actual escape, and de bouille being in command of the army which was to receive the king. the plan was excellent, and would certainly have succeeded, if it had not been for the royal family themselves. marie antoinette, it will have been seen by madame campan's account, nearly wrecked the plan from inability to do without a large dressing or travelling case. the king did a more fatal thing. de bouille had pointed out the necessity for having in the king's carriage an officer knowing the route, and able to show himself to give all directions, and a proper person had been provided. the king, however, objected, as "he could not have the marquis d'agoult in the same carriage with himself; the governess of the royal children, who was to accompany them, having refused to abandon her privilege of constantly remaining with her charge." see "de bouille," pp. and . thus, when louis was recognised at the window of the carriage by drouet, he was lost by the very danger that had been foreseen, and this wretched piece of etiquette led to his death.] when the royal family was brought back from varennes to the tuileries, the queen's attendants found the greatest difficulty in making their way to her apartments; everything had been arranged so that the wardrobe woman, who had acted as spy, should have the service; and she was to be assisted in it only by her sister and her sister's daughter. m. de gouvion, m. de la fayette's aide-de-camp, had this woman's portrait placed at the foot of the staircase which led to the queen's apartments, in order that the sentinel should not permit any other women to make their way in. as soon as the queen was informed of this contemptible precaution, she told the king of it, who sent to ascertain the fact. his majesty then called for m. de la fayette, claimed freedom in his household, and particularly in that of the queen, and ordered him to send a woman in, whom no one but himself could confide out of the palace. m. de la fayette was obliged to comply. on the day when the return of the royal family was expected, there were no carriages in motion in the streets of paris. five or six of the queen's women, after being refused admittance at all the other gates, went with one of my sisters to that of the feuillans, insisting that the sentinel should admit them. the poissardes attacked them for their boldness in resisting the order excluding them. one of them seized my sister by the arm, calling her the slave of the austrian. "hear me," said my sister to her, "i have been attached to the queen ever since i was fifteen years of age; she gave me my marriage portion; i served her when she was powerful and happy. she is now unfortunate. ought i to abandon her?"--"she is right," cried the poissardes; "she ought not to abandon her mistress; let us make an entry for them." they instantly surrounded the sentinel, forced the passage, and introduced the queen's women, accompanying them to the terrace of the feuillans. one of these furies, whom the slightest impulse would have driven to tear my sister to pieces, taking her under her protection, gave her advice by which she might reach the palace in safety. "but of all things, my dear friend," said she to her, "pull off that green ribbon sash; it is the color of that d'artois, whom we will never forgive." the measures adopted for guarding the king were rigorous with respect to the entrance into the palace, and insulting as to his private apartments. the commandants of battalion, stationed in the salon called the grand cabinet, and which led to the queen's bedchamber, were ordered to keep the door of it always open, in order that they might have their eyes upon the royal family. the king shut this door one day; the officer of the guard opened it, and told him such were his orders, and that he would always open it; so that his majesty in shutting it gave himself useless trouble. it remained open even during the night, when the queen was in bed; and the officer placed himself in an armchair between the two doors, with his head turned towards her majesty. they only obtained permission to have the inner door shut when the queen was rising. the queen had the bed of her first femme de chambre placed very near her own; this bed, which ran on casters, and was furnished with curtains, hid her from the officer's sight. madame de jarjaye, my companion, who continued her functions during the whole period of my absence, told me that one night the commandant of battalion, who slept between the two doors, seeing that she was sleeping soundly, and that the queen was awake, quitted his post and went close to her majesty, to advise her as to the line of conduct she should pursue. although she had the kindness to desire him to speak lower in order that he might not disturb madame de jarjaye's rest, the latter awoke, and nearly died with fright at seeing a man in the uniform of the parisian guard so near the queen's bed. her majesty comforted her, and told her not to rise; that the person she saw was a good frenchman, who was deceived respecting the intentions and situation of his sovereign and herself, but whose conversation showed sincere attachment to the king. there was a sentinel in the corridor which runs behind the apartments in question, where there is a staircase, which was at that time an inner one, and enabled the king and queen to communicate freely. this post, which was very onerous, because it was to be kept four and twenty hours, was often claimed by saint prig, an actor belonging to the theatre francais. he took it upon himself sometimes to contrive brief interviews between the king and queen in this corridor. he left them at a distance, and gave them warning if he heard the slightest noise. m. collot, commandant of battalion of the national guard, who was charged with the military duty of the queen's household, in like manner softened down, so far as he could with prudence, all, the revolting orders he received; for instance, one to follow the queen to the very door of her wardrobe was never executed. an officer of the parisian guard dared to speak insolently of the queen in her own apartment. m. collot wished to make a complaint to m. de la fayette against him, and have him dismissed. the queen opposed it, and condescended to say a few words of explanation and kindness to the man; he instantly became one of her most devoted partisans. the first time i saw her majesty after the unfortunate catastrophe of the varennes journey, i found her getting out of bed; her features were not very much altered; but after the first kind words she uttered to me she took off her cap and desired me to observe the effect which grief had produced upon her hair. it had become, in one single night, as white as that of a woman of seventy. her majesty showed me a ring she had just had mounted for the princesse de lamballe; it contained a lock of her whitened hair, with the inscription, "blanched by sorrow." at the period of the acceptance of the constitution the princess wished to return to france. the queen, who had no expectation that tranquillity would be restored, opposed this; but the attachment of madame de lamballe to the royal family impelled her to come and seek death. when i returned to paris most of the harsh precautions were abandoned; the doors were not kept open; greater respect was paid to the sovereign; it was known that the constitution soon to be completed would be accepted, and a better order of things was hoped for. chapter vi. on my arrival at paris on the th of august i found the state of feeling there much more temperate than i had dared to hope. the conversation generally ran upon the acceptance of the constitution, and the fetes which would be given in consequence. the struggle between the jacobins and the constitutionals on the th of july, , nevertheless had thrown the queen into great terror for some moments; and the firing of the cannon from the champ de mars upon a party which called for a trial of the king, and the leaders of which were in the very bosom of the assembly, left the most gloomy impressions upon her mind. the constitutionals, the queen's connection with whom was not slackened by the intervention of the three members already mentioned, had faithfully served the royal family during their detention. "we still hold the wire by which this popular mass is moved," said barnave to m. de j----- one day, at the same time showing him a large volume, in which the names of all those who were influenced with the power of gold alone were registered. it was at that time proposed to hire a considerable number of persons in order to secure loud acclamations when the king and his family should make their appearance at the play upon the acceptance of the constitution. that day, which afforded a glimmering hope of tranquillity, was the th of september; the fetes were brilliant; but already fresh anxieties forbade the royal family to encourage much hope. the legislative assembly, which had just succeeded the constituent assembly (october, ), founded its conduct upon the wildest republican principles; created from the midst of popular assemblies, it was wholly inspired by the spirit which animated them. the constitution, as i have said, was presented to the king on the d of september, . the ministers, with the exception of m. de montmorin, insisted upon the necessity of accepting the constitutional act in its entirety. the prince de kaunitz--[minister of austria]--was of the same opinion. malouet wished the king to express himself candidly respecting any errors or dangers that he might observe in the constitution. but duport and barnave, alarmed at the spirit prevailing in the jacobin club, [the extreme revolutionary party, so called from the club, originally "breton," then "amis de la constitution," sitting at the convent of the dominicans (called in france jacobins) of the rue saint honore.] and even in the assembly, where robespierre had already denounced them as traitors to the country, and dreading still greater evils, added their opinions to those of the majority of the ministers and m. de kaunitz; those who really desired that the constitution should be maintained advised that it should not be accepted thus literally. the king seemed inclined to this advice; and this is one of the strongest proofs of his sincerity. alexandre lameth, duport, and barnave, still relying on the resources of their party, hoped to have credit for directing the king through the influence they believed they had acquired over the mind of the queen. they also consulted people of acknowledged talent, but belonging to no council nor to any assembly. among these was m. dubucq, formerly intendant of the marine and of the colonies. he answered laconically in one phrase: "prevent disorder from organising itself." the letter written by the king to the assembly, claiming to accept the constitution in the very place where it had been created, and where he announced he would be on the th september at mid-day, was received with transport, and the reading was repeatedly interrupted by plaudits. the sitting terminated amidst the greatest enthusiasm, and m. de la fayette obtained the release of all those who were detained on account of the king's journey [to varennes], the abandonment of all proceedings relative to the events of the revolution, and the discontinuance of the use of passports and of temporary restraints upon free travelling, as well in the interior as without. the whole was conceded by acclamation. sixty members were deputed to go to the king and express to him fully the satisfaction his majesty's letter had given. the keeper of the seals quitted the chamber, in the midst of applause, to precede the deputation to the king. the king answered the speech addressed to him, and concluded by saying to the assembly that a decree of that morning, which had abolished the order of the holy ghost, had left him and his son alone permission to be decorated with it; but that an order having no value in his eyes, save for the power of conferring it, he would not use it. the queen, her son, and madame, were at the door of the chamber into which the deputation was admitted. the king said to the deputies, "you see there my wife and children, who participate in my sentiments;" and the queen herself confirmed the king's assurance. these apparent marks of confidence were very inconsistent with the agitated state of her mind. "these people want no sovereigns," said she. "we shall fall before their treacherous though well-planned tactics; they are demolishing the monarchy stone by stone." next day the particulars of the reception of the deputies by the king were reported to the assembly, and excited warm approbation. but the president having put the question whether the assembly ought not to remain seated while the king took the oath "certainly," was repeated by many voices; "and the king, standing, uncovered." m. malouet observed that there was no occasion on which the nation, assembled in the presence of the king, did not acknowledge him as its head; that the omission to treat the head of the state with the respect due to him would be an offence to the nation, as well as to the monarch. he moved that the king should take the oath standing, and that the assembly should also stand while he was doing so. m. malouet's observations would have carried the decree, but a deputy from brittany exclaimed, with a shrill voice, that he had an amendment to propose which would render all unanimous. "let us decree," said he, "that m. malouet, and whoever else shall so please, may have leave to receive the king upon their knees; but let us stick to the decree." the king repaired to the chamber at mid-day. his speech was followed by plaudits which lasted several minutes. after the signing of the constitutional act all sat down. the president rose to deliver his speech; but after he had begun, perceiving that the king did not rise to hear him, he sat down again. his speech made a powerful impression; the sentence with which it concluded excited fresh acclamations, cries of "bravo!" and "vive le roi!"--"sire," said he, "how important in our eyes, and how dear to our hearts--how sublime a feature in our history--must be the epoch of that regeneration which gives citizens to france, and a country to frenchmen,--to you, as a king, a new title of greatness and glory, and, as a man, a source of new enjoyment." the whole assembly accompanied the king on his return, amidst the people's cries of happiness, military music, and salvoes of artillery. at length i hoped to see a return of that tranquillity which had so long vanished from the countenances of my august master and mistress. their suite left them in the salon; the queen hastily saluted the ladies, and returned much affected; the king followed her, and, throwing himself into an armchair, put his handkerchief to his eyes. "ah! madame," cried he, his voice choked by tears, "why were you present at this sitting? to witness--" these words were interrupted by sobs. the queen threw herself upon her knees before him, and pressed him in her arms. i remained with them, not from any blamable curiosity, but from a stupefaction which rendered me incapable of determining what i ought to do. the queen said to me, "oh! go, go!" with an accent which expressed, "do not remain to see the dejection and despair of your sovereign!" i withdrew, struck with the contrast between the shouts of joy without the palace and the profound grief which oppressed the sovereigns within. half an hour afterwards the queen sent for me. she desired to see m. de goguelat, to announce to him his departure on that very night for vienna. the renewed attacks upon the dignity of the throne which had been made during the sitting; the spirit of an assembly worse than the former; the monarch put upon a level with the president, without any deference to the throne,--all this proclaimed but too loudly that the sovereignty itself was aimed at. the queen no longer saw any ground for hope from the provinces. the king wrote to the emperor; she told me that she would herself, at midnight, bring the letter which m. de goguelat was to bear to the emperor, to my room. during all the remainder of the day the chateau and the tuileries were crowded; the illuminations were magnificent. the king and queen were requested to take an airing in their carriage in the champs-elysees, escorted by the aides-decamp, and leaders of the parisian army, the constitutional guard not being at the time organised. many shouts of "vive le roi!" were heard; but as often as they ceased, one of the mob, who never quitted the door of the king's carriage for a single instant, exclaimed with a stentorian voice, "no, don't believe them! vive la nation!" this ill-omened cry struck terror into the queen. a few days afterwards m. de montmorin sent to say he wanted to speak to me; that he would come to me, if he were not apprehensive his doing so would attract observation; and that he thought it would appear less conspicuous if he should see me in the queen's great closet at a time which he specified, and when nobody would be there. i went. after having made some polite observations upon the services i had already performed, and those i might yet perform, for my master and mistress, he spoke to me of the king's imminent danger, of the plots which were hatching, and of the lamentable composition of the legislative assembly; and he particularly dwelt upon the necessity of appearing, by prudent remarks, determined as much as possible to abide by the act the king had just recognised. i told him that could not be done without committing ourselves in the eyes of the royalist party, with which moderation was a crime; that it was painful to hear ourselves taxed with being constitutionalists, at the same time that it was our opinion that the only constitution which was consistent with the king's honour, and the happiness and tranquillity of his people, was the absolute power of the sovereign; that this was my creed, and it would pain me to give any room for suspicion that i was wavering in it. "could you ever believe," said he, "that i should desire any other order of things? have you any doubt of my attachment to the king's person, and the maintenance of his rights?" "i know it, count," replied i; "but you are not ignorant that you lie under the imputation of having adopted revolutionary ideas." "well, madame, have resolution enough to dissemble and to conceal your real sentiments; dissimulation was never more necessary. endeavours are being made to paralyse the evil intentions of the factious as much as possible; but we must not be counteracted here by certain dangerous expressions which are circulated in paris as coming from the king and queen." i told him that i had been already struck with apprehension of the evil which might be done by the intemperate observations of persons who had no power to act; and that i had felt ill consequences from having repeatedly enjoined silence on those in the queen's service. "i know that," said the count; "the queen informed me of it, and that determined me to come and request you to increase and keep alive, as much as you can, that spirit of discretion which is so necessary." while the household of the king and queen were a prey to all these fears, the festivities in celebration of the acceptance of the constitution proceeded. their majesties went to the opera; the audience consisted entirely of persons who sided with the king, and on that day the happiness of seeing him for a short time surrounded by faithful subjects might be enjoyed. the acclamations were then sincere. "la coquette corrigee" had been selected for representation at the theatre francais solely because it was the piece in which mademoiselle contat shone most. yet the notions propagated by the queen's enemies coinciding in my mind with the name of the play, i thought the choice very ill-judged. i was at a loss, however, how to tell her majesty so; but sincere attachment gives courage. i explained myself; she was obliged to me, and desired that another play might be performed. they accordingly selected "la gouvernante," almost equally unfortunate in title. the queen, madame the king's daughter, and madame elisabeth were all well received on this occasion. it is true that the opinions and feelings of the spectators in the boxes could not be otherwise than favourable, and great pains had been taken, previously to these two performances, to fill the pit with proper persons. but, on the other hand, the jacobins took the same precautions on their side at the theatre italien, and the tumult was excessive there. the play was gretry's "les evenements imprevus." unfortunately, madame dugazon thought proper to bow to the queen as she sang the words, "ah, how i love my mistress!" in a duet. above twenty voices immediately exclaimed from the pit, "no mistress! no master! liberty!" a few replied from the boxes and slips, "vive le roi! vive la reine!" those in the pit answered, "no master! no queen!" the quarrel increased; the pit formed into parties; they began fighting, and the jacobins were beaten; tufts of their black hair flew about the theatre.--[at this time none but the jacobins had discontinued the use of hairpowder.--madame campan.]--a military guard arrived. the faubourg st. antoine, hearing of what was going on at the theatre italien, flocked together, and began to talk of marching towards the scene of action. the queen preserved the calmest demeanour; the commandants of the guard surrounded and encouraged her; they conducted themselves promptly and discreetly. no accident happened. the queen was highly applauded as she quitted the theatre; it was the last time she was ever in one! while couriers were bearing confidential letters from the king to the princes, his brothers, and to the foreign sovereigns, the assembly invited him to write to the princes in order to induce them to return to france. the king desired the abbe de montesquiou to write the letter he was to send; this letter, which was admirably composed in a simple and affecting style, suited to the character of louis xvi., and filled with very powerful arguments in favour of the advantages to be derived from adopting the principles of the constitution, was confided to me by the king, who desired me to make him a copy of it. at this period m. m-----, one of the intendants of monsieur's household, obtained a passport from the assembly to join that prince on business relative to his domestic concerns. the queen selected him to be the bearer of this letter. she determined to give it to him herself, and to inform him of its object. i was astonished at her choice of this courier. the queen assured me he was exactly the man for her purpose, that she relied even upon his indiscretion, and that it was merely necessary that the letter from the king to his brothers should be known to exist. the princes were doubtless informed beforehand on the subject by the private correspondence. monsieur nevertheless manifested some degree of surprise, and the messenger returned more grieved than pleased at this mark of confidence, which nearly cost him his life during the reign of terror. among the causes of uneasiness to the queen there was one which was but too well founded, the thoughtlessness of the french whom she sent to foreign courts. she used to say that they had no sooner passed the frontiers than they disclosed the most secret matters relative to the king's private sentiments, and that the leaders of the revolution were informed of them through their agents, many of whom were frenchmen who passed themselves off as emigrants in the cause of their king. after the acceptance of the constitution, the formation of the king's household, as well military as civil, formed a subject of attention. the duc de brissac had the command of the constitutional guard, which was composed of officers and men selected from the regiments, and of several officers drawn from the national guard of paris. the king was satisfied with the feelings and conduct of this band, which, as is well known, existed but a very short time. the new constitution abolished what were called honours, and the prerogatives belonging to them. the duchesse de duras resigned her place of lady of the bedchamber, not choosing to lose her right to the tabouret at court. this step hurt the queen, who saw herself forsaken through the loss of a petty privilege at a time when her own rights and even life were so hotly attacked. many ladies of rank left the court for the same reason. however, the king and queen did not dare to form the civil part of their household, lest by giving the new names of the posts they should acknowledge the abolition of the old ones, and also lest they should admit into the highest positions persons not calculated to fill them well. some time was spent in discussing the question, whether the household should be formed without chevaliers and without ladies of honour. the queen's constitutional advisers were of opinion that the assembly, having decreed a civil list adequate to uphold the splendour of the throne, would be dissatisfied at seeing the king adopting only a military household, and not forming his civil household upon the new constitutional plan. "how is it, madame," wrote barnave to the queen, "that you will persist in giving these people even the smallest doubt as to your sentiments? when they decree you a civil and a military household, you, like young achilles among the daughters of lycomedes, eagerly seize the sword and scorn the mere ornaments." the queen persisted in her determination to have no civil household. "if," said she, "this constitutional household be formed, not a single person of rank will remain with us, and upon a change of affairs we should be obliged to discharge the persons received into their place." "perhaps," added she, "perhaps i might find one day that i had saved the nobility, if i now had resolution enough to afflict them for a time; i have it not. when any measure which injures them is wrested from us they sulk with me; nobody comes to my card party; the king goes unattended to bed. no allowance is made for political necessity; we are punished for our very misfortunes." the queen wrote almost all day, and spent part of the night in reading: her courage supported her physical strength; her disposition was not at all soured by misfortunes, and she was never seen in an ill-humour for a moment. she was, however, held up to the people as a woman absolutely furious and mad whenever the rights of the crown were in any way attacked. i was with her one day at one of her windows. we saw a man plainly dressed, like an ecclesiastic, surrounded by an immense crowd. the queen imagined it was some abbe whom they were about to throw into the basin of the tuileries; she hastily opened her window and sent a valet de chambre to know what was going forward in the garden. it was abbe gregoire, whom the men and women of the tribunes were bringing back in triumph, on account of a motion he had just made in the national assembly against the royal authority. on the following day the democratic journalists described the queen as witnessing this triumph, and showing, by expressive gestures at her window, how highly she was exasperated by the honours conferred upon the patriot. the correspondence between the queen and the foreign powers was carried on in cipher. that to which she gave the preference can never be detected; but the greatest patience is requisite for its use. each correspondent must have a copy of the same edition of some work. she selected "paul and virginia." the page and line in which the letters required, and occasionally a monosyllable, are to be found are pointed out in ciphers agreed upon. i assisted her in finding the letters, and frequently i made an exact copy for her of all that she had ciphered, without knowing a single word of its meaning. there were always several secret committees in paris occupied in collecting information for the king respecting the measures of the factions, and in influencing some of the committees of the assembly. m. bertrand de molleville was in close correspondence with the queen. the king employed m. talon and others; much money was expended through the latter channel for the secret measures. the queen had no confidence in them. m. de laporte, minister of the civil list and of the household, also attempted to give a bias to public opinion by means of hireling publications; but these papers influenced none but the royalist party, which did not need influencing. m. de laporte had a private police which gave him some useful information. i determined to sacrifice myself to my duty, but by no means to any intrigue, and i thought that, circumstanced as i was, i ought to confine myself to obeying the queen's orders. i frequently sent off couriers to foreign countries, and they were never discovered, so many precautions did i take. i am indebted for the preservation of my own existence to the care i took never to admit any deputy to my abode, and to refuse all interviews which even people of the highest importance often requested of me; but this line of conduct exposed me to every species of ill-will, and on the same day i saw myself denounced by prud'homme, in his 'gazette revolutionnaire', as capable of making an aristocrat of the mother of the gracchi, if a person so dangerous as myself could have got into her household; and by gauthier's gazette royaliste, as a monarchist, a constitutionalist, more dangerous to the queen's interests than a jacobin. at this period an event with which i had nothing to do placed me in a still more critical situation. my brother, m. genet, began his diplomatic career successfully. at eighteen he was attached to the embassy to vienna; at twenty he was appointed chief secretary of legation in england, on occasion of the peace of . a memorial which he presented to m. de vergennes upon the dangers of the treaty of commerce then entered into with england gave offence to m. de calonne, a patron of that treaty, and particularly to m. gerard de rayneval, chief clerk for foreign affairs. so long as m. de vergennes lived, having upon my father's death declared himself the protector of my brother, he supported him against the enemies his views had created. but on his death m. de montmorin, being much in need of the long experience in business which he found in m. de rayneval, was guided solely by the latter. the office of which my brother was the head was suppressed. he then went to st. petersburg, strongly recommended to the comte de segur, minister from france to that court, who appointed him secretary of legation. some time afterwards the comte de segur left him at st. petersburg, charged with the affairs of france. after his return from russia, m. genet was appointed ambassador to the united states by the party called girondists, the deputies who headed it being from the department of the gironde. he was recalled by the robespierre party, which overthrew the former faction, on the st of may, , and condemned to appear before the convention. vice-president clinton, at that time governor of new york, offered him an asylum in his house and the hand of his daughter, and m. genet established himself prosperously in america. when my brother quitted versailles he was much hurt at being deprived of a considerable income for having penned a memorial which his zeal alone had dictated, and the importance of which was afterwards but too well understood. i perceived from his correspondence that he inclined to some of the new notions. he told me it was right he should no longer conceal from me that he sided with the constitutional party; that the king had in fact commanded it, having himself accepted the constitution; that he would proceed firmly in that course, because in this case disingenuousness would be fatal, and that he took that side of the question because he had had it proved to him that the foreign powers would not serve the king's cause without advancing pretensions prompted by long-standing interests, which always would influence their councils; that he saw no salvation for the king and queen but from within france, and that he would serve the constitutional king as he served him before the revolution. and lastly, he requested me to impart to the queen the real sentiments of one of his majesty's agents at a foreign court. i immediately went to the queen and gave her my brother's letter; she read it attentively, and said, "this is the letter of a young man led astray by discontent and ambition; i know you do not think as he does; do not fear that you will lose the confidence of the king and myself." i offered to discontinue all correspondence with my brother; she opposed that, saying it would be dangerous. i then entreated she would permit me in future to show her my own and my brother's letters, to which she consented. i wrote warmly to my brother against the course he had adopted. i sent my letters by sure channels; he answered me by the post, and no longer touched upon anything but family affairs. once only he informed me that if i should write to him respecting the affairs of the day he would give me no answer. "serve your august mistress with the unbounded devotion which is due from you," said he, "and let us each do our duty. i will only observe to you that at paris the fogs of the seine often prevent people from seeing that immense capital, even from the pavilion of flora, and i see it more clearly from st. petersburg." the queen said, as she read this letter, "perhaps he speaks but too truly; who can decide upon so disastrous a position as ours has become?" the day on which i gave the queen my brother's first letter to read she had several audiences to give to ladies and other persons belonging to the court, who came on purpose to inform her that my brother was an avowed constitutionalist and revolutionist. the queen replied, "i know it; madame campan has told me so." persons jealous of my situation having subjected me to mortifications, and these unpleasant circumstances recurring daily, i requested the queen's permission to withdraw from court. she exclaimed against the very idea, represented it to me as extremely dangerous for my own reputation, and had the kindness to add that, for my sake as well as for her own, she never would consent to it. after this conversation i retired to my apartment. a few minutes later a footman brought me this note from the queen: "i have never ceased to give you and yours proofs of my attachment; i wish to tell you in writing that i have full faith in your honour and fidelity, as well as in your other good qualities; and that i ever rely on the zeal and address you exert to serve me." [i had just received this letter from the queen when m. de la chapelle, commissary-general of the king's household, and head of the offices of m. de laporte, minister of the civil list, came to see me. the palace having been already sacked by the brigands on the th of june, , he proposed that i should entrust the paper to him, that he might place it in a safer situation than the apartments of the queen. when he returned into his offices he placed the letter she had condescended to write to me behind a large picture in his closet; but on the loth of august m. de la chapelle was thrown into the prisons of the abbaye, and the committee of public safety established themselves in his offices, whence they issued all their decrees of death. there it was that a villainous servant belonging to m. de laporte went to declare that in the minister's apartments, under a board in the floor, a number of papers would be found. they were brought forth, and m. de laporte was sent to the scaffold, where he suffered for having betrayed the state by serving his master and sovereign. m. de la chapelle was saved, as if by a miracle, from the massacres of the d of september. the committee of public safety having removed to the king's apartments at the tuileries, m. de la chapelle had permission to return to his closet to take away some property belonging to him. turning round the picture, behind which he had hidden the queen's letter, he found it in the place into which he had slipped it, and, delighted to see that i was safe from the ill consequences the discovery of this paper might have brought upon me, he burnt it instantly. in times of danger a mere nothing may save life or destroy it.--madame campan] at the moment that i was going to express my gratitude to the queen i heard a tapping at the door of my room, which opened upon the queen's inner corridor. i opened it; it was the king. i was confused; he perceived it, and said to me, kindly: "i alarm you, madame campan; i come, however, to comfort you; the queen has told me how much she is hurt at the injustice of several persons towards you. but how is it that you complain of injustice and calumny when you see that we are victims of them? in some of your companions it is jealousy; in the people belonging to the court it is anxiety. our situation is so disastrous, and we have met with so much ingratitude and treachery, that the apprehensions of those who love us are excusable! i could quiet them by telling them all the secret services you perform for us daily; but i will not do it. out of good-will to you they would repeat all i should say, and you would be lost with the assembly. it is much better, both for you and for us, that you should be thought a constitutionalist. it has been mentioned to me a hundred times already; i have never contradicted it; but i come to give you my word that if we are fortunate enough to see an end of all this, i will, at the queen's residence, and in the presence of my brothers, relate the important services you have rendered us, and i will recompense you and your son for them." i threw myself at the king's feet and kissed his hand. he raised me up, saying, "come, come, do not grieve; the queen, who loves you, confides in you as i do." down to the day of the acceptance it was impossible to introduce barnave into the interior of the palace; but when the queen was free from the inner guard she said she would see him. the very great precautions which it was necessary for the deputy to take in order to conceal his connection with the king and queen compelled them to spend two hours waiting for him in one of the corridors of the tuileries, and all in vain. the first day that he was to be admitted, a man whom barnave knew to be dangerous having met him in the courtyard of the palace, he determined to cross it without stopping, and walked in the gardens in order to lull suspicion. i was desired to wait for barnave at a little door belonging to the entresols of the palace, with my hand upon the open lock. i was in that position for an hour. the king came to me frequently, and always to speak to me of the uneasiness which a servant belonging to the chateau, who was a patriot, gave him. he came again to ask me whether i had heard the door called de decret opened. i assured him nobody had been in the corridor, and he became easy. he was dreadfully apprehensive that his connection with barnave would be discovered. "it would," said the king, "be a ground for grave accusations, and the unfortunate man would be lost." i then ventured to remind his majesty that as barnave was not the only one in the secret of the business which brought him in contact with their majesties, one of his colleagues might be induced to speak of the association with which they were honoured, and that in letting them know by my presence that i also was informed of it, a risk was incurred of removing from those gentlemen part of the responsibility of the secret. upon this observation the king quitted me hastily and returned a moment afterwards with the queen. "give me your place," said she; "i will wait for him in my turn. you have convinced the king. we must not increase in their eyes the number of persons informed of their communications with us." the police of m. de laporte, intendant of the civil list, apprised him, as early as the latter end of , that a man belonging to the king's offices who had set up as a pastrycook at the palais royal was about to resume the duties of his situation, which had devolved upon him again on the death of one who held it for life; that he was so furious a jacobin that he had dared to say it would be a good thing for france if the king's days were shortened. his duty was confined to making the pastry; he was closely watched by the head officers of the kitchen, who were devoted to his majesty; but it is so easy to introduce a subtle poison into made dishes that it was determined the king and queen should eat only plain roast meat in future; that their bread should be brought to them by m. thierry de ville-d'avray, intendant of the smaller apartments, and that he should likewise take upon himself to supply the wine. the king was fond of pastry; i was directed to order some, as if for myself, sometimes of one pastry-cook, and sometimes of another. the pounded sugar, too, was kept in my room. the king, the queen, and madame elisabeth ate together, and nobody remained to wait on them. each had a dumb waiter and a little bell to call the servants when they were wanted. m. thierry used himself to bring me their majesties' bread and wine, and i locked them up in a private cupboard in the king's closet on the ground floor. as soon as the king sat down to table i took in the pastry and bread. all was hidden under the table lest it might be necessary to have the servants in. the king thought it dangerous as well as distressing to show any apprehension of attempts against his person, or any mistrust of his officers of the kitchen. as he never drank a whole bottle of wine at his meals (the princesses drank nothing but water), he filled up that out of which he had drunk about half from the bottle served up by the officers of his butlery. i took it away after dinner. although he never ate any other pastry than that which i brought, he took care in the same manner that it should seem that he had eaten of that served at table. the lady who succeeded me found this duty all regulated, and she executed it in the same manner; the public never was in possession of these particulars, nor of the apprehensions which gave rise to them. at the end of three or four months the police of m. de laporte gave notice that nothing more was to be dreaded from that sort of plot against the king's life; that the plan was entirely changed; and that all the blows now to be struck would be directed as much against the throne as against the person of the sovereign. there are others besides myself who know that at this time one of the things about which the queen most desired to be satisfied was the opinion of the famous pitt. she would sometimes say to me, "i never pronounce the name of pitt without feeling a chill like that of death." (i repeat here her very expressions.) "that man is the mortal enemy of france; and he takes a dreadful revenge for the impolitic support given by the cabinet of versailles to the american insurgents. he wishes by our destruction to guarantee the maritime power of his country forever against the efforts made by the king to improve his marine power and their happy results during the last war. he knows that it is not only the king's policy but his private inclination to be solicitous about his fleets, and that the most active step he has taken during his whole reign was to visit the port of cherbourg. pitt had served the cause of the french revolution from the first disturbances; he will perhaps serve it until its annihilation. i will endeavour to learn to what point he intends to lead us, and i am sending m.----- to london for that purpose. he has been intimately connected with pitt, and they have often had political conversations respecting the french government. i will get him to make him speak out, at least so far as such a man can speak out." some time afterwards the queen told me that her secret envoy was returned from london, and that all he had been able to wring from pitt, whom he found alarmingly reserved, was that he would not suffer the french monarchy to perish; that to suffer the revolutionary spirit to erect an organised republic in france would be a great error, affecting the tranquillity of europe. "whenever," said she, "pitt expressed himself upon the necessity of supporting monarchy in france, he maintained the most profound silence upon what concerns the monarch. the result of these conversations is anything but encouraging; but, even as to that monarchy which he wishes to save, will he have means and strength to save it if he suffers us to fall?" the death of the emperor leopold took place on the st of march, . when the news of this event reached the tuileries, the queen was gone out. upon her return i put the letter containing it into her hands. she exclaimed that the emperor had been poisoned; that she had remarked and preserved a newspaper, in which, in an article upon the sitting of the jacobins, at the time when the emperor leopold declared for the coalition, it was said, speaking of him, that a pie-crust would settle that matter. at this period barnave obtained the queen's consent that he should read all the letters she should write. he was fearful of private correspondences that might hamper the plan marked out for her; he mistrusted her majesty's sincerity on this point; and the diversity of counsels, and the necessity of yielding, on the one hand, to some of the views of the constitutionalists, and on the other, to those of the french princes, and even of foreign courts, were unfortunately the circumstances which most rapidly impelled the court towards its ruin. however, the emigrants showed great apprehensions of the consequences which might follow in the interior from a connection with the constitutionalists, whom they described as a party existing only in idea, and totally without means of repairing their errors. the jacobins were preferred to them, because, said they, there would be no treaty to be made with any one at the moment of extricating the king and his family from the abyss in which they were plunged. chapter vii. in the beginning of the year , a worthy priest requested a private interview with me. he had learned the existence of a new libel by madame de lamotte. he told me that the people who came from london to get it printed in paris only desired gain, and that they were ready to deliver the manuscript to him for a thousand louis, if he could find any friend of the queen disposed to make that sacrifice for her peace; that he had thought of me, and if her majesty would give him the twenty-four thousand francs, he would hand the manuscript to me. i communicated this proposal to the queen, who rejected it, and desired me to answer that at the time when she had power to punish the hawkers of these libels she deemed them so atrocious and incredible that she despised them too much to stop them; that if she were imprudent and weak enough to buy a single one of them, the jacobins might possibly discover the circumstance through their espionage; that were this libel brought up, it would be printed nevertheless, and would be much more dangerous when they apprised the public of the means she had used to suppress it. baron d'aubier, gentleman-in-ordinary to the king, and my particular friend, had a good memory and a clear way of communicating the substance of the debates and decrees of the national assembly. i went daily to the queen's apartments to repeat all this to the king, who used to say, on seeing me, "ah! here's the postillon par calais,"--a newspaper of the time. m. d'aubier one day said to me: "the assembly has been much occupied with an information laid by the workmen of the sevres manufactory. they brought to the president's office a bundle of pamphlets which they said were the life of marie antoinette. the director of the manufactory was ordered up to the bar, and declared he had received orders to burn the printed sheets in question in the furnaces used for baking his china." while i was relating this business to the queen the king coloured and held his head down over his plate. the queen said to him, "do you know anything about this, sire?" the king made no answer. madame elisabeth requested him to explain what it meant. louis was still silent. i withdrew hastily. a few minutes afterwards the queen came to my room and informed me that the king, out of regard for her, had purchased the whole edition struck off from the manuscript which i had mentioned to her, and that m. de laporte had not been able to devise any more secret way of destroying the work than that of having it burnt at sevres, among two hundred workmen, one hundred and eighty of whom must, in all probability, be jacobins! she told me she had concealed her vexation from the king; that he was in consternation, and that she could say nothing, since his good intentions and his affection for her had been the cause of the mistake. [m. de laporte had by order of the king bought up the whole edition of the "memoirs" of the notorious madame de lamotte against the queen. instead of destroying them immediately, he shut them up in one of the closets in his house, the alarming and rapid growth of the rebellion, the arrogance of the crowd of brigands, who in great measure composed the populace of paris, and the fresh excesses daily resulting from it, rendered the intendant of the civil list apprehensive that some mob might break into his house, carry off these "memoirs," and spread them among the public. in order to prevent this he gave orders to have the "memoirs" burnt with every necessary precaution; and the clerk who received the order entrusted the execution of it to a man named riston, a dangerous intriguer, formerly an advocate of nancy, who had a twelve-month before escaped the gallows by favour of the new principles and the patriotism of the new tribunals, although convicted of forging the great seal, and fabricating decrees of the council. this riston, finding himself entrusted with a commission which concerned her majesty, and the mystery attending which bespoke something of importance, was less anxious to execute it faithfully than to make a parade of this mark of confidence. on the th of may, at ten in the morning, he had the sheets carried to the porcelain manufactory at sevres, in a cart which he himself accompanied, and made a large fire of them before all the workmen, who were expressly forbidden to approach it. all these precautions, and the suspicions to which they gave rise, under such critical circumstances, gave so much publicity to this affair that it was denounced to the assembly that very night. brissot, and the whole jacobin party, with equal effrontery and vehemence, insisted that the papers thus secretly burnt could be no other than the registers and documents of the correspondence of the austrian committee. m. de laporte was ordered to the bar, and there gave the most precise account of the circumstances. riston was also called up, and confirmed m. de laporte's deposition. but these explanations, however satisfactory, did not calm the violent ferment raised in the assembly by this affair.--"memoirs of bertrand de molleville."] some time afterwards the assembly received a denunciation against m. de montmorin. the ex-minister was accused of having neglected forty despatches from m. genet, the charge d'affaires from france in russia, not having even unsealed them, because m. genet acted on constitutional principles. m. de montmorin appeared at the bar to answer this accusation. whatever distress i might feel in obeying the order i had received from the king to go and give him an account of the sitting, i thought i ought not to fail in doing so. but instead of giving my brother his family name, i merely said "your majesty's charge d'affaires at st. petersburg." the king did me the favour to say that he noticed a reserve in my account, of which he approved. the queen condescended to add a few obliging remarks to those of the king. however, my office of journalist gave me in this instance so much pain that i took an opportunity, when the king was expressing his satisfaction to me at the manner in which i gave him this daily account, to tell him that its merits belonged wholly to m. d'aubier; and i ventured to request the king to suffer that excellent man to give him an account of the sittings himself. i assured the king that if he would permit it, that gentleman might proceed to the queen's apartments through mine unseen; the king consented to the arrangement. thenceforward m. d'aubier gave the king repeated proofs of zeal and attachment. the cure of st. eustache ceased to be the queen's confessor when he took the constitutional oath. i do not remember the name of the ecclesiastic who succeeded him; i only know that he was conducted into her apartments with the greatest mystery. their majesties did not perform their easter devotions in public, because they could neither declare for the constitutional clergy, nor act so as to show that they were against them. the queen did perform her easter devotions in ; but she went to the chapel attended only by myself. she desired me beforehand to request one of my relations, who was her chaplain, to celebrate a mass for her at five o'clock in the morning. it was still dark; she gave me her arm, and i lighted her with a taper. i left her alone at the chapel door. she did not return to her room until the dawn of day. dangers increased daily. the assembly were strengthened in the eyes of the people by the hostilities of the foreign armies and the army of the princes. the communication with the latter party became more active; the queen wrote almost every day. m. de goguelat possessed her confidence for all correspondence with the foreign parties, and i was obliged to have him in my apartments; the queen asked for him very frequently, and at times which she could not previously appoint. all parties were exerting themselves either to ruin or to save the king. one day i found the queen extremely agitated; she told me she no longer knew where she was; that the leaders of the jacobins offered themselves to her through the medium of dumouriez; or that dumouriez, abandoning the jacobins, had come and offered himself to her; that she had granted him an audience; that when alone with her, he had thrown himself at her feet, and told her that he had drawn the 'bonnet rouge' over his head to the very ears; but that he neither was nor could be a jacobin; that the revolution had been suffered to extend even to that rabble of destroyers who, thinking of nothing but pillage, were ripe for anything, and might furnish the assembly with a formidable army, ready to undermine the remains of a throne already but too much shaken. whilst speaking with the utmost ardour he seized the queen's hand and kissed it with transport, exclaiming, "suffer yourself to be saved!" the queen told me that the protestations of a traitor were not to be relied on; that the whole of his conduct was so well known that undoubtedly the wisest course was not to trust to it; [the sincerity of general dumouriez cannot be doubted in this instance. the second volume of his memoirs shows how unjust the mistrust and reproaches of the queen were. by rejecting his services, marie antoinette deprived herself of her only remaining support. he who saved france in the defiles of argonne would perhaps have saved france before the th of june, had he obtained the full confidence of louis xvi. and the queen.--note by the editor.] that, moreover, the princes particularly recommended that no confidence should be placed in any proposition emanating from within the kingdom; that the force without became imposing; and that it was better to rely upon their success, and upon the protection due from heaven to a sovereign so virtuous as louis xvi. and to so just a cause. the constitutionalists, on their part, saw that there had been nothing more than a pretence of listening to them. barnave's last advice was as to the means of continuing, a few weeks longer, the constitutional guard, which had been denounced to the assembly, and was to be disbanded. the denunciation against the constitutional guard affected only its staff, and the duc de brissac. barnave wrote to the queen that the staff of the guard was already attacked; that the assembly was about to pass a decree to reduce it; and he entreated her to prevail on the king, the very instant the decree should appear, to form the staff afresh of persons whose names he sent her. barnave said that all who were set down in it passed for decided jacobins, but were not so in fact; that they, as well as himself, were in despair at seeing the monarchical government attacked; that they had learnt to dissemble their sentiments, and that it would be at least a fortnight before the assembly could know them well, and certainly before it could succeed in making them unpopular; that it would be necessary to take advantage of that short space of time to get away from paris, immediately after their nomination. the queen was of opinion that she ought not to yield to this advice. the duc de brissac was sent to orleans, and the guard was disbanded. barnave, seeing that the queen did not follow his counsel in anything, and convinced that she placed all her reliance on assistance from abroad, determined to quit paris. he obtained a last audience. "your misfortunes, madame," said he, "and those which i anticipate for france, determined me to sacrifice myself to serve you. i see, however, that my advice does not agree with the views of your majesties. i augur but little advantage from the plan you are induced to pursue,--you are too remote from your succours; you will be lost before they reach you. most ardently do i wish i may be mistaken in so lamentable a prediction; but i am sure to pay with my head for the interest your misfortunes have raised in me, and the services i have sought to render you. i request, for my sole reward, the honour of kissing your hand." the queen, her eyes suffused with tears, granted him that favour, and remained impressed with a favourable idea of his sentiments. madame elisabeth participated in this opinion, and the two princesses frequently spoke of barnave. the queen also received m. duport several times, but with less mystery. her connection with the constitutional deputies transpired. alexandre de lameth was the only one of the three who survived the vengeance of the jacobins. [barnave was arrested at grenoble. he remained in prison in that town fifteen months, and his friends began to hope that he would be forgotten, when an order arrived that he should be removed to paris. at first he was imprisoned in the abbaye, but transferred to the conciergerie, and almost immediately taken before the revolutionary tribunal. he appeared there with wonderful firmness, summed up the services he had rendered to the cause of liberty with his usual eloquence, and made such an impression upon the numerous auditors that, although accustomed to behold only conspirators worthy of death in all those who appeared before the tribunal, they themselves considered his acquittal certain. the decree of death was read amidst the deepest silence; but barnave'a firmness was immovable. when he left the court, he cast upon the judges, the jurors, and the public looks expressive of contempt and indignation. he was led to his fate with the respected duport du tertre, one of the last ministers of louis xvi. when he had ascended the scaffold, barnave stamped, raised his eyes to heaven, and said: "this, then, is the reward of all that i have done for liberty!" he fell on the th of october, , in the thirty-second year of his age; his bust was placed in the grenoble museum. the consular government placed his statue next to that of vergniaud, on the great staircase of the palace of the senate.--"biographie de bruxelles."] the national guard, which succeeded the king's guard, having occupied the gates of the tuileries, all who came to see the queen were insulted with impunity. menacing cries were uttered aloud even in the tuileries; they called for the destruction of the throne, and the murder of the sovereign; the grossest insults were offered by the very lowest of the mob. about this time the king fell into a despondent state, which amounted almost to physical helplessness. he passed ten successive days without uttering a single word, even in the bosom of his family; except, indeed, when playing at backgammon after dinner with madame elisabeth. the queen roused him from this state, so fatal at a critical period, by throwing herself at his feet, urging every alarming idea, and employing every affectionate expression. she represented also what he owed to his family; and told him that if they were doomed to fall they ought to fall honourably, and not wait to be smothered upon the floor of their apartment. about the th of june, , the king refused his sanction to the two decrees ordaining the deportation of priests and the formation of a camp of twenty thousand men under the walls of paris. he himself wished to sanction them, and said that the general insurrection only waited for a pretence to burst forth. the queen insisted upon the veto, and reproached herself bitterly when this last act of the constitutional authority had occasioned the day of the th of june. a few days previously about twenty thousand men had gone to the commune to announce that, on the th, they would plant the tree of liberty at the door of the national assembly, and present a petition to the king respecting the veto which he had placed upon the decree for the deportation of the priests. this dreadful army crossed the garden of the tuileries, and marched under the queen's windows; it consisted of people who called themselves the citizens of the faubourgs st. antoine and st. marceau. clothed in filthy rags, they bore a most terrifying appearance, and even infected the air. people asked each other where such an army could come from; nothing so disgusting had ever before appeared in paris. on the th of june this mob thronged about the tuileries in still greater numbers, armed with pikes, hatchets, and murderous instruments of all kinds, decorated with ribbons of the national colours, shouting, "the nation for ever! down with the veto!" the king was without guards. some of these desperadoes rushed up to his apartment; the door was about to be forced in, when the king commanded that it should be opened. messieurs de bougainville, d'hervilly, de parois, d'aubier, acloque, gentil, and other courageous men who were in the apartment of m. de septeuil, the king's first valet de chambre, instantly ran to his majesty's apartment. m. de bougainville, seeing the torrent furiously advancing, cried out, "put the king in the recess of the window, and place benches before him." six royalist grenadiers of the battalion of the filles saint thomas made their way by an inner staircase, and ranged themselves before the benches. the order given by m. de bougainville saved the king from the blades of the assassins, among whom was a pole named lazousky, who was to strike the first blow. the king's brave defenders said, "sire, fear nothing." the king's reply is well known: "put your hand upon my heart, and you will perceive whether i am afraid." m. vanot, commandant of battalion, warded off a blow aimed by a wretch against the king; a grenadier of the filles saint thomas parried a sword-thrust made in the same direction. madame elisabeth ran to her brother's apartments; when she reached the door she heard loud threats of death against the queen: they called for the head of the austrian. "ah! let them think i am the queen," she said to those around her, "that she may have time to escape." the queen could not join the king; she was in the council chamber, where she had been placed behind the great table to protect her, as much as possible, against the approach of the barbarians. preserving a noble and becoming demeanour in this dreadful situation, she held the dauphin before her, seated upon the table. madame was at her side; the princesse de lamballe, the princesse de tarente, madame de la roche-aymon, madame de tourzel, and madame de mackau surrounded her. she had fixed a tricoloured cockade, which one of the national guard had given her, upon her head. the poor little dauphin was, like the king, shrouded in an enormous red cap. the horde passed in files before the table; [one of the circumstances of the th of june which most vexed the king's friends being that of his wearing the bonnet rouge nearly three hours, i ventured to ask him for some explanation of a fact so strikingly in contrast with the extraordinary intrepidity shown by his majesty during that horrible day. this was his answer: "the cries of 'the nation for ever!' violently increasing around me, and seeming to be addressed to me, i replied that the nation had not a warmer friend than myself. upon this an ill-looking man, making his way through the crowd, came up to me and said, rather roughly, 'well, if you speak the truth, prove it by putting on this red cap.' 'i consent,' replied i. one or two of them immediately came forward and placed the cap upon my hair, for it was too small for my head. i was convinced, i knew not why, that his intention was merely to place the cap upon my head for a moment, and then to take it off again; and i was so completely taken up with what was passing before me that i did not feel whether the cap did or did not remain upon my hair. i was so little aware of it that when i returned to my room i knew only from being told so that it was still there. i was very much surprised to find it upon my head, and was the more vexed at it because i might have taken it off immediately without the smallest difficulty. but i am satisfied that if i had hesitated to consent to its being placed upon my head the drunken fellow who offered it to me would have thrust his pike into my stomach."--"memoirs of bertrand de molleville."] the sort of standards which they carried were symbols of the most atrocious barbarity. there was one representing a gibbet, to which a dirty doll was suspended; the words "marie antoinette a la lanterne" were written beneath it. another was a board, to which a bullock's heart was fastened, with "heart of louis xvi." written round it. and a third showed the horn of an ox, with an obscene inscription. one of the most furious jacobin women who marched with these wretches stopped to give vent to a thousand imprecations against the queen. her majesty asked whether she had ever seen her. she replied that she had not. whether she had done her any, personal wrong? her answer was the same; but she added: "it is you who have caused the misery of the nation." "you have been told so," answered the queen; "you are deceived. as the wife of the king of france, and mother of the dauphin, i am a french-woman; i shall never see my own country again, i can be happy or unhappy only in france; i was happy when you loved me." the fury began to weep, asked her pardon, and said, "it was because i did not know you; i see that you are good." santerre, the monarch of the faubourgs, made his subjects file off as quickly as he could; and it was thought at the time that he was ignorant of the object of this insurrection, which was the murder of the royal family. however, it was eight o'clock in the evening before the palace was completely cleared. twelve deputies, impelled by attachment to the king's person, ranged themselves near him at the commencement of the insurrection; but the deputation from the assembly did not reach the tuileries until six in the evening; all the doors of the apartments were broken. the queen pointed out to the deputies the state of the king's palace, and the disgraceful manner in which his asylum had been violated under the very eyes of the assembly; she saw that merlin de thionville was so much affected as to shed tears while she spoke. "you weep, m. merlin," said she to him, "at seeing the king and his family so cruelly treated by a people whom he always wished to make happy." "true, madame," replied merlin; "i weep for the misfortunes of a beautiful and feeling woman, the mother of a family; but do not mistake, not one of my tears falls for either king or queen; i hate kings and queens,--it is my religion." the queen could not appreciate this madness, and saw all that was to be apprehended by persons who evinced it. all hope was gone, and nothing was thought of but succour from abroad. the queen appealed to her family and the king's brothers; her letters probably became more pressing, and expressed apprehensions upon the tardiness of relief. her majesty read me one to herself from the archduchess christina, gouvernante of the low countries: she reproached the queen for some of her expressions, and told her that those out of france were at least as much alarmed as herself at the king's situation and her own; but that the manner of attempting to assist her might either save her or endanger her safety; and that the members of the coalition were bound to act prudently, entrusted as they were with interests so dear to them. the th of july, , fixed by the constitution as the anniversary of the independence of the nation drew near. the king and queen were compelled to make their appearance on the occasion; aware that the plot of the th of june had their assassination for its object, they had no doubt but that their death was determined on for the day of this national festival. the queen was recommended, in order to give the king's friends time to defend him if the attack should be made, to guard him against the first stroke of a dagger by making him wear a breastplate. i was directed to get one made in my apartments: it was composed of fifteen folds of italian taffety, and formed into an under-waistcoat and a wide belt. this breastplate was tried; it resisted all thrusts of the dagger, and several balls were turned aside by it. when it was completed the difficulty was to let the king try it on without running the risk of being surprised. i wore the immense heavy waistcoat as an under-petticoat for three days without being able to find a favourable moment. at length the king found an opportunity one morning to pull off his coat in the queen's chamber and try on the breastplate. the queen was in bed; the king pulled me gently by the gown, and drew me as far as he could from the queen's bed, and said to me, in a very low tone of voice: "it is to satisfy her that i submit to this inconvenience: they will not assassinate me; their scheme is changed; they will put me to death another way." the queen heard the king whispering to me, and when he was gone out she asked me what he had said. i hesitated to answer; she insisted that i should, saying that nothing must be concealed from her, and that she was resigned upon every point. when she was informed of the king's remark she told me she had guessed it, that he had long since observed to her that all which was going forward in france was an imitation of the revolution in england in the time of charles i., and that he was incessantly reading the history of that unfortunate monarch in order that he might act better than charles had done at a similar crisis. "i begin to be fearful of the king's being brought to trial," continued the queen; "as to me, i am a foreigner; they will assassinate me. what will become of my poor children?" these sad ejaculations were followed by a torrent of tears. i wished to give her an antispasmodic; she refused it, saying that only happy women could feel nervous; that the cruel situation to which she was reduced rendered these remedies useless. in fact, the queen, who during her happier days was frequently attacked by hysterical disorders, enjoyed more uniform health when all the faculties of her soul were called forth to support her physical strength. i had prepared a corset for her, for the same purpose as the king's under-waistcoat, without her knowledge; but she would not make use of it; all my entreaties, all my tears, were in vain. "if the factions assassinate me," she replied, "it will be a fortunate event for me; they will deliver me from a most painful existence." a few days after the king had tried on his breastplate i met him on a back staircase. i drew back to let him pass. he stopped and took my hand; i wished to kiss his; he would not suffer it, but drew me towards him by the hand, and kissed both my cheeks without saying a single word. the fear of another attack upon the tuileries occasioned scrupulous search among the king's papers i burnt almost all those belonging to the queen. she put her family letters, a great deal of correspondence which she thought it necessary to preserve for the history of the era of the revolution, and particularly barnave's letters and her answers, of which she had copies, into a portfolio, which she entrusted to m. de j----. that gentleman was unable to save this deposit, and it was burnt. the queen left a few papers in her secretaire. among them were instructions to madame de tourzel, respecting the dispositions of her children and the characters and abilities of the sub-governesses under that lady's orders. this paper, which the queen drew up at the time of madame de tourzel's appointment, with several letters from maria theresa, filled with the best advice and instructions, was printed after the th of august by order of the assembly in the collection of papers found in the secretaires of the king and queen. her majesty had still, without reckoning the income of the month, one hundred and forty thousand francs in gold. she was desirous of depositing the whole of it with me; but i advised her to retain fifteen hundred louis, as a sum of rather considerable amount might be suddenly necessary for her. the king had an immense quantity of papers, and unfortunately conceived the idea of privately making, with the assistance of a locksmith who had worked with him above ten years, a place of concealment in an inner corridor of his apartments. the place of concealment, but for the man's information, would have been long undiscovered? the wall in which it was made was painted to imitate large stones, and the opening was entirely concealed among the brown grooves which formed the shaded part of these painted stones. but even before this locksmith had denounced what was afterwards called the iron closet to the assembly, the queen was aware that he had talked of it to some of his friends; and that this man, in whom the king from long habit placed too much confidence, was a jacobin. she warned the king of it, and prevailed on him to fill a very large portfolio with all the papers he was most interested in preserving, and entrust it to me. she entreated him in my presence to leave nothing in this closet; and the king, in order to quiet her, told her that he had left nothing there. i would have taken the portfolio and carried it to my apartment, but it was too heavy for me to lift. the king said he would carry it himself; i went before to open the doors for him. when he placed the portfolio in my inner closet he merely said, "the queen will tell you what it contains." upon my return to the queen i put the question to her, deeming, from what the king had said, that it was necessary i should know. "they are," the queen answered me, "such documents as would be most dangerous to the king should they go so far as to proceed to a trial against him. but what he wishes me to tell you is, that the portfolio contains a 'proces-verbal' of a cabinet council, in which the king gave his opinion against the war. he had it signed by all the ministers, and, in case of a trial, he trusts that this document will be very useful to him." i asked the queen to whom she thought i ought to commit the portfolio. "to whom you please," answered she; "you alone are answerable for it. do not quit the palace even during your vacation months: there may be circumstances under which it would be very desirable that we should be able to have it instantly." at this period m. de la fayette, who had probably given up the idea of establishing a republic in france similar to that of the united states, and was desirous to support the first constitution which he had sworn to defend, quitted his army and came to the assembly for the purpose of supporting by his presence and by an energetic speech a petition signed by twenty thousand citizens against the late violation of the residence of the king and his family. the general found the constitutional party powerless, and saw that he himself had lost his popularity. the assembly disapproved of the step he had taken; the king, for whom it, was taken, showed no satisfaction at it, and he saw himself compelled to return to his army as quickly as he could. he thought he could rely on the national guard; but on the day of his arrival those officers who were in the king's interest inquired of his majesty whether they were to forward the views of gendral de la fayette by joining him in such measures as he should pursue during his stay at paris. the king enjoined them not to do so. from this answer m. de la fayette perceived that he was abandoned by the remainder of his party in the paris guard. on his arrival a plan was presented to the queen, in which it was proposed by a junction between la fayette's army and the king's party to rescue the royal family and convey them to rouen. i did not learn the particulars of this plan; the queen only said to me upon the subject that m. de la fayette was offered to them as a resource; but that it would be better for them to perish than to owe their safety to the man who had done them the most mischief, or to place themselves under the necessity of treating with him. i passed the whole month of july without going to bed; i was fearful of some attack by night. there was one plot against the queen's life which has never been made known. i was alone by her bedside at one o'clock in the morning; we heard somebody walking softly down the corridor, which passes along the whole line of her apartments, and which was then locked at each end. i went out to fetch the valet de chambre; he entered the corridor, and the queen and myself soon heard the noise of two men fighting. the unfortunate princess held me locked in her arms, and said to me, "what a situation! insults by day and assassins by night!" the valet de chambre cried out to her from the corridor, "madame, it is a wretch that i know; i have him!"--"let him go," said the queen; "open the door to him; he came to murder me; the jacobins would carry him about in triumph to-morrow." the man was a servant of the king's toilet, who had taken the key of the corridor out of his majesty's pocket after he was in bed, no doubt with the intention of committing the crime suspected. the valet de chambre, who was a very strong man, held him by the wrists, and thrust him out at the door. the wretch did not speak a word. the valet de chambre said, in answer to the queen, who spoke to him gratefully of the danger to which he had exposed himself, that he feared nothing, and that he had always a pair of excellent pistols about him for no other purpose than to defend her majesty. the next day m. de septeuil had all the locks of the king's inner apartments changed. i did the same by those of the queen. we were every moment told that the faubourg st. antoine was preparing to march against the palace. at four o'clock one morning towards the latter end of july a person came to give me information to that effect. i instantly sent off two men, on whom i could rely, with orders to proceed to the usual places for assembling, and to come back speedily and give me an account of the state of the city. we knew that at least an hour must elapse before the populace or the faubourgs assembled on the site of the bastille could reach the tuileries. it seemed to me sufficient for the queen's safety that all about her should be awakened. i went softly into her room; she was asleep; i did not awaken her. i found general de w----in the great closet; he told me the meeting was, for this once, dispersing. the general had endeavoured to please the populace by the same means as m. de la fayette had employed. he saluted the lowest poissarde, and lowered his hat down to his very stirrup. but the populace, who had been flattered for three years, required far different homage to its power, and the poor man was unnoticed. the king had been awakened, and so had madame elisabeth, who had gone to him. the queen, yielding to the weight of her griefs, slept till nine o'clock on that day, which was very unusual with her. the king had already been to know whether she was awake; i told him what i had done, and the care i had taken not to disturb her. he thanked me, and said, "i was awake, and so was the whole palace; she ran no risk. i am very glad to see her take a little rest. alas! her griefs double mine!" what was my chagrin when, upon awaking and learning what had passed, the queen burst into tears from regret at not having been called, and began to upbraid me, on whose friendship she ought to have been able to rely, for having served her so ill under such circumstances! in vain did i reiterate that it had been only a false alarm, and that she required to have her strength recruited. "it is not diminished," said she; "misfortune gives us additional strength. elisabeth was with the king, and i was asleep,--i who am determined to perish by his side! i am his wife; i will not suffer him to incur the smallest risk without my sharing it." chapter viii. during july the correspondence of m. bertrand de molleville with the king and queen was most active. m. de marsilly, formerly a lieutenant of the cent-suisses of the guard, was the bearer of the letters. [i received by night only the king's answer, written with his own hand, in the margin of my letter. i always sent him back with the day's letter that to which he had replied the day before, so that my letters and his answers, of which i contented myself with taking notes only, never remained with me twenty-four hours. i proposed this arrangement to his majesty to remove all uneasiness from his mind; my letters were generally delivered to the king or the queen by m. de marsilly, captain of the king's guard, whose attachment and fidelity were known to their majesties. i also sometimes employed m. bernard de marigny, who had left brest for the purpose of sharing with his majesty's faithful servants the dangers which threatened the king.--"memoirs of bertrand de molleville," vol. ii., p. .] he came to me the first time with a note from the queen directed to m. bertrand himself. in this note the queen said: "address yourself with full confidence to madame campan; the conduct of her brother in russia has not at all influenced her sentiments; she is wholly devoted to us; and if, hereafter, you should have anything to say to us verbally, you may rely entirely upon her devotion and discretion." the mobs which gathered almost nightly in the faubourgs alarmed the queen's friends; they entreated her not to sleep in her room on the ground floor of the tuileries. she removed to the first floor, to a room which was between the king's apartments and those of the dauphin. being awake always from daybreak, she ordered that neither the shutters nor the window-blinds should be closed, that her long sleepless nights might be the less weary. about the middle of one of these nights, when the moon was shining into her bedchamber, she gazed at it, and told me that in a month she should not see that moon unless freed from her chains, and beholding the king at liberty. she then imparted to me all that was concurring to deliver them; but said that the opinions of their intimate advisers were alarmingly at variance; that some vouched for complete success, while others pointed out insurmountable dangers. she added that she possessed the itinerary of the march of the princes and the king of prussia: that on such a day they would be at verdun, on another day at such a place, that lille was about to be besieged, but that m. de j-----, whose prudence and intelligence the king, as well as herself, highly valued, alarmed them much respecting the success of that siege, and made them apprehensive that, even were the commandant devoted to them, the civil authority, which by the constitution gave great power to the mayors of towns, would overrule the military commandant. she was also very uneasy as to what would take place at paris during the interval, and spoke to me of the king's want of energy, but always in terms expressive of her veneration for his virtues and her attachment to himself.--"the king," said she, "is not a coward; he possesses abundance of passive courage, but he is overwhelmed by an awkward shyness, a mistrust of himself, which proceeds from his education as much as from his disposition. he is afraid to command, and, above all things, dreads speaking to assembled numbers. he lived like a child, and always ill at ease under the eyes of louis xv., until the age of twenty-one. this constraint confirmed his timidity. "circumstanced as we are, a few well-delivered words addressed to the parisians, who are devoted to him, would multiply the strength of our party a hundredfold: he will not utter them. what can we expect from those addresses to the people which he has been advised to post up? nothing but fresh outrages. as for myself, i could do anything, and would appear on horseback if necessary. but if i were really to begin to act, that would be furnishing arms to the king's enemies; the cry against the austrian, and against the sway of a woman, would become general in france; and, moreover, by showing myself, i should render the king a mere nothing. a queen who is not regent ought, under these circumstances, to remain passive and prepare to die." the garden of the tuileries was full of maddened men, who insulted all who seemed to side with the court. "the life of marie antoinette" was cried under the queen's windows, infamous plates were annexed to the book, the hawkers showed them to the passersby. on all sides were heard the jubilant outcries of a people in a state of delirium almost as frightful as the explosion of their rage. the queen and her children were unable to breathe the open air any longer. it was determined that the garden of the tuileries should be closed: as soon as this step was taken the assembly decreed that the whole length of the terrace des feuillans belonged to it, and fixed the boundary between what was called the national ground and the coblentz ground by a tricoloured ribbon stretched from one end of the terrace to the other. all good citizens were ordered, by notices affixed to it, not to go down into the garden, under pain of being treated in the same manner as foulon and berthier. a young man who did not observe this written order went down into the garden; furious outcries, threats of la lanterne, and the crowd of people which collected upon the terrace warned him of his imprudence, and the danger which he ran. he immediately pulled off his shoes, took out his handkerchief, and wiped the dust from their soles. the people cried out, "bravo! the good citizen for ever!" he was carried off in triumph. the shutting up of the tuileries did not enable the queen and her children to walk in the garden. the people on the terrace sent forth dreadful shouts, and she was twice compelled to return to her apartments. in the early part of august many zealous persons offered the king money; he refused considerable sums, being unwilling to injure the fortunes of individuals. m. de la ferte, intendant of the 'menus plaisirs', brought me a thousand louis, requesting me to lay them at the feet of the queen. he thought she could not have too much money at so perilous a time, and that every good frenchman should hasten to place all his ready money in her hands. she refused this sum, and others of much greater amount which were offered to her. [m. auguie, my brother-in-law, receiver-general of the finances, offered her, through his wife, a portfolio containing one hundred thousand crowns in paper money. on this occasion the queen said the most affecting things to my sister, expressive of her happiness at having contributed to the fortunes of such faithful subjects as herself and her husband, but declined her offer.--madame campan.] however, a few days afterwards, she told me she would accept m. de la ferte's twenty-four thousand francs, because they would make up a sum which the king had to expend. she therefore directed, me to go and receive those twenty-four thousand francs, to add them to the one hundred thousand francs she had placed in my hands, and to change the whole into assignats to increase their amount. her orders were executed, and the assignats were delivered to the king. the queen informed me that madame elisabeth had found a well-meaning man who had engaged to gain over petion by the bribe of a large sum of money, and that deputy would, by a preconcerted signal, inform the king of the success of the project. his majesty soon had an opportunity of seeing petion, and on the queen asking him before me if he was satisfied with him, the king replied, "neither more nor less satisfied than usual; he did not make the concerted signal, and i believe i have been cheated." the queen then condescended to explain the whole of the enigma to me. "petion," said she, "was, while talking to the king, to have kept his finger fixed upon his right eye for at least two seconds."--"he did not even put his hand up to his chin," said the king; "after all, it is but so much money stolen: the thief will not boast of it, and the affair will remain a secret. let us talk of something else." he turned to me and said, "your father was an intimate friend of mandat, who now commands the national guard; describe him to me; what ought i to expect from him?" i answered that he was one of his majesty's most faithful subjects, but that with a great deal of loyalty he possessed very little sense, and that he was involved in the constitutional vortex. "i understand," said the king; "he is a man who would defend my palace and my person, because that is enjoined by the constitution which he has sworn to support, but who would fight against the party in favour of sovereign authority; it is well to know this with certainty." on the next day the princesse de lamballe sent for me very early in the morning. i found her on a sofa facing a window that looked upon the pont royal. she then occupied that apartment of the pavilion of flora which was on a level with that of the queen. she desired me to sit down by her. her highness had a writing-desk upon her knees. "you have had many enemies," said she; "attempts have been made to deprive you of the queen's favour; they have been far from successful. do you know that even i myself, not being so well acquainted with you as the queen, was rendered suspicious of you; and that upon the arrival of the court at the tuileries i gave you a companion to be a spy upon you; and that i had another belonging to the police placed at your door! i was assured that you received five or six of the most virulent deputies of the tiers etat; but it was that wardrobe woman whose rooms were above you. "in short," said the princess, "persons of integrity have nothing to fear from the evil-disposed when they belong to so upright a prince as the king. as to the queen, she knows you, and has loved you ever since she came into france. you shall judge of the king's opinion of you: it was yesterday evening decided in the family circle that, at a time when the tuileries is likely to be attacked, it was necessary to have the most faithful account of the opinions and conduct of all the individuals composing the queen's service. the king takes the same precaution on his part respecting all who are about him. he said there was with him a person of great integrity, to whom he would commit this inquiry; and that, with regard to the queen's household, you must be spoken to, that he had long studied your character, and that he esteemed your veracity." the princess had a list of the names of all who belonged to the queen's chamber on her desk. she asked me for information respecting each individual. i was fortunate in having none but the most favourable information to give. i had to speak of my avowed enemy in the queen's chamber; of her who most wished that i should be responsible for my brother's political opinions. the princess, as the head of the chamber, could not be ignorant of this circumstance; but as the person in question, who idolised the king and queen, would not have hesitated to sacrifice her life in order to save theirs, and as possibly her attachment to them, united to considerable narrowness of intellect and a limited education, contributed to her jealousy of me, i spoke of her in the highest terms. the princess wrote as i dictated, and occasionally looked at me with astonishment. when i had done i entreated her to write in the margin that the lady alluded to was my declared enemy. she embraced me, saying, "ah! do not write it! we should not record an unhappy circumstance which ought to be forgotten." we came to a man of genius who was much attached to the queen, and i described him as a man born solely to contradict, showing himself an aristocrat with democrats, and a democrat among aristocrats; but still a man of probity, and well disposed to his sovereign. the princess said she knew many persons of that disposition, and that she was delighted i had nothing to say against this man, because she herself had placed him about the queen. the whole of her majesty's chamber, which consisted entirely of persons of fidelity, gave throughout all the dreadful convulsions of the revolution proofs of the greatest prudence and self-devotion. the same cannot be said of the antechambers. with the exception of three or four, all the servants of that class were outrageous jacobins; and i saw on those occasions the necessity of composing the private household of princes of persons completely separated from the class of the people. the situation of the royal family was so unbearable during the months which immediately preceded the th of august that the queen longed for the crisis, whatever might be its issue. she frequently said that a long confinement in a tower by the seaside would seem to her less intolerable than those feuds in which the weakness of her party daily threatened an inevitable catastrophe. [a few days before the th of august the squabbles between the royalists and the jacobins, and between the jacobins and the constitutionalists, increased in warmth; among the latter those men who defended the principles they professed with the greatest talent, courage, and constancy were at the same time the most exposed to danger. montjoie says: "the question of dethronement was discussed with a degree of frenzy in the assembly. such of the deputies as voted against it were abused, ill treated, and surrounded by assassins. they had a battle to fight at every step they took; and at length they did not dare to sleep in their own houses. of this number were regnault de beaucaron, froudiere, girardin, and vaublanc. girardin complained of having been struck in one of the lobbies of the assembly. a voice cried out to him, 'say where were you struck.' 'where?' replied girardin, 'what a question! behind. do assassins ever strike otherwise?"] not only were their majesties prevented from breathing the open air, but they were also insulted at the very foot of the altar. the sunday before the last day of the monarchy, while the royal family went through the gallery to the chapel, half the soldiers of the national guard exclaimed, "long live the king!" and the other half, "no; no king! down with the veto!" and on that day at vespers the choristers preconcerted to use loud and threatening emphasis when chanting the words, "deposuit potentes de sede," in the "magnificat." incensed at such an irreverent proceeding, the royalists in their turn thrice exclaimed, "et reginam," after the "domine salvum fac regem." the tumult during the whole time of divine service was excessive. at length the terrible night of the th of august, , arrived. on the preceding evening potion went to the assembly and informed it that preparations were making for an insurrection on the following day; that the tocsin would sound at midnight; and that he feared he had not sufficient means for resisting the attack which was about to take place. upon this information the assembly passed to the order of the day. petion, however, gave an order for repelling force by force. [petion was the mayor of paris, and mandat on this day was commandant of the national guard. mandat was assassinated that night.--"thiers," vol. i., p. .] m. mandat was armed with this order; and, finding his fidelity to the king's person supported by what he considered the law of the state, he conducted himself in all his operations with the greatest energy. on the evening of the th i was present at the king's supper. while his majesty was giving me various orders we heard a great noise at the door of the apartment. i went to see what was the cause of it, and found the two sentinels fighting. one said, speaking of the king, that he was hearty in the cause of the constitution, and would defend it at the peril of his life; the other maintained that he was an encumbrance to the only constitution suitable to a free people. they were almost ready to cut one another's throats. i returned with a countenance which betrayed my emotion. the king desired to know what was going forward at his door; i could not conceal it from him. the queen said she was not at all surprised at it, and that more than half the guard belonged to the jacobin party. the tocsin sounded at midnight. the swiss were drawn up like walls; and in the midst of their soldierlike silence, which formed a striking contrast with the perpetual din of the town guard, the king informed m. de j-----, an officer of the staff, of the plan of defence laid down by general viomenil. m. de j----- said to me, after this private conference, "put your jewels and money into your pockets; our dangers are unavoidable; the means of defence are nil; safety might be obtained by some degree of energy in the king, but that is the only virtue in which he is deficient." an hour after midnight the queen and madame elisabeth said they would lie down on a sofa in a room in the entresols, the windows of which commanded the courtyard of the tuileries. the queen told me the king had just refused to put on his quilted under-waistcoat; that he had consented to wear it on the th of july because he was merely going to a ceremony where the blade of an assassin was to be apprehended, but that on a day on which his party might fight against the revolutionists he thought there was something cowardly in preserving his life by such means. during this time madame elisabeth disengaged herself from some of her clothing which encumbered her in order to lie down on the sofa: she took a cornelian pin out of her cape, and before she laid it down on the table she showed it to me, and desired me to read a motto engraved upon it round a stalk of lilies. the words were, "oblivion of injuries; pardon for offences."--"i much fear," added that virtuous princess, "this maxim has but little influence among our enemies; but it ought not to be less dear to us on that account." [the exalted piety of madame elisabeth gave to all she said and did a noble character, descriptive of that of her soul. on the day on which this worthy descendant of saint louis was sacrificed, the executioner, in tying her hands behind her, raised up one of the ends of her handkerchief. madame elisabeth, with calmness, and in a voice which seemed not to belong to earth, said to him, "in the name of modesty, cover my bosom." i learned this from madame de serilly, who was condemned the same day as the princess, but who obtained a respite at the moment of the execution, madame de montmorin, her relation, declaring that her cousin was enceinte.-madame campan.] the queen desired me to sit down by her; the two princesses could not sleep; they were conversing mournfully upon their situation when a musket was discharged in the courtyard. they both quitted the sofa, saying, "there is the first shot, unfortunately it will not be the last; let us go up to the king." the queen desired me to follow her; several of her women went with me. at four o'clock the queen came out of the king's chamber and told us she had no longer any hope; that m. mandat, who had gone to the hotel de ville to receive further orders, had just been assassinated, and that the people were at that time carrying his head about the streets. day came. the king, the queen, madame elisabeth, madame, and the dauphin went down to pass through the ranks of the sections of the national guard; the cry of "vive le roi!" was heard from a few places. i was at a window on the garden side; i saw some of the gunners quit their posts, go up to the king, and thrust their fists in his face, insulting him by the most brutal language. messieurs de salvert and de bridges drove them off in a spirited manner. the king was as pale as a corpse. the royal family came in again. the queen told me that all was lost; that the king had shown no energy; and that this sort of review had done more harm than good. i was in the billiard-room with my companions; we placed ourselves upon some high benches. i then saw m. d'hervilly with a drawn sword in his hand, ordering the usher to open the door to the french noblesse. two hundred persons entered the room nearest to that in which the family were; others drew up in two lines in the preceding rooms. i saw a few people belonging to the court, many others whose features were unknown to me, and a few who figured technically without right among what was called the noblesse, but whose self-devotion ennobled them at once. they were all so badly armed that even in that situation the indomitable french liveliness indulged in jests. m. de saint-souplet, one of the king's equerries, and a page, carried on their shoulders instead of muskets the tongs belonging to the king's antechamber, which they had broken and divided between them. another page, who had a pocket-pistol in his hand, stuck the end of it against the back of the person who stood before him, and who begged he would be good enough to rest it elsewhere. a sword and a pair of pistols were the only arms of those who had had the precaution to provide themselves with arms at all. meanwhile, the numerous bands from the faubourgs, armed with pikes and cutlasses, filled the carrousel and the streets adjacent to the tuileries. the sanguinary marseillais were at their head, with cannon pointed against the chateau. in this emergency the king's council sent m. dejoly, the minister of justice, to the assembly to request they would send the king a deputation which might serve as a safeguard to the executive power. his ruin was resolved on; they passed to the order of the day. at eight o'clock the department repaired to the chateau. the procureur-syndic, seeing that the guard within was ready to join the assailants, went into the king's closet and requested to speak to him in private. the king received him in his chamber; the queen was with him. there m. roederer told him that the king, all his family, and the people about them would inevitably perish unless his majesty immediately determined to go to the national assembly. the queen at first opposed this advice, but the procureur-syndic told her that she rendered herself responsible for the deaths of the king, her children, and all who were in the palace. she no longer objected. the king then consented to go to the assembly. as he set out, he said to the minister and persons who surrounded him, "come, gentlemen, there is nothing more to be done here." ["the king hesitated, the queen manifested the highest dissatisfaction. 'what!' said she,' are we alone; is there nobody who can act?'--'yes, madame, alone; action is useless--resistance is impossible.' one of the members of the department, m. gerdrot, insisted on the prompt execution of the proposed measure. 'silence, monsieur,' said the queen to him; 'silence; you are the only person who ought to be silent here; when the mischief is done, those who did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it.' . . . "the king remained mute; nobody spoke. it was reserved for me to give the last piece of advice. i had the firmness to say, 'let us go, and not deliberate; honour commands it, the good of the state requires it. let us go to the national assembly; this step ought to have been taken long ago: 'let us go,' said the king, raising his right hand; 'let us start; let us give this last mark of self-devotion, since it is necessary.' the queen was persuaded. her first anxiety was for the king, the second for her son; the king had none. 'm. roederer--gentlemen,' said the queen, 'you answer for the person of the king; you answer for that of my son.'--'madame,' replied m. roederer, 'we pledge ourselves to die at your side; that is all we can engage for.'"--montjoie, "history of marie antoinette."] the queen said to me as she left the king's chamber, "wait in my apartments; i will come to you, or i will send for you to go i know not whither." she took with her only the princesse de lamballe and madame de tourzel. the princesse de tarente and madame de la roche-aymon were inconsolable at being left at the tuileries; they, and all who belonged to the chamber, went down into the queen's apartments. we saw the royal family pass between two lines formed by the swiss grenadiers and those of the battalions of the petits-peres and the filles saint thomas. they were so pressed upon by the crowd that during that short passage the queen was robbed of her watch and purse. a man of great height and horrible appearance, one of such as were to be seen at the head of all the insurrections, drew near the dauphin, whom the queen was leading by the hand, and took him up in his arms. the queen uttered a scream of terror, and was ready to faint. the man said to her, "don't be frightened, i will do him no harm;" and he gave him back to her at the entrance of the chamber. i leave to history all the details of that too memorable day, confining myself to recalling a few of the frightful scenes acted in the interior of the tuileries after the king had quitted the palace. the assailants did not know that the king and his family had betaken themselves to the assembly; and those who defended the palace from the aide of the courts were equally ignorant of it. it is supposed that if they had been aware of the fact the siege would never have taken place. [in reading of the events of the th of august, , the reader must remember that there was hardly any armed force to resist the mob. the regiments that had shown signs of being loyal to the king had been removed from paris by the assembly. the swiss had been deprived of their own artillery, and the court had sent one of their battalions into normandy at a time when there was an idea of taking refuge there. the national guard were either disloyal or disheartened, and the gunners, especially of that force at the tuileries, sympathised with the mob. thus the king had about or swiss and little more than one battalion of the national guard. mandat, one of the six heads of the legions of the national guard, to whose turn the command fell on that day, was true to his duty, but was sent for to the hotel de ville and assassinated. still the small force, even after the departure of the king, would have probably beaten off the mob had not the king given the fatal order to the swiss to cease firing. (see thiers's "revolution francaise," vol. i., chap. xi.) bonaparte's opinion of the mob may be judged by his remarks on the th june, , when, disgusted at seeing the king appear with the red cap on his head, he exclaimed, "che coglione! why have they let in all that rabble? why don't they sweep off or of them with the cannon? the rest would then set off." ("bourrienne," vol. i., p. , bentley, london, .) bonaparte carried out his own plan against a far stronger force of assailants on the jour des sections, th october, .] the marseillais began by driving from their posts several swiss, who yielded without resistance; a few of the assailants fired upon them; some of the swiss officers, seeing their men fall, and perhaps thinking the king was still at the tuileries, gave the word to a whole battalion to fire. the aggressors were thrown into disorder, and the carrousel was cleared in a moment; but they soon returned, spurred on by rage and revenge. the swiss were but eight hundred strong; they fell back into the interior of the chateau; some of the doors were battered in by the guns, others broken through with hatchets; the populace rushed from all quarters into the interior of the palace; almost all the swiss were massacred; the nobles, flying through the gallery which leads to the louvre, were either stabbed or shot, and the bodies thrown out of the windows. m. pallas and m. de marchais, ushers of the king's chamber, were killed in defending the door of the council chamber; many others of the king's servants fell victims to their fidelity. i mention these two persons in particular because, with their hats pulled over their brows and their swords in their hands, they exclaimed, as they defended themselves with unavailing courage, "we will not survive!--this is our post; our duty is to die at it." m. diet behaved in the same manner at the door of the queen's bedchamber; he experienced the same fate. the princesse de tarente had fortunately opened the door of the apartments; otherwise, the dreadful band seeing several women collected in the queen's salon would have fancied she was among us, and would have immediately massacred us had we resisted them. we were, indeed, all about to perish, when a man with a long beard came up, exclaiming, in the name of potion, "spare the women; don't dishonour the nation!" a particular circumstance placed me in greater danger than the others. in my confusion i imagined, a moment before the assailants entered the queen's apartments, that my sister was not among the group of women collected there; and i went up into an 'entresol', where i supposed she had taken refuge, to induce her to come down, fancying it safer that we should not be separated. i did not find her in the room in question; i saw there only our two femmes de chambre and one of the queen's two heyducs, a man of great height and military aspect. i saw that he was pale, and sitting on a bed. i cried out to him, "fly! the footmen and our people are already safe."--"i cannot," said the man to me; "i am dying of fear." as he spoke i heard a number of men rushing hastily up the staircase; they threw themselves upon him, and i saw him assassinated. i ran towards the staircase, followed by our women. the murderers left the heyduc to come to me. the women threw themselves at their feet, and held their sabres. the narrowness of the staircase impeded the assassins; but i had already felt a horrid hand thrust into my back to seize me by my clothes, when some one called out from the bottom of the staircase, "what are you doing above there? we don't kill women." i was on my knees; my executioner quitted his hold of me, and said, "get up, you jade; the nation pardons you." the brutality of these words did not prevent my suddenly experiencing an indescribable feeling which partook almost equally of the love of life and the idea that i was going to see my son, and all that was dear to me, again. a moment before i had thought less of death than of the pain which the steel, suspended over my head, would occasion me. death is seldom seen so close without striking his blow. i heard every syllable uttered by the assassins, just as if i had been calm. five or six men seized me and my companions, and, having made us get up on benches placed before the windows, ordered us to call out, "the nation for ever!" i passed over several corpses; i recognised that of the old vicomte de broves, to whom the queen had sent me at the beginning of the night to desire him and another old man in her name to go home. these brave men desired i would tell her majesty that they had but too strictly obeyed the king's orders in all circumstances under which they ought to have exposed their own lives in order to preserve his; and that for this once they would not obey, though they would cherish the recollection of the queen's goodness. near the grille, on the side next the bridge, the men who conducted me asked whither i wished to go. upon my inquiring, in my turn, whether they were at liberty to take me wherever i might wish to go, one of them, a marseillais, asked me, giving me at the same time a push with the butt end of his musket, whether i still doubted the power of the people? i answered "no," and i mentioned the number of my brother-in-law's house. i saw my sister ascending the steps of the parapet of the bridge, surrounded by members of the national guard. i called to her, and she turned round. "would you have her go with you?" said my guardian to me. i told him i did wish it. they called the people who were leading my sister to prison; she joined me. madame de la roche-aymon and her daughter, mademoiselle pauline de tourzel, madame de ginestoux, lady to the princesse de lamballe, the other women of the queen, and the old comte d'affry, were led off together to the abbaye. our progress from the tuileries to my sister's house was most distressing. we saw several swiss pursued and killed, and musket-shots were crossing each other in all directions. we passed under the walls of the louvre; they were firing from the parapet into the windows of the gallery, to hit the knights of the dagger; for thus did the populace designate those faithful subjects who had assembled at the tuileries to defend the king. the brigands broke some vessels of water in the queen's first antechamber; the mixture of blood and water stained the skirts of our white gowns. the poissardes screamed after us in the streets that we were attached to the austrian. our protectors then showed some consideration for us, and made us go up a gateway to pull off our gowns; but our petticoats being too short, and making us look like persons in disguise, other poissardes began to bawl out that we were young swiss dressed up like women. we then saw a tribe of female cannibals enter the street, carrying the head of poor mandat. our guards made us hastily enter a little public-house, called for wine, and desired us to drink with them. they assured the landlady that we were their sisters, and good patriots. happily the marseillais had quitted us to return to the tuileries. one of the men who remained with us said to me in a low voice: "i am a gauze-worker in the faubourg. i was forced to march; i am not for all this; i have not killed anybody, and have rescued you. you ran a great risk when we met the mad women who are carrying mandat's head. these horrible women said yesterday at midnight, upon the site of the bastille, that they must have their revenge for the th of october, at versailles, and that they had sworn to kill the queen and all the women attached to her; the danger of the action saved you all." as i crossed the carrousel, i saw my house in flames; but as soon as the first moment of affright was over, i thought no more of my personal misfortunes. my ideas turned solely upon the dreadful situation of the queen. on reaching my sister's we found all our family in despair, believing they should never see us again. i could not remain in her house; some of the mob, collected round the door, exclaimed that marie antoinette's confidante was in the house, and that they must have her head. i disguised myself, and was concealed in the house of m. morel, secretary for the lotteries. on the morrow i was inquired for there, in the name of the queen. a deputy, whose sentiments were known to her, took upon himself to find me out. i borrowed clothes, and went with my sister to the feuillans--[a former monastery near the tuileries, so called from the bernardines, one of the cistercian orders; later a revolutionary club.]--we got there at the same time with m. thierry de ville d'avray, the king's first valet de chambre. we were taken into an office, where we wrote down our names and places of abode, and we received tickets for admission into the rooms belonging to camus, the keeper of the archives, where the king was with his family. as we entered the first room, a person who was there said to me, "ah! you are a brave woman; but where is that thierry, [m. thierry, who never ceased to give his sovereign proofs of unalterable attachment, was one of the victims of the d of september.--madame campan.] that man loaded with his master's bounties?"--"he is here," said i; "he is following me. i perceive that even scenes of death do not banish jealousy from among you." having belonged to the court from my earliest youth, i was known to many persons whom i did not know. as i traversed a corridor above the cloisters which led to the cells inhabited by the unfortunate louis xvi. and his family, several of the grenadiers called me by name. one of them said to me, "well, the poor king is lost! the comte d'artois would have managed it better."--"not at all," said another. the royal family occupied a small suite of apartments consisting of four cells, formerly belonging to the ancient monastery of the feuillans. in the first were the men who had accompanied the king: the prince de poix, the baron d'aubier, m. de saint-pardou, equerry to madame elisabeth, mm. de goguelat, de chamilly, and de hue. in the second we found the king; he was having his hair dressed; he took two locks of it, and gave one to my sister and one to me. we offered to kiss his hand; he opposed it, and embraced us without saying anything. in the third was the queen, in bed, and in indescribable affliction. we found her accompanied only by a stout woman, who appeared tolerably civil; she was the keeper of the apartments. she waited upon the queen, who as yet had none of her own people about her. her majesty stretched out her arms to us, saying, "come, unfortunate women; come, and see one still more unhappy than yourselves, since she has been the cause of all your misfortunes. we are ruined," continued she; "we have arrived at that point to which they have been leading us for three years, through all possible outrages; we shall fall in this dreadful revolution, and many others will perish after us. all have contributed to our downfall; the reformers have urged it like mad people, and others through ambition, for the wildest jacobin seeks wealth and office, and the mob is eager for plunder. there is not one real patriot among all this infamous horde. the emigrant party have their intrigues and schemes; foreigners seek to profit by the dissensions of france; every one has a share in our misfortunes." the dauphin came in with madame and the marquise de tourzel. on seeing them the queen said to me, "poor children! how heartrending it is, instead of handing down to them so fine an inheritance, to say it ends with us!" she afterwards conversed with me about the tuileries and the persons who had fallen; she condescended also to mention the burning of my house. i looked upon that loss as a mischance which ought not to dwell upon her mind, and i told her so. she spoke of the princesse de tarente, whom she greatly loved and valued, of madame de la roche-aymon and her daughter, of the other persons whom she had left at the palace, and of the duchesse de luynes, who was to have passed the night at the tuileries. respecting her she said, "hers was one of the first heads turned by the rage for that mischievous philosophy; but her heart brought her back, and i again found a friend in her." [during the reign of terror i withdrew to the chateau de coubertin, near that of dampierre. the duchesse de luynes frequently came to ask me to tell her what the queen had said about her at the feuillans. she would say as she went away, "i have often need to request you to repeat those words of the queen."--madame campan.] i asked the queen what the ambassadors from foreign powers had done under existing circumstances. she told me that they could do nothing; and that the wife of the english ambassador had just given her a proof of the personal interest she took in her welfare by sending her linen for her son. i informed her that, in the pillaging of my house, all my accounts with her had been thrown into the carrousel, and that every sheet of my month's expenditure was signed by her, sometimes leaving four or five inches of blank paper above her signature, a circumstance which rendered me very uneasy, from an apprehension that an improper use might be made of those signatures. she desired me to demand admission to the committee of general safety, and to make this declaration there. i repaired thither instantly and found a deputy, with whose name i have never become acquainted. after hearing me he said that he would not receive my deposition; that marie antoinette was now nothing more than any other frenchwoman; and that if any of those detached papers bearing her signature should be misapplied, she would have, at a future period, a right to lodge a complaint, and to support her declaration by the facts which i had just related. the queen then regretted having sent me, and feared that she had, by her very caution, pointed out a method of fabricating forgeries which might be dangerous to her; then again she exclaimed, "my apprehensions are as absurd as the step i made you take. they need nothing more for our ruin; all has been told." she gave us details of what had taken place subsequently to the king's arrival at the assembly. they are all well known, and i have no occasion to record them; i will merely mention that she told us, though with much delicacy, that she was not a little hurt at the king's conduct since he had quitted the tuileries; that his habit of laying no restraint upon his great appetite had prompted him to eat as if he had been at his palace; that those who did not know him as she did, did not feel the piety and the magnanimity of his resignation, all which produced so bad an effect that deputies who were devoted to him had warned him of it; but no change could be effected. i still see in imagination, and shall always see, that narrow cell at the feuillans, hung with green paper, that wretched couch whence the dethroned, queen stretched out her arms to us, saying that our misfortunes, of which she was the cause, increased her own. there, for the last time, i saw the tears, i heard the sobs of her whom high birth, natural endowments, and, above all, goodness of heart, had seemed to destine to adorn any throne, and be the happiness of any people! it is impossible for those who lived with louis xvi. and marie antoinette not to be fully convinced, while doing full justice to the king's virtues, that if the queen had been from the moment of her arrival in france the object of the care and affection of a prince of decision and authority, she would have only added to the glory of his reign. what affecting things i have heard the queen say in the affliction caused her by the belief of part of the court and the whole of the people that she did not love france! how did that opinion shock those who knew her heart and her sentiments! twice did i see her on the point of going from her apartments in the tuileries into the gardens, to address the immense throng constantly assembled there to insult her. "yes," exclaimed she, as she paced her chamber with hurried steps, "i will say to them frenchmen, they have had the cruelty to persuade you that i do not love france!--i! the mother of a dauphin who will reign over this noble country!--i! whom providence has seated upon the most powerful throne of europe! of all the daughters of maria theresa am i not that one whom fortune has most highly favoured? and ought i not to feel all these advantages? what should i find at vienna? nothing but sepulchres! what should i lose in france? everything which can confer glory!" i protest i only repeat her own words; the soundness of her judgment soon pointed out to her the dangers of such a proceeding. "i should descend from the throne," said she, "merely, perhaps, to excite a momentary sympathy, which the factious would soon render more injurious than beneficial to me." yes, not only did marie antoinette love france, but few women took greater pride in the courage of frenchmen. i could adduce a multitude of proofs of this; i will relate two traits which demonstrate the noblest enthusiasm: the queen was telling me that, at the coronation of the emperor francis ii., that prince, bespeaking the admiration of a french general officer, who was then an emigrant, for the fine appearance of his troops, said to him, "there are the men to beat your sans culottes!" "that remains to be seen, sire," instantly replied the officer. the queen added, "i don't know the name of that brave frenchman, but i will learn it; the king ought to be in possession of it." as she was reading the public papers a few days before the th of august, she observed that mention was made of the courage of a young man who died in defending the flag he carried, and shouting, "vive la nation!"--"ah! the fine lad!" said the queen; "what a happiness it would have been for us if such men had never left off crying, 'vive de roi!'" in all that i have hitherto said of this most unfortunate of women and of queens, those who did not live with her, those who knew her but partially, and especially the majority of foreigners, prejudiced by infamous libels, may imagine i have thought it my duty to sacrifice truth on the altar of gratitude. fortunately i can invoke unexceptionable witnesses; they will declare whether what i assert that i have seen and heard appears to them either untrue or improbable. etext editor's bookmarks: a man born solely to contradict alas! her griefs double mine! he is afraid to command his ruin was resolved on; they passed to the order of the day king (gave) the fatal order to the swiss to cease firing la fayette to rescue the royal family and convey them to rouen prevent disorder from organising itself the emigrant party have their intrigues and schemes there is not one real patriot among all this infamous horde those who did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen chapter i. i was fifteen years of age when i was appointed reader to mesdames. i will begin by describing the court at that period. maria leczinska was just dead; the death of the dauphin had preceded hers by three years; the jesuits were suppressed, and piety was to be found at court only in the apartments of mesdames. the duc de choiseuil ruled. etiquette still existed at court with all the forms it had acquired under louis xiv.; dignity alone was wanting. as to gaiety, there was none. versailles was not the place at which to seek for assemblies where french spirit and grace were displayed. the focus of wit and intelligence was paris. the king thought of nothing but the pleasures of the chase: it might have been imagined that the courtiers indulged themselves in making epigrams by hearing them say seriously, on those days when the king did not hunt, "the king does nothing to-day."--[in sporting usance (see soulaire, p. ).] the arrangement beforehand of his movements was also a matter of great importance with louis xv. on the first day of the year he noted down in his almanac the days of departure for compiegne, fontainebleau, choisy, etc. the weightiest matters, the most serious events, never deranged this distribution of his time. since the death of the marquise de pompadour, the king had no titled mistress; he contented himself with his seraglio in the parc-aux-cerfs. it is well known that the monarch found the separation of louis de bourbon from the king of france the most animating feature of his royal existence. "they would have it so; they thought it for the best," was his way of expressing himself when the measures of his ministers were unsuccessful. the king delighted to manage the most disgraceful points of his private expenses himself; he one day sold to a head clerk in the war department a house in which one of his mistresses had lodged; the contract ran in the name of louis de bourbon, and the purchaser himself took in a bag the price of the house in gold to the king in his private closet. [until recently little was known about the parc-aux-cerfs, and it was believed that a great number of young women had been maintained there at enormous expense. the investigations of m. j. a. le roi, given in his interesting work, "curiosites historiques sur louis xiii., louis xiv., louis xv.," etc., paris, plon, , have thrown fresh light upon the matter. the result he arrives at (see page of his work) is that the house in question (no. rue st. mederic, on the site of the parc-aux-cerfs, or breeding-place for deer, of louis xiii) was very small, and could have held only one girl, the woman in charge of her, and a servant. most of the girls left it only when about to be confined, and it sometimes stood vacant for five or six months. it may have been rented before the date of purchase, and other houses seem sometimes to have been used also; but in any case, it is evident that both the number of girls and the expense incurred have been absurdly exaggerated. the system flourished under madame de pompadour, but ceased as soon as madame du barry obtained full power over the king, and the house was then sold to m. j. b. sevin for , livres, on th may, , louis not acting under the name of louis de bourbon, but as king,--"vente par le roi, notre sire." in he had also been declared its purchaser in a similar manner. thus, madame campan is in error in saying that the king made the contract as louis de bourbon.]--[and it also possible that madam campan was correct and that the house she refers to as sold for a "bag of gold" was another of the several of the seraglio establishments of louis xv. d.w.] louis xv. saw very little of his family. he came every morning by a private staircase into the apartment of madame adelaide. [louis xv. seemed to feel for madame adelaide the tenderness he had had for the duchesse de bourgogne, his mother, who perished so suddenly, under the eyes and almost in the arms of louis xiv. the birth of madame adelaide, d march, , was followed by that of madame victoire louise marie therese on the th may, . louis had, besides, six daughters: mesdames sophie and louise, who are mentioned in this chapter; the princesses marie and felicite, who died young; madame henriette died at versailles in , aged twenty-four; and finally, madame the duchess of parma, who also died at the court.] he often brought and drank there coffee that he had made himself. madame adelaide pulled a bell which apprised madame victoire of the king's visit; madame victoire, on rising to go to her sister's apartment, rang for madame sophie, who in her turn rang for madame louise. the apartments of mesdames were of very large dimensions. madame louise occupied the farthest room. this latter lady was deformed and very short; the poor princess used to run with all her might to join the daily meeting, but, having a number of rooms to cross, she frequently in spite of her haste, had only just time to embrace her father before he set out for the chase. every evening, at six, mesdames interrupted my reading to them to accompany the princes to louis xv.; this visit was called the king's 'debotter',--[debotter, meaning the time of unbooting.]--and was marked by a kind of etiquette. mesdames put on an enormous hoop, which set out a petticoat ornamented with gold or embroidery; they fastened a long train round their waists, and concealed the undress of the rest of their clothing by a long cloak of black taffety which enveloped them up to the chin. the chevaliers d'honneur, the ladies in waiting, the pages, the equerries, and the ushers bearing large flambeaux, accompanied them to the king. in a moment the whole palace, generally so still, was in motion; the king kissed each princess on the forehead, and the visit was so short that the reading which it interrupted was frequently resumed at the end of a quarter of an hour; mesdames returned to their apartments, and untied the strings of their petticoats and trains; they resumed their tapestry, and i my book. during the summer season the king sometimes came to the residence of mesdames before the hour of his 'debotter'. one day he found me alone in madame victoire's closet, and asked me where 'coche'[piggy] was; i started, and he repeated his question, but without being at all the more understood. when the king was gone i asked madame of whom he spoke. she told me that it was herself, and very coolly explained to me, that, being the fattest of his daughters, the king had given her the familiar name of 'coche'; that he called madame adelaide, 'logue' [tatters], madame sophie, 'graille'[mite], and madame louise, 'chiffie'[rubbish]. the people of the king's household observed that he knew a great number of such words; possibly he had amused himself with picking them out from dictionaries. if this style of speaking betrayed the habits and tastes of the king, his manner savoured nothing of such vulgarity; his walk was easy and noble, he had a dignified carriage of the head, and his aspect, with out being severe, was imposing; he combined great politeness with a truly regal demeanour, and gracefully saluted the humblest woman whom curiosity led into his path. he was very expert in a number of trifling matters which never occupy attention but when there is a lack of something better to employ it; for instance, he would knock off the top of an egg-shell at a single stroke of his fork; he therefore always ate eggs when he dined in public, and the parisians who came on sundays to see the king dine, returned home less struck with his fine figure than with the dexterity with which he broke his eggs. repartees of louis xv., which marked the keenness of his wit and the elevation of his sentiments, were quoted with pleasure in the assemblies of versailles. this prince was still beloved; it was wished that a style of life suitable to his age and dignity should at length supersede the errors of the past, and justify the love of his subjects. it was painful to judge him harshly. if he had established avowed mistresses at court, the uniform devotion of the queen was blamed for it. mesdames were reproached for not seeking to prevent the king's forming an intimacy with some new favourite. madame henriette, twin sister of the duchess of parma, was much regretted, for she had considerable influence over the king's mind, and it was remarked that if she had lived she would have been assiduous in finding him amusements in the bosom of his family, would have followed him in his short excursions, and would have done the honours of the 'petits soupers' which he was so fond of giving in his private apartments. mesdames too much neglected the means of pleasing the wing, but the cause of that was obvious in the little attention he had paid them in their youth. in order to console the people under their sufferings, and to shut their eyes to the real depredations on the treasury, the ministers occasionally pressed the most extravagant measures of reform in the king's household, and even in his personal expenses. cardinal fleury, who in truth had the merit of reestablishing the finances, carried this system of economy so far as to obtain from the king the suppression of the household of the four younger princesses. they were brought up as mere boarders in a convent eighty leagues distant from the court. saint cyr would have been more suitable for the reception of the king's daughters; but probably the cardinal shared some of those prejudices which will always attach to even the most useful institutions, and which, since the death of louis xiv., had been raised against the noble establishment of madame de maintenon. madame louise often assured me that at twelve years of age she was not mistress of the whole alphabet, and never learnt to read fluently until after her return to versailles. madame victoire attributed certain paroxysms of terror, which she was never able to conquer, to the violent alarms she experienced at the abbey of fontevrault, whenever she was sent, by way of penance, to pray alone in the vault where the sisters were interred. a gardener belonging to the abbey died raving mad. his habitation, without the walls, was near a chapel of the abbey, where mesdames were taken to repeat the prayers for those in the agonies of death. their prayers were more than once interrupted by the shrieks of the dying man. when mesdames, still very young, returned to court, they enjoyed the friendship of monseigneur the dauphin, and profited by his advice. they devoted themselves ardently to study, and gave up almost the whole of their time to it; they enabled themselves to write french correctly, and acquired a good knowledge of history. italian, english, the higher branches of mathematics, turning and dialing, filled up in succession their leisure moments. madame adelaide, in particular, had a most insatiable desire to learn; she was taught to play upon all instruments, from the horn (will it be believed!) to the jew's-harp. madame adelaide was graced for a short time with a charming figure; but never did beauty so quickly vanish. madame victoire was handsome and very graceful; her address, mien, and smile were in perfect accordance with the goodness of her heart. madame sophie was remarkably ugly; never did i behold a person with so unprepossessing an appearance; she walked with the greatest rapidity; and, in order to recognise the people who placed themselves along her path without looking at them, she acquired the habit of leering on one side, like a hare. this princess was so exceedingly diffident that a person might be with her daily for years together without hearing her utter a single word. it was asserted, however, that she displayed talent, and even amiability, in the society of some favourite ladies. she taught herself a great deal, but she studied alone; the presence of a reader would have disconcerted her very much. there were, however, occasions on which the princess, generally so intractable, became all at once affable and condescending, and manifested the most communicative good-nature; this would happen during a storm; so great was her alarm on such an occasion that she then approached the most humble, and would ask them a thousand obliging questions; a flash of lightning made her squeeze their hands; a peal of thunder would drive her to embrace them, but with the return of the calm, the princess resumed her stiffness, her reserve, and her repellent air, and passed all by without taking the slightest notice of any one, until a fresh storm restored to her at once her dread and her affability. [which reminds one of the elder (and puritanic) cato who said that he "embraced" his wife only when it thundered, but added that he did enjoy a good thunderstorm. d.w.] mesdames found in a beloved brother, whose rare attainments are known to all frenchmen, a guide in everything wanting to their education. in their august mother, maria leczinska, they possessed the noblest example of every pious and social virtue; that princess, by her eminent qualities and her modest dignity, veiled the failings of the king, and while she lived she preserved in the court of louis xv. that decorous and dignified tone which alone secures the respect due to power. the princesses, her daughters, were worthy of her; and if a few degraded beings did aim the shafts of calumny at them, these shafts dropped harmless, warded off by the elevation of their sentiments and the purity of their conduct. if mesdames had not tasked themselves with numerous occupations, they would have been much to be pitied. they loved walking, but could enjoy nothing beyond the public gardens of versailles; they would have cultivated flowers, but could have no others than those in their windows. the marquise de durfort, since duchesse de civrac, afforded to madame victoire agreeable society. the princess spent almost all her evenings with that lady, and ended by fancying herself domiciled with her. madame de narbonne had, in a similar way, taken pains to make her intimate acquaintance pleasant to madame adelaide. madame louise had for many years lived in great seclusion; i read to her five hours a day. my voice frequently betrayed the exhaustion of my lungs; the princess would then prepare sugared water for me, place it by me, and apologise for making me read so long, on the score of having prescribed a course of reading for herself. one evening, while i was reading, she was informed that m. bertin, 'ministre des parties casuelles', desired to speak with her; she went out abruptly, returned, resumed her silks and embroidery, and made me resume my book; when i retired she commanded me to be in her closet the next morning at eleven o'clock. when i got there the princess was gone out; i learnt that she had gone at seven in the morning to the convent of the carmelites of st. denis, where she was desirous of taking the veil. i went to madame victoire; there i heard that the king alone had been acquainted with madame louise's project; that he had kept it faithfully secret, and that, having long previously opposed her wish, he had only on the preceding evening sent her his consent; that she had gone alone into the convent, where she was expected; and that a few minutes afterwards she had made her appearance at the grating, to show to the princesse de guistel, who had accompanied her to the convent gate, and to her equerry, the king's order to leave her in the monastery. upon receiving the intelligence of her sister's departure, madame adelaide gave way to violent paroxysms of rage, and reproached the king bitterly for the secret, which he had thought it his duty to preserve. madame victoire missed the society of her favourite sister, but she shed tears in silence only. the first time i saw this excellent princess after madame louise's departure, i threw myself at her feet, kissed her hand, and asked her, with all the confidence of youth, whether she would quit us as madame louise had done. she raised me, embraced me; and said, pointing to the lounge upon which she was extended, "make yourself easy, my dear; i shall never have louise's courage. i love the conveniences of life too well; this lounge is my destruction." as soon as i obtained permission to do so, i went to st. denis to see my late mistress; she deigned to receive me with her face uncovered, in her private parlour; she told me she had just left the wash-house, and that it was her turn that day to attend to the linen. "i much abused your youthful lungs for two years before the execution of my project," added she. "i knew that here i could read none but books tending to our salvation, and i wished to review all the historians that had interested me." she informed me that the king's consent for her to go to st. denis had been brought to her while i was reading; she prided herself, and with reason, upon having returned to her closet without the slightest mark of agitation, though she said she felt so keenly that she could scarcely regain her chair. she added that moralists were right when they said that happiness does not dwell in palaces; that she had proved it; and that, if i desired to be happy, she advised me to come and enjoy a retreat in which the liveliest imagination might find full exercise in the contemplation of a better world. i had no palace, no earthly grandeur to sacrifice to god; nothing but the bosom of a united family; and it is precisely there that the moralists whom she cited have placed true happiness. i replied that, in private life, the absence of a beloved and cherished daughter would be too cruelly felt by her family. the princess said no more on the subject. the seclusion of madame louise was attributed to various motives; some were unkind enough to suppose it to have been occasioned by her mortification at being, in point of rank, the last of the princesses. i think i penetrated the true cause. her aspirations were lofty; she loved everything sublime; often while i was reading she would interrupt me to exclaim, "that is beautiful! that is noble!" there was but one brilliant action that she could perform,--to quit a palace for a cell, and rich garments for a stuff gown. she achieved it! i saw madame louise two or three times more at the grating. i was informed of her death by louis xvi. "my aunt louise," said he to me, "your old mistress, is just dead at st. denis. i have this moment received intelligence of it. her piety and resignation were admirable, and yet the delirium of my good aunt recalled to her recollection that she was a princess, for her last words were, 'to paradise, haste, haste, full speed.' no doubt she thought she was again giving orders to her equerry." [the retirement of madame louise, and her removal from court, had only served to give her up entirely to the intrigues of the clergy. she received incessant visits from bishops, archbishops, and ambitious priests of every rank; she prevailed on the king, her father, to grant many ecclesiastical preferments, and probably looked forward to playing an important part when the king, weary of his licentious course of life, should begin to think of religion. this, perhaps, might have been the case had not a sudden and unexpected death put an end to his career. the project of madame louise fell to the ground in consequence of this event. she remained in her convent, whence she continued to solicit favours, as i knew from the complaints of the queen, who often said to me, "here is another letter from my aunt louise. she is certainly the most intriguing little carmelite in the kingdom." the court went to visit her about three times a year, and i recollect that the queen, intending to take her daughter there, ordered me to get a doll dressed like a carmelite for her, that the young princess might be accustomed, before she went into the convent, to the habit of her aunt, the nun.--madame campan] madame victoire, good, sweet-tempered, and affable, lived with the most amiable simplicity in a society wherein she was much caressed; she was adored by her household. without quitting versailles, without sacrificing her easy chair, she fulfilled the duties of religion with punctuality, gave to the poor all she possessed, and strictly observed lent and the fasts. the table of mesdames acquired a reputation for dishes of abstinence, spread abroad by the assiduous parasites at that of their maitre d'hotel. madame victoire was not indifferent to good living, but she had the most religious scruples respecting dishes of which it was allowable to partake at penitential times. i saw her one day exceedingly tormented by her doubts about a water-fowl, which was often served up to her during lent. the question to be determined was, whether it was 'maigre' or 'gras'. she consulted a bishop, who happened to be of the party: the prelate immediately assumed the grave attitude of a judge who is about to pronounce sentence. he answered the princess that, in a similar case of doubt, it had been resolved that after dressing the bird it should be pricked over a very cold silver dish; if the gravy of the animal congealed within a quarter of an hour, the creature was to be accounted flesh; but if the gravy remained in an oily state, it might be eaten without scruple. madame victoire immediately made the experiment: the gravy did not congeal; and this was a source of great joy to the princess, who was very partial to that sort of game. the abstinence which so much occupied the attention of madame victoire was so disagreeable to her, that she listened with impatience for the midnight hour of holy saturday; and then she was immediately supplied with a good dish of fowl and rice, and sundry other succulent viands. she confessed with such amiable candour her taste for good cheer and the comforts of life, that it would have been necessary to be as severe in principle as insensible to the excellent qualities of the princess, to consider it a crime in her. madame adelaide had more mind than madame victoire; but she was altogether deficient in that kindness which alone creates affection for the great, abrupt manners, a harsh voice, and a short way of speaking, rendering her more than imposing. she carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a high pitch. one of her chaplains was unlucky enough to say 'dominus vobiscum' with rather too easy an air; the princess rated him soundly for it after mass, and told him to remember that he was not a bishop, and not again to think of officiating in the style of a prelate. mesdames lived quite separate from the king. since the death of madame de pompadour he had lived alone. the enemies of the duc de choiseul did not know in what department, nor through what channel, they could prepare and bring about the downfall of the man who stood in their way. the king was connected only with women of so low a class that they could not be made use of for any delicate intrigue; moreover, the parc-aux-cerfs was a seraglio, the beauties of which were often replaced; it was desirable to give the king a mistress who could form a circle, and in whose drawing-room the long-standing attachment of the king for the duc de choiseul might be overcome. it is true that madame du barry was selected from a class sufficiently low. her origin, her education, her habits, and everything about her bore a character of vulgarity and shamelessness; but by marrying her to a man whose pedigree dated from , it was thought scandal would be avoided. the conqueror of mahon conducted this coarse intrigue. [it appeared at this period as if every feeling of dignity was lost. "few noblemen of the french court," says a writer of the time, "preserved themselves from the general corruption. the marechal de brissac was one of the latter. he was bantered on the strictness of his principles of honour and honesty; it was thought strange that he should be offended by being thought, like so many others, exposed to hymeneal disgrace. louis xv., who was present, and laughed at his angry fit, said to him: 'come, m. de brissac, don't be angry; 'tis but a trifling evil; take courage.'--'sire,' replied m. de brissac, 'i possess all kinds of courage, except that which can brave shame.'"--note by the editor.] such a mistress was judiciously selected for the diversion of the latter years of a man weary of grandeur, fatigued with pleasure, and cloyed with voluptuousness. neither the wit, the talents, the graces of the marquise de pompadour, her beauty, nor even her love for the king, would have had any further influence over that worn-out being. he wanted a roxalana of familiar gaiety, without any respect for the dignity of the sovereign. madame du barry one day so far forgot propriety as to desire to be present at a council of state. the king was weak enough to consent to it. there she remained ridiculously perched upon the arm of his chair, playing all sorts of childish monkey tricks, calculated to please an old sultan. another time she snatched a packet of sealed letters from the king's hand. among them she had observed one from comte de broglie. she told the king that she knew that rascal broglie spoke ill of her to him, and that for once, at least, she would make sure he should read nothing respecting her. the king wanted to get the packet again; she resisted, and made him run two or three times round the table, which was in the middle of the council-chamber, and then, on passing the fireplace, she threw the letters into the grate, where they were consumed. the king became furious; he seized his audacious mistress by the arm, and put her out of the door without speaking to her. madame du barry thought herself utterly disgraced; she returned home, and remained two hours, alone, abandoned to the utmost distress. the king went to her; she threw herself at his feet, in tears, and he pardoned her. madame la marechale de beauvau, the duchesse de choiseul, and the duchesse de grammont had renounced the honour of the king's intimate acquaintance rather than share it with madame du barry. but a few years after the death of louis xv., madame la marechale being alone at the val, a house belonging to m. de beauvau, mademoiselle de dillon saw the countess's calash take shelter in the forest of st. germain during a violent storm. she invited her in, and the countess herself related these particulars, which i had from madame de beauvau. the comte du barry, surnamed 'le roue' (the profligate), and mademoiselle du barry advised, or rather prompted, madame du barry in furtherance of the plans of the party of the marechal de richelieu and the duc d'aiguillon. sometimes they even set her to act in such a way as to have a useful influence upon great political measures. under pretence that the page who accompanied charles i. in his flight was a du barry or barrymore, they persuaded the comtesse du barry to buy in london that fine portrait which we now have in the museum. she had the picture placed in her drawing-room, and when she saw the king hesitating upon the violent measure of breaking up his parliament, and forming that which was called the maupeou parliament, she desired him to look at the portrait of a king who had given way to his parliament. [the "memoirs of general dumouriez," vol. i., page , contain some curious particulars about madame du barry; and novel details respecting her will be found at page of "curiosites historiques," by j. a. le rol (paris, plon, ). his investigations lead to the result that her real name was jean becu, born, th august, , at vaucouleurs, the natural daughter of anne becu, otherwise known as "quantiny." her mother afterwards married nicolas rancon. comte jean du barry met her among the demi-monde, and succeeded, about , and by the help of his friend label, the valet de chambre of louis xv., in introducing her to the king under the name of mademoiselle l'ange. to be formally mistress, a husband had to be found. the comte jean du barry, already married himself, found no difficulty in getting his brother, comte guillaume, a poor officer of the marine troops, to accept the post of husband. in the marriage-contract, signed on d july, , she was described as the daughter of anne becu and of an imaginary first husband, sieur jean jacques gomard de vaubernier," and three years were taken off her age. the marriage-contract was so drawn as to leave madame du barry entirely free from all control by her husband. the marriage was solemnised on st september, , after which the nominal husband returned to toulouse. madame du barry in later years provided for him; and in , tired of his applications, she obtained an act of separation from him. he married later jeanne madeleine lemoine, and died in . madame du barry took care of her mother, who figured as madame de montrable. in all, she received from the king, m. le roi calculates, about twelve and a half millions of livres. on the death of louis xv. she had to retire first to the abbey of pont-aux-dames, near meaux, then she was allowed to go to her small house at st. vrain, near arpajon, and, finally, in , to her chateau at louveciennes. much to her credit be it said, she retained many of her friends, and was on the most intimate terms till his death with the duc de brissac (louis hercule timoldon de cosse-brissac), who was killed at versailles in the massacre of the prisoners in september, , leaving at his death a large legacy to her. even the emperor joseph visited her. in many of her jewels were stolen and taken to england. this caused her to make several visits to that country, where she gained her suit. but these visits, though she took every precaution to legalise them, ruined her. betrayed by her servants, among them by zamor, the negro page, she was brought before the revolutionary tribunal, and was guillotined on th december, , in a frenzy of terror, calling for mercy and for delay up to the moment when her head fell.] the men of ambition who were labouring to overthrow the duc de choiseul strengthened themselves by their concentration at the house of the favourite, and succeeded in their project. the bigots, who never forgave that minister the suppression of the jesuits, and who had always been hostile to a treaty of alliance with austria, influenced the minds of mesdames. the duc de la vauguyon, the young dauphin's governor, infected them with the same prejudices. such was the state of the public mind when the young archduchess marie antoinette arrived at the court of versailles, just at the moment when the party which brought her there was about to be overthrown. madame adelaide openly avowed her dislike to a princess of the house of austria; and when m. campan, my father-in-law, went to receive his orders, at the moment of setting off with the household of the dauphiness, to go and receive the archduchess upon the frontiers, she said she disapproved of the marriage of her nephew with an archduchess; and that, if she had the direction of the matter, she would not send for an austrian. chapter ii. marie antoinette josephe jeanne de lorraine, archduchess of austria, daughter of francois de lorraine and of maria theresa, was born on the d of november, , the day of the earthquake at lisbon; and this catastrophe, which appeared to stamp the era of her birth with a fatal mark, without forming a motive for superstitious fear with the princess, nevertheless made an impression upon her mind. as the empress already had a great number of daughters, she ardently desired to have another son, and playfully wagered against her wish with the duc de tarouka, who had insisted that she would give birth to an archduke. he lost by the birth of the princess, and had executed in porcelain a figure with one knee bent on the earth, and presenting tablets, upon which the following lines by metastasio were engraved: i lose by your fair daughter's birth who prophesied a son; but if she share her mother's worth, why, all the world has won! the queen was fond of talking of the first years of her youth. her father, the emperor francis, had made a deep impression upon her heart; she lost him when she was scarcely seven years old. one of those circumstances which fix themselves strongly in the memories of children frequently recalled his last caresses to her. the emperor was setting out for innspruck; he had already left his palace, when he ordered a gentleman to fetch the archduchess marie antoinette, and bring her to his carriage. when she came, he stretched out his arms to receive her, and said, after having pressed her to his bosom, "i wanted to embrace this child once more." the emperor died suddenly during the journey, and never saw his beloved daughter again. the queen often spoke of her mother, and with profound respect, but she based all her schemes for the education of her children on the essentials which had been neglected in her own. maria theresa, who inspired awe by her great qualities, taught the archduchesses to fear and respect rather than to love her; at least i observed this in the queen's feelings towards her august mother. she therefore never desired to place between her own children and herself that distance which had existed in the imperial family. she cited a fatal consequence of it, which had made such a powerful impression upon her that time had never been able to efface it. the wife of the emperor joseph ii. was taken from him in a few days by an attack of smallpox of the most virulent kind. her coffin had recently been deposited in the vault of the imperial family. the archduchess josepha, who had been betrothed to the king of naples, at the instant she was quitting vienna received an order from the empress not to set off without having offered up a prayer in the vault of her forefathers. the archduchess, persuaded that she should take the disorder to which her sister-in-law had just fallen a victim, looked upon this order as her death-warrant. she loved the young archduchess marie antoinette tenderly; she took her upon her knees, embraced her with tears, and told her she was about to leave her, not for naples, but never to see her again; that she was going down then to the tomb of her ancestors, and that she should shortly go again there to remain. her anticipation was realised; confluent smallpox carried her off in a very few days, and her youngest sister ascended the throne of naples in her place. the empress was too much taken up with high political interests to have it in her power to devote herself to maternal attentions. the celebrated wansvietten, her physician, went daily, to visit the young imperial family, and afterwards to maria theresa, and gave the most minute details respecting the health of the archdukes and archduchesses, whom she herself sometimes did not see for eight or ten days at a time. as soon as the arrival of a stranger of rank at vienna was made known, the empress brought her family about her, admitted them to her table, and by this concerted meeting induced a belief that she herself presided over the education of her children. the chief governesses, being under no fear of inspection from maria theresa, aimed at making themselves beloved by their pupils by the common and blamable practice of indulgence, so fatal to the future progress and happiness of children. marie antoinette was the cause of her governess being dismissed, through a confession that all her copies and all her letters were invariably first traced out with pencil; the comtesse de brandes was appointed to succeed her, and fulfilled her duties with great exactness and talent. the queen looked upon having been confided to her care so late as a misfortune, and always continued upon terms of friendship with that lady. the education of marie antoinette was certainly very much neglected. with the exception of the italian language, all that related to belles lettres, and particularly to history, even that of her own country, was almost entirely unknown to her. this was soon found out at the court of france, and thence arose the generally received opinion that she was deficient in sense. it will be seen in the course of these "memoirs" whether that opinion was well or ill founded. the public prints, however, teemed with assertions of the superior talents of maria theresa's children. they often noticed the answers which the young princesses gave in latin to the harangues addressed to them; they uttered them, it is true, but without understanding them; they knew not a single word of that language. mention was one day made to the queen of a drawing made by her, and presented by the empress to m. gerard, chief clerk of foreign affairs, on the occasion of his going to vienna to draw up the articles for her marriage-contract. "i should blush," said she, "if that proof of the quackery of my education were shown to me. i do not believe that i ever put a pencil to that drawing." however, what had been taught her she knew perfectly well. her facility of learning was inconceivable, and if all her teachers had been as well informed and as faithful to their duty as the abbe metastasio, who taught her italian, she would have attained as great a superiority in the other branches of her education. the queen spoke that language with grace and ease, and translated the most difficult poets. she did not write french correctly, but she spoke it with the greatest fluency, and even affected to say that she had lost german. in fact she attempted in to learn her mother-tongue, and took lessons assiduously for six weeks; she was obliged to relinquish them, finding all the difficulties which a frenchwoman, who should take up the study too late, would have to encounter. in the same manner she gave up english, which i had taught her for some time, and in which she had made rapid progress. music was the accomplishment in which the queen most delighted. she did not play well on any instrument, but she had become able to read at sight like a first-rate professor. she attained this degree of perfection in france, this branch of her education having been neglected at vienna as much as the rest. a few days after her arrival at versailles, she was introduced to her singing-master, la garde, author of the opera of "egle." she made a distant appointment with him, needing, as she said, rest after the fatigues of the journey and the numerous fetes which had taken place at versailles; but her motive was her desire to conceal how ignorant she was of the rudiments of music. she asked m. campan whether his son, who was a good musician, could give her lessons secretly for three months. "the dauphiness," added she, smiling, "must be careful of the reputation of the archduchess." the lessons were given privately, and at the end of three months of constant application she sent for m. la garde, and surprised him by her skill. the desire to perfect marie antoinette in the study of the french language was probably the motive which determined maria theresa to provide for her as teachers two french actors: aufresne, for pronunciation and declamation, and sainville, for taste in french singing; the latter had been an officer in france, and bore a bad character. the choice gave just umbrage to our court. the marquis de durfort, at that time ambassador at vienna, was ordered to make a representation to the empress upon her selection. the two actors were dismissed, and the princess required that an ecclesiastic should be sent to her. several eminent ecclesiastics declined taking upon themselves so delicate an office; others who were pointed out by maria theresa (among the rest the abbe grisel) belonged to parties which sufficed to exclude them. the archbishop of toulouse one day went to the duc de choiseul at the moment when he was much embarrassed upon the subject of this nomination; he proposed to him the abby de vermond, librarian of the college des quatre nations. the eulogistic manner in which he spoke of his protege procured the appointment for the latter on that very day; and the gratitude of the abbe de vermond towards the prelate was very fatal to france, inasmuch as after seventeen years of persevering attempts to bring him into the ministry, he succeeded at last in getting him named comptroller-general and president of the council.--[comte de brienne, later archbishop of sens.] this abbe de vermond directed almost all the queen's actions. he established his influence over her at an age when impressions are most durable; and it was easy to see that he had taken pains only to render himself beloved by his pupil, and had troubled himself very little with the care of instructing her. he might have even been accused of having, by a sharp-sighted though culpable policy, purposely left her in ignorance. marie antoinette spoke the french language with much grace, but wrote it less perfectly. the abbe de vermond revised all the letters which she sent to vienna. the insupportable folly with which he boasted of it displayed the character of a man more flattered at being admitted into her intimate secrets than anxious to fulfil worthily the high office of her preceptor. [the abbe de vermond encouraged the impatience of etiquette shown by marie antoinette while she was dauphiness. when she became queen he endeavoured openly to induce her to shake off the restraints she still respected. if he chanced to enter her apartment at the time she was preparing to go out, "for whom," he would say, in a tone of raillery, "is this detachment of warriors which i found in the court? is it some general going to inspect his army? does all this military display become a young queen adored by her subjects?" he would call to her mind the simplicity with which maria theresa lived; the visits she made without guards, or even attendants, to the prince d'esterhazy, to the comte de palfi, passing whole days far from the fatiguing ceremonies of the court. the abbe thus artfully flattered the inclinations of marie antoinette, and showed her how she might disguise, even from herself, her aversion for the ceremonies observed by the descendants of louis xiv.-madame campan.] his pride received its birth at vienna, where maria theresa, as much to give him authority with the archduchess as to make herself acquainted with his character, permitted him to mix every evening with the private circle of her family, into which the future dauphiness had been admitted for some time. joseph ii., the elder archduchess, and a few noblemen honoured by the confidence of maria theresa, composed the party; and reflections on the world, on courts, and the duties of princes were the usual topics of conversation. the abbe de vermond, in relating these particulars, confessed the means which he had made use of to gain admission into this private circle. the empress, meeting him at the archduchess's, asked him if he had formed any connections in vienna. "none, madame," replied he; "the apartment of the archduchess and the hotel of the ambassador of france are the only places which the man honoured with the care of the princess's education should frequent." a month afterwards maria theresa, through a habit common enough among sovereigns, asked him the same question, and received precisely the same answer. the next day he received an order to join the imperial family every evening. it is extremely probable, from the constant and well-known intercourse between this man and comte de mercy, ambassador of the empire during the whole reign of louis xvi., that he was useful to the court of vienna, and that he often caused the queen to decide on measures, the consequences of which she did not consider. not of high birth, imbued with all the principles of the modern philosophy, and yet holding to the hierarchy of the church more tenaciously than any other ecclesiastic; vain, talkative, and at the same time cunning and abrupt; very ugly and affecting singularity; treating the most exalted persons as his equals, sometimes even as his inferiors, the abbe de vermond received ministers and bishops when in his bath; but said at the same time that cardinal dubois was a fool; that a man such as he, having obtained power, ought to make cardinals, and refuse to be one himself. intoxicated with the reception he had met with at the court of vienna, and having till then seen nothing of high life, the abbe de vermond admired no other customs than those of the imperial family; he ridiculed the etiquette of the house of bourbon incessantly; the young dauphiness was constantly incited by his sarcasms to get rid of it, and it was he who first induced her to suppress an infinity of practices of which he could discern neither the prudence nor the political aim. such is the faithful portrait of that man whom the evil star of marie antoinette had reserved to guide her first steps upon a stage so conspicuous and so full of danger as that of the court of versailles. it will be thought, perhaps, that i draw the character of the abbe de vermond too unfavourably; but how can i view with any complacency one who, after having arrogated to himself the office of confidant and sole counsellor of the queen, guided her with so little prudence, and gave us the mortification of seeing that princess blend, with qualities which charmed all that surrounded her, errors alike injurious to her glory and her happiness? while m. de choiseul, satisfied with the person whom m. de brienne had presented, despatched him to vienna with every eulogium calculated to inspire unbounded confidence, the marquis de durfort sent off a hairdresser and a few french fashions; and then it was thought sufficient pains had been taken to form the character of a princess destined to share the throne of france. the marriage of monseigneur the dauphin with the archduchess was determined upon during the administration of the duc de choiseul. the marquis de durfort, who was to succeed the baron de breteuil in the embassy to vienna, was appointed proxy for the marriage ceremony; but six months after the dauphin's marriage the duc de choiseul was disgraced, and madame de marsan and madame de guemenee, who grew more powerful through the duke's disgrace, conferred that embassy, upon prince louis de rohan, afterwards cardinal and grand almoner. hence it will be seen that the gazette de france is a sufficient answer to those libellers who dared to assert that the young archduchess was acquainted with the cardinal de rohan before the period of her marriage. a worse selection in itself, or one more disagreeable to maria theresa, than that which sent to her, in quality, of ambassador, a man so frivolous and so immoral as prince louis de rohan, could not have been made. he possessed but superficial knowledge upon any subject, and was totally ignorant of diplomatic affairs. his reputation had gone before him to vienna, and his mission opened under the most unfavourable auspices. in want of money, and the house of rohan being unable to make him any considerable advances, he obtained from his court a patent which authorised him to borrow the sum of , livres upon his benefices, ran in debt above a million, and thought to dazzle the city and court of vienna by the most indecent and ill-judged extravagance. he formed a suite of eight or ten gentlemen, of names sufficiently high-sounding; twelve pages equally well born, a crowd of officers and servants, a company of chamber musicians, etc. but this idle pomp did not last; embarrassment and distress soon showed themselves; his people, no longer receiving pay, in order to make money, abused the privileges of ambassadors, and smuggled [i have often heard the queen say that, at vienna, in the office of the secretary of the prince de rohan, there were sold in one year more silk stockings than at lyons and paris together.--madame campan.] with so much effrontery that maria theresa, to put a stop to it without offending the court of france, was compelled to suppress the privileges in this respect of all the diplomatic bodies, a step which rendered the person and conduct of prince louis odious in every foreign court. he seldom obtained private audiences from the empress, who did not esteem him, and who expressed herself without reserve upon his conduct both as a bishop and as an ambassador. he thought to obtain favour by assisting to effect the marriage of the archduchess elizabeth, the elder sister of marie antoinette, with louis xv., an affair which was awkwardly undertaken, and of which madame du barry had no difficulty in causing the failure. i have deemed it my duty to omit no particular of the moral and political character of a man whose existence was subsequently so injurious to the reputation of marie antoinette. chapter iii. a superb pavilion had been prepared upon the frontier near kehl. it consisted of a vast salon, connected with two apartments, one of which was assigned to the lords and ladies of the court of vienna, and the other to the suite of the dauphiness, composed of the comtesse de noailles, her lady of honour; the duchesse de cosse, her dame d'atours; four ladies of the palace; the comte de saulx-tavannes, chevalier d'honneur; the comte de tesse, first equerry; the bishop of chartres, first almoner; the officers of the body guard, and the equerries. when the dauphiness had been entirely undressed, in order that she might retain nothing belonging to a foreign court (an etiquette always observed on such an occasion), the doors were opened; the young princess came forward, looking round for the comtesse de noailles; then, rushing into her arms, she implored her, with tears in her eyes, and with heartfelt sincerity, to be her guide and support. while doing justice to the virtues of the comtesse de noailles, those sincerely attached to the queen have always considered it as one of her earliest misfortunes not to have found, in the person of her adviser, a woman indulgent, enlightened, and administering good advice with that amiability which disposes young persons to follow it. the comtesse de noailles had nothing agreeable in her appearance; her demeanour was stiff and her mien severe. she was perfect mistress of etiquette; but she wearied the young princess with it, without making her sensible of its importance. it would have been sufficient to represent to the dauphiness that in france her dignity depended much upon customs not necessary at vienna to secure the respect and love of the good and submissive austrians for the imperial family; but the dauphiness was perpetually tormented by the remonstrances of the comtesse de noailles, and at the same time was led by the abbe de vermond to ridicule both the lessons upon etiquette and her who gave them. she preferred raillery to argument, and nicknamed the comtesse de noailles madame l'etiquette. the fetes which were given at versailles on the marriage of the dauphin were very splendid. the dauphiness arrived there at the hour for her toilet, having slept at la muette, where louis xv. had been to receive her; and where that prince, blinded by a feeling unworthy of a sovereign and the father of a family, caused the young princess, the royal family, and the ladies of the court, to sit down to supper with madame du barry. the dauphiness was hurt at this conduct; she spoke of it openly enough to those with whom she was intimate, but she knew how to conceal her dissatisfaction in public, and her behaviour showed no signs of it. she was received at versailles in an apartment on the ground floor, under that of the late queen, which was not ready for her until six months after her marriage. the dauphiness, then fifteen years of age, beaming with freshness, appeared to all eyes more than beautiful. her walk partook at once of the dignity of the princesses of her house, and of the grace of the french; her eyes were mild, her smile amiable. when she went to chapel, as soon as she had taken the first few steps in the long gallery, she discerned, all the way to its extremity, those persons whom she ought to salute with the consideration due to their rank; those on whom she should bestow an inclination of the head; and lastly, those who were to be satisfied with a smile, calculated to console them for not being entitled to greater honours. louis xv. was enchanted with the young dauphiness; all his conversation was about her graces, her vivacity, and the aptness of her repartees. she was yet more successful with the royal family when they beheld her shorn of the splendour of the diamonds with which she had been adorned during the first days of her marriage. when clothed in a light dress of gauze or taffety she was compared to the venus dei medici, and the atalanta of the marly gardens. poets sang her charms; painters attempted to copy her features. one artist's fancy led him to place the portrait of marie antoinette in the heart of a full-blown rose. his ingenious idea was rewarded by louis xv. the king continued to talk only of the dauphiness; and madame du barry ill-naturedly endeavoured to damp his enthusiasm. whenever marie antoinette was the topic, she pointed out the irregularity of her features, criticised the 'bons mots' quoted as hers, and rallied the king upon his prepossession in her favour. madame du barry was affronted at not receiving from the dauphiness those attentions to which she thought herself entitled; she did not conceal her vexation from the king; she was afraid that the grace and cheerfulness of the young princess would make the domestic circle of the royal family more agreeable to the old sovereign, and that he would escape her chains; at the same time, hatred to the choiseul party contributed powerfully to excite the enmity of the favourite. the fall of that minister took place in november, , six months after his long influence in the council had brought about the alliance with the house of austria and the arrival of marie antoinette at the court of france. the princess, young, frank, volatile, and inexperienced, found herself without any other guide than the abbe de vermond, in a court ruled by the enemy of the minister who had brought her there, and in the midst of people who hated austria, and detested any alliance with the imperial house. the duc d'aiguillon, the duc de la vauguyon, the marechal de richelieu, the rohans, and other considerable families, who had made use of madame du barry to overthrow the duke, could not flatter themselves, notwithstanding their powerful intrigues, with a hope of being able to break off an alliance solemnly announced, and involving such high political interests. they therefore changed their mode of attack, and it will be seen how the conduct of the dauphin served as a basis for their hopes. the dauphiness continually gave proofs of both sense and feeling. sometimes she even suffered herself to be carried away by those transports of compassionate kindness which are not to be controlled by the customs which rank establishes. in consequence of the fire in the place louis xv., which occurred at the time of the nuptial entertainments, the dauphin and dauphiness sent their, whole income for the year to the relief of the unfortunate families who lost their relatives on that disastrous day. this was one of those ostentatious acts of generosity which are dictated by the policy of princes, at least as much as by their compassion; but the grief of marie antoinette was profound, and lasted several days; nothing could console her for the loss of so many innocent victims; she spoke of it, weeping, to her ladies, one of whom, thinking, no doubt, to divert her mind, told her that a great number of thieves had been found among the bodies, and that their pockets were filled with watches and other valuables. "they have at least been well punished," added the person who related these particulars. "oh, no, no, madame!" replied the dauphiness; "they died by the side of honest people." the dauphiness had brought from vienna a considerable number of white diamonds; the king added to them the gift of the diamonds and pearls of the late dauphiness, and also put into her hands a collar of pearls, of a single row, the smallest of which was as large as a filbert, and which had been brought into france by anne of austria, and appropriated by that princess to the use of the queens and dauphinesses of france. the three princesses, daughters of louis xv., joined in making her magnificent presents. madame adelaide at the same time gave the young princess a key to the private corridors of the chateau, by means of which, without any suite, and without being perceived, she could get to the apartments of her aunts, and see them in private. the dauphiness, on receiving the key, told them, with infinite grace, that if they had meant to make her appreciate the superb presents they were kind enough to bestow upon her, they should not at the same time have offered her one of such inestimable value; since to that key she should be indebted for an intimacy and advice unspeakably precious at her age. she did, indeed, make use of it very frequently; but madame victoire alone permitted her, so long as she continued dauphiness, to visit her familiarly. madame adelaide could not overcome her prejudices against austrian princesses, and was wearied with the somewhat petulant gaiety of the dauphiness. madame victoire was concerned at this, feeling that their society and counsel would have been highly useful to a young person otherwise likely to meet with none but sycophants. she endeavoured, therefore, to induce her to take pleasure in the society of the marquise de durfort, her lady of honour and favourite. several agreeable entertainments took place at the house of this lady, but the comtesse de noailles and the abbe de vermond soon opposed these meetings. a circumstance which happened in hunting, near the village of acheres, in the forest of fontainebleau, afforded the young princess an opportunity of displaying her respect for old age, and her compassion for misfortune. an aged peasant was wounded by the stag; the dauphiness jumped out of her calash, placed the peasant, with his wife and children, in it, had the family taken back to their cottage, and bestowed upon them every attention and every necessary assistance. her heart was always open to the feelings of compassion, and the recollection of her rank never restrained her sensibility. several persons in her service entered her room one evening, expecting to find nobody there but the officer in waiting; they perceived the young princess seated by the side of this man, who was advanced in years; she had placed near him a bowl full of water, was stanching the blood which issued from a wound he had received in his hand with her handkerchief, which she had torn up to bind it, and was fulfilling towards him all the duties of a pious sister of charity. the old man, affected even to tears, out of respect allowed his august mistress to act as she thought proper. he had hurt himself in endeavouring to move a rather heavy piece of furniture at the princess's request. in the month of july, , an unfortunate occurrence that took place in a family which the dauphiness honoured with her favour contributed again to show not only her sensibility but also the benevolence of her disposition. one of her women in waiting had a son who was an officer in the gens d'armes of the guard; this young man thought himself affronted by a clerk in the war department, and imprudently sent him a challenge; he killed his adversary in the forest of compiegne. the family of the young man who was killed, being in possession of the challenge, demanded justice. the king, distressed on account of several duels which had recently taken place, had unfortunately declared that he would show no mercy on the first event of that kind which could be proved; the culprit was therefore arrested. his mother, in the deepest grief, hastened to throw herself at the feet of the dauphiness, the dauphin, and the young princesses. after an hour's supplication they obtained from the king the favour so much desired. on the next day a lady of rank, while congratulating the dauphiness, had the malice to add that the mother had neglected no means of success on the occasion, having solicited not only the royal family, but even madame du barry. the dauphiness replied that the fact justified the favourable opinion she had formed of the worthy woman; that the heart of a mother should hesitate at nothing for the salvation of her son; and that in her place, if she had thought it would be serviceable, she would have thrown herself at the feet of zamor. [a little indian who carried the comtesse du barry's train. louis xv. often amused himself with the little marmoset, and jestingly made him governor of louveciennes; he received an annual income of , francs.] some time after the marriage entertainments the dauphiness made her entry into paris, and was received with transports of joy. after dining in the king's apartment at the tuileries, she was forced, by the reiterated shouts of the multitude, with whom the garden was filled, to present herself upon the balcony fronting the principal walk. on seeing such a crowd of heads with their eyes fixed upon her, she exclaimed, "grand-dieu! what a concourse!"--"madame," said the old duc de brissac, the governor of paris, "i may tell you, without fear of offending the dauphin, that they are so many lovers." the dauphin took no umbrage at either acclamations or marks of homage of which the dauphiness was the object. the most mortifying indifference, a coldness which frequently degenerated into rudeness, were the sole feelings which the young prince then manifested towards her. not all her charms could gain even upon his senses. this estrangement, which lasted a long time, was said to be the work of the duc de la vauguyon. the dauphiness, in fact, had no sincere friends at court except the duc de choiseul and his party. will it be credited that the plans laid against marie antoinette went so far as divorce? i have been assured of it by persons holding high situations at court, and many circumstances tend to confirm the opinion. on the journey to fontainebleau, in the year of the marriage, the inspectors of public buildings were gained over to manage so that the apartment intended for the dauphin, communicating with that of the dauphiness, should not be finished, and a room at the extremity of the building was temporarily assigned to him. the dauphiness, aware that this was the result of intrigue, had the courage to complain of it to louis xv., who, after severe reprimands, gave orders so positive that within the week the apartment was ready. every method was tried to continue or augment the indifference which the dauphin long manifested towards his youthful spouse. she was deeply hurt at it, but she never suffered herself to utter the slightest complaint on the subject. inattention to, even contempt for, the charms which she heard extolled on all sides, nothing induced her to break silence; and some tears, which would involuntarily burst from her eyes, were the sole symptoms of her inward sufferings discoverable by those in her service. once only, when tired out with the misplaced remonstrances of an old lady attached to her person, who wished to dissuade her from riding on horseback, under the impression that it would prevent her producing heirs to the crown, "mademoiselle," said she, "in god's name, leave me in peace; be assured that i can put no heir in danger." the dauphiness found at the court of louis xv., besides the three princesses, the king's daughters, the princes also, brothers of the dauphin, who were receiving their education, and clotilde and elisabeth, still in the care of madame de marsan, governess of the children of france. the elder of the two latter princesses, in , married the prince of piedmont, afterwards king of sardinia. this princess was in her infancy, so extremely large that the people nicknamed her 'gros madame.' [madame clotilde of france, a sister of the king, was extraordinarily fat for her height and age. one of her playfellows, having been indiscreet enough even in her presence to make use of the nickname given to her, received a severe reprimand from the comtesse de marsan, who hinted to her that she would do well in not making her appearance again before the princess. madame clotilde sent for her the next day: "my governess," said she, "has done her duty, and i will do mine; come and see me as usual, and think no more of a piece of inadvertence, which i myself have forgotten." this princess, so heavy in body, possessed the most agreeable and playful wit. her affability and grace rendered her dear to all who came near her.--note by the editor] the second princess was the pious elisabeth, the victim of her respect and tender attachment for the king, her brother. she was still scarcely out of her leading-strings at the period of the dauphin's marriage. the dauphiness showed her marked preference. the governess, who sought to advance the princess to whom nature had been least favourable, was offended at the dauphiness's partiality for madame elisabeth, and by her injudicious complaints weakened the friendship which yet subsisted between madame clotilde and marie antoinette. there even arose some degree of rivalry on the subject of education; and that which the empress maria theresa bestowed on her daughters was talked of openly and unfavourably enough. the abbe de vermond thought himself affronted, took a part in the quarrel, and added his complaints and jokes to those of the dauphiness on the criticisms of the governess; he even indulged himself in his turn in reflections on the tuition of madame clotilde. everything becomes known at court. madame de marsan was informed of all that had been said in the dauphiness's circle, and was very angry with her on account of it. from that moment a centre of intrigue, or rather gossip, against marie antoinette was established round madame de marsan's fireside; her most trifling actions were there construed ill; her gaiety, and the harmless amusements in which she sometimes indulged in her own apartments with the more youthful ladies of her train, and even with the women in her service, were stigmatised as criminal. prince louis de rohan, sent through the influence of this clique ambassador to vienna, was the echo there of these unmerited comments, and threw himself into a series of culpable accusations which he proffered under the guise of zeal. he ceaselessly represented the young dauphiness as alienating all hearts by levities unsuitable to the dignity of the french court. the princess frequently received from the court of vienna remonstrances, of the origin of which she could not long remain in ignorance. from this period must be dated that aversion which she never ceased to manifest for the prince de rohan. about the same time the dauphiness received information of a letter written by prince louis to the duc d'aiguillon, in which the ambassador expressed himself in very free language respecting the intentions of maria theresa with relation to the partition of poland. this letter of prince louis had been read at the comtesse du barry's; the levity of the ambassador's correspondence wounded the feelings and the dignity of the dauphiness at versailles, while at vienna the representations which he made to maria theresa against the young princess terminated in rendering the motives of his incessant complaints suspected by the empress. maria theresa at length determined on sending her private secretary, baron de neni, to versailles, with directions to observe the conduct of the dauphiness with attention, and form a just estimate of the opinion of the court and of paris with regard to that princess. the baron de neni, after having devoted sufficient time and intelligence to the subject, undeceived his sovereign as to the exaggerations of the french ambassador; and the empress had no difficulty in detecting, among the calumnies which he had conveyed to her under the specious excuse of anxiety for her august daughter, proofs of the enmity of a, party which had never approved of the alliance of the house of bourbon with her own. at this period the dauphiness, though unable to obtain any influence over the heart of her husband, dreading louis xv., and justly mistrusting everything connected with madame du barry and the duc d'aiguillon, had not deserved the slightest reproach for that sort of levity which hatred and her misfortunes afterwards construed into crime. the empress, convinced of the innocence of marie antoinette, directed the baron de neni to solicit the recall of the prince de rohan, and to inform the minister for foreign affairs of all the motives which made her require it; but the house of rohan interposed between its protege and the austrian envoy, and an evasive answer merely was given. it was not until two months after the death of louis xv. that the court of vienna obtained his recall. the avowed grounds for requiring it were, first, the public gallantries of prince louis with some ladies of the court and others; secondly, his surliness and haughtiness towards other foreign ministers, which would have had more serious consequences, especially with the ministers of england and denmark, if the empress herself had not interfered; thirdly, his contempt for religion in a country where it was particularly necessary to show respect for it. he had been seen frequently to dress himself in clothes of different colours, assuming the hunting uniforms of various noblemen whom he visited, with so much audacity that one day in particular, during the fete-dieu, he and all his legation, in green uniforms laced with gold, broke through a procession which impeded them, in order to make their way to a hunting party at the prince de paar's; and fourthly, the immense debts contracted by him and his people, which were tardily and only in part discharged. the succeeding marriages of the comte de provence and the comte d'artois with two daughters of the king of sardinia procured society for the dauphiness more suitable to her age, and altered her mode of life. a pair of tolerably fine eyes drew forth, in favour of the comtesse de provence, upon her arrival at versailles, the only praises which could reasonably be bestowed upon her. the comtesse d'artois, though not deformed, was very small; she had a fine complexion; her face, tolerably pleasing, was not remarkable for anything except the extreme length of the nose. but being good and generous, she was beloved by those about her, and even possessed some influence so long as she was the only princess who had produced heirs to the crown. from this time the closest intimacy subsisted between the three young families. they took their meals together, except on those days when they dined in public. this manner of living en famille continued until the queen sometimes indulged herself in going to dine with the duchesse de polignac, when she was governess; but the evening meetings at supper were never interrupted; they took place at the house of the comtesse de provence. madame elisabeth made one of the party when she had finished her education, and sometimes mesdames, the king's aunts, were invited. the custom, which had no precedent at court, was the work of marie antoinette, and she maintained it with the utmost perseverance. the court of versailles saw no change in point of etiquette during the reign of louis xv. play took place at the house of the dauphiness, as being the first lady of the state. it had, from the death of queen maria leczinska to the marriage of the dauphin, been held at the abode of madame adelade. this removal, the result of an order of precedence not to be violated, was not the less displeasing to madame adelaide, who established a separate party for play in her apartments, and scarcely ever went to that which not only the court in general, but also the royal family, were expected to attend. the full-dress visits to the king on his 'debotter' were continued. high mass was attended daily. the airings of the princesses were nothing more than rapid races in berlins, during which they were accompanied by body guards, equerries, and pages on horseback. they galloped for some leagues from versailles. calashes were used only in hunting. the young princesses were desirous to infuse animation into their circle of associates by something useful as well as pleasant. they adopted the plan of learning and performing all the best plays of the french theatre. the dauphin was the only spectator. the three princesses, the two brothers of the king, and messieurs campan, father and son, were the sole performers, but they endeavoured to keep this amusement as secret as an affair of state; they dreaded the censure of mesdames, and they had no doubt that louis xv. would forbid such pastimes if he knew of them. they selected for their performance a cabinet in the entresol which nobody had occasion to enter. a kind of proscenium, which could be taken down and shut up in a closet, formed the whole theatre. the comte de provence always knew his part with imperturbable accuracy; the comte d'artois knew his tolerably well, and recited elegantly; the princesses acted badly. the dauphiness acquitted herself in some characters with discrimination and feeling. the chief pleasure of this amusement consisted in all the costumes being elegant and accurate. the dauphin entered into the spirit of these diversions, and laughed heartily at the comic characters as they came on the scene; from these amusements may be dated his discontinuance of the timid manner of his youth, and his taking pleasure in the society of the dauphiness. it was not till a long time afterwards that i learnt these particulars, m. campan having kept the secret; but an unforeseen event had well-nigh exposed the whole mystery. one day the queen desired m. campan to go down into her closet to fetch something that she had forgotten; he was dressed for the character of crispin, and was rouged. a private staircase led direct to the entresol through the dressing-room. m. campan fancied he heard some noise, and remained still, behind the door, which was shut. a servant belonging to the wardrobe, who was, in fact, on the staircase, had also heard some noise, and, either from fear or curiosity, he suddenly opened the door; the figure of crispin frightened him so that he fell down backwards, shouting with his might, "help! help!" my father-in-law raised him up, made him recognise his voice, and laid upon him an injunction of silence as to what he had seen. he felt himself, however, bound to inform the dauphiness of what had happened, and she was afraid that a similar occurrence might betray their amusements. they were therefore discontinued. the princess occupied her time in her own apartment in the study of music and the parts in plays which she had to learn; the latter exercise, at least, produced the beneficial effect of strengthening her memory and familiarising her with the french language. while louis xv. reigned, the enemies of marie antoinette made no attempt to change public opinion with regard to her. she was always popular with the french people in general, and particularly with the inhabitants of paris, who went on every opportunity to versailles, the majority of them attracted solely by the pleasure of seeing her. the courtiers did not fully enter into the popular enthusiasm which the dauphiness had inspired; the disgrace of the duc de choiseul had removed her real support from her; and the party which had the ascendency at court since the exile of that minister was, politically, as much opposed to her family as to herself. the dauphiness was therefore surrounded by enemies at versailles. nevertheless everybody appeared outwardly desirous to please her; for the age of louis xv., and the apathetic character of the dauphin, sufficiently warned courtiers of the important part reserved for the princess during the following reign, in case the dauphin should become attached to her. chapter iv. about the beginning of may, , louis xv., the strength of whose constitution had promised a long enough life, was attacked by confluent smallpox of the worst kind. mesdames at this juncture inspired the dauphiness with a feeling of respect and attachment, of which she gave them repeated proofs when she ascended the throne. in fact, nothing was more admirable nor more affecting than the courage with which they braved that most horrible disease. the air of the palace was infected; more than fifty persons took the smallpox, in consequence of having merely loitered in the galleries of versailles, and ten died of it. the end of the monarch was approaching. his reign, peaceful in general, had inherited strength from the power of his predecessor; on the other hand, his own weakness had been preparing misfortune for whoever should reign after him. the scene was about to change; hope, ambition, joy, grief, and all those feelings which variously affected the hearts of the courtiers, sought in vain to disguise themselves under a calm exterior. it was easy to detect the different motives which induced them every moment to repeat to every one the question: "how is the king?" at length, on the th of may, , the mortal career of louis xv. terminated. [christopher de beaumont, archbishop of paris, the ardent apostle of frequent communion, arrived at paris with the intention of soliciting, in public, the administration of the sacrament to the king, and secretly retarding it as much as possible. the ceremony could not take place without the previous and public expulsion of the, concubine, according to the canons of the church and the jesuitical party, of which christopher was the leader. this party, which had made use of madame du barry to suppress the parliaments, to support the duc d'aiguillon, and ruin the choiseul faction, could not willingly consent to disgrace her canonically. the archbishop went into the king's bedchamber, and found there madame adelaide, the duc d'aumont, the bishop of senlis, and richelieu, in whose presence he resolved not to say one word about confession for that day. this reticence so encouraged louis xv. that, on the archbishop withdrawing, he had madame du barry called in, and kissed her beautiful hands again with his wonted affection. on the d of may the king found himself a little better. madame du barry had brought him two confidential physicians, lorry and borden, who were enjoined to conceal the nature of his sickness from him in order to keep off the priests and save her from a humiliating dismissal. the king's improvement allowed madame du barry to divert him by her usual playfulness and conversation. but la martiniere, who was of the choiseul party, and to whom they durst not refuse his right of entry, did not conceal from the king either the nature or the danger of his sickness. the king then sent for madame du barry, and said to her: "my love, i have got the smallpox, and my illness is very dangerous on account of my age and other disorders. i ought not to forget that i am the most christian king, and the eldest son of the church. i am sixty-four; the time is perhaps approaching when we must separate. i wish to prevent a scene like that of metz." (when, in , he had dismissed the duchesse de chateauroux.) "apprise the duc d'aiguillon of what i say, that he may arrange with you if my sickness grows worse; so that we may part without any publicity." the jansenists and the duc de choiseurs party publicly said that m. d'aiguillon and the archbishop had resolved to let the king die without receiving the sacrament rather than disturb madame du barry. annoyed by their remarks, beaumont determined to go and reside at the lazaristes, his house at versailles, to avail himself of the king's last moments, and sacrifice madame du barry when the monarch's condition should become desperate. he arrived on the d of may, but did not see the king. under existing circumstances, his object was to humble the enemies of his party and to support the favourite who had assisted to overcome them. a contrary zeal animated the bishop of carcassonne, who urged that "the king ought to receive the sacrament; and by expelling the concubine to give an example of repentance to france and christian europe, which he had scandalised."--" by what right," said cardinal de la roche-aymon, a complaisant courtier with whom the bishop was at daggers drawn, "do you instruct me?"--"there is my authority," replied the bishop, holding up his pectoral cross. "learn, monseigneur, to respect it, and do not suffer your king to die without the sacraments of the church, of which he is the eldest son." the duc d'aiguillon and the archbishop, who witnessed the discussion, put an end to it by asking for the king's orders relative to madame du barry. "she must be taken quietly to your seat at ruelle," said the king; "i shall be grateful for the care madame d'aiguillon may take of her." madame du barry saw the king again for a moment on the evening of the th, and promised to return to court upon his recovery. she was scarcely gone when the king asked for her. "she is gone," was the answer. from that moment the disorder gained ground; he thought himself a dead man, without the possibility of recovery. the th and th passed without a word of confession, viaticum, or extreme unction. the duc de fronsac threatened to throw the cure of versailles out of the window if he dared to mention them, but on the th, at three in the morning, the king imperatively called for the abbe maudous. confession lasted seventeen minutes. the ducs de la vrillilere and d'aiguillon wished to delay the viaticum; but la martiniere said to the king: "sire, i have seen your majesty in very trying circumstances; but never admired you as i have done to-day. no doubt your majesty will immediately finish what you have so well begun." the king had his confessor maudoua called back; this was a poor priest who had been placed about him for some years before because he was old and blind. he gave him absolution. the formal renunciation desired by the choiseul party, in order to humble and annihilate madame du barry with solemnity, was no more mentioned. the grand almoner, in concert with the archbishop, composed this formula, pronounced in presence of the viaticum: "although the king owes an account of his conduct to none but god, he declares his repentance at having scandalised his subjects, and is desirous to live solely for the maintenance of religion and the happiness of his people." on the th and th the disorder grew worse; and the king beheld the whole surface of his body coming off piecemeal and corrupted. deserted by his friends and by that crowd of courtiers which had so long cringed before him, his only consolation was the piety of his daughters.--soulavie, "historical and political memoirs," vol. i.] the comtesse du barry had, a few days previously, withdrawn to ruelle, to the duc d'aiguillon's. twelve or fifteen persons belonging to the court thought it their duty to visit her there; their liveries were observed, and these visits were for a long time grounds for disfavour. more than six years after the king's death one of these persons being spoken of in the circle of the royal family, i heard it remarked, "that was one of the fifteen ruelle carriages." the whole court went to the chateau; the oiel-de boeuf was filled with courtiers, and the palace with the inquisitive. the dauphin had settled that he would depart with the royal family the moment the king should breathe his last sigh. but on such an occasion decency forbade that positive orders for departure should be passed from mouth to mouth. the heads of the stables, therefore, agreed with the people who were in the king's room, that the latter should place a lighted taper near a window, and that at the instant of the king's decease one of them should extinguish it. the taper was extinguished. on this signal the body guards, pages, and equerries mounted on horseback, and all was ready for setting off. the dauphin was with the dauphiness. they were expecting together the intelligence of the death of louis xv. a dreadful noise, absolutely like thunder, was heard in the outer apartment; it was the crowd of courtiers who were deserting the dead sovereign's antechamber, to come and do homage to the new power of louis xvi. this extraordinary tumult informed marie antoinette and her husband that they were called to the throne; and, by a spontaneous movement, which deeply affected those around them, they threw themselves on their knees; both, pouring forth a flood of tears, exclaimed: "o god! guide us, protect us; we are too young to reign." the comtesse de noailles entered, and was the first to salute marie antoinette as queen of france. she requested their majesties to condescend to quit the inner apartments for the grand salon, to receive the princes and all the great officers, who were desirous to do homage to their new sovereigns. marie antoinette received these first visits leaning upon her husband, with her handkerchief held to her eyes; the carriages drove up, the guards and equerries were on horseback. the chateau was deserted; every one hastened to fly from contagion, which there was no longer any inducement to brave. on leaving the chamber of louis xv., the duc de villequier, first gentleman of the bedchamber for the year, ordered m. andouille, the king's chief surgeon, to open the body and embalm it. the chief surgeon would inevitably have died in consequence. "i am ready," replied andouille; "but while i operate you shall hold the head; your office imposes this duty upon you." the duke went off without saying a word, and the corpse was neither opened nor embalmed. a few under-servants and workmen continued with the pestiferous remains, and paid the last duty to their master; the surgeons directed that spirits of wine should be poured into the coffin. the entire court set off for choisy at four o'clock; mesdames the king's aunts in their private carriage, and the princesses under tuition with the comtesse de marsan and the under-governesses. the king, the queen, monsieur, the king's brother, madame, and the comte and comtesse d'artois went in the same carriage. the solemn scene that had just passed before their eyes, the multiplied ideas offered to their imaginations by that which was just opening, had naturally inclined them to grief and reflection; but, by the queen's own confession, this inclination, little suited to their age, wholly left them before they had gone half their journey; a word, drolly mangled by the comtesse d'artois, occasioned a general burst of laughter; and from that moment they dried their tears. the communication between choisy and paris was incessant; never was a court seen in greater agitation. what influence will the royal aunts have,--and the queen? what fate is reserved for the comtesse du barry? whom will the young king choose for his ministers? all these questions were answered in a few days. it was determined that the king's youth required a confidential person near him; and that there should be a prime minister. all eyes were turned upon de machault and de maurepas, both of them much advanced in years. the first had retired to his estate near paris; and the second to pont chartrain, to which place he had long been exiled. the letter recalling m. de machault was written, when madame adelaide obtained the preference of that important appointment for m. de maurepas. the page to whose care the first letter had been actually consigned was recalled. the duc d'aiguillon had been too openly known as the private friend of the king's mistress; he was dismissed. m. de vergennes, at that time ambassador of france at stockholm, was appointed minister for foreign affairs; comte du muy, the intimate friend of the dauphin, the father of louis xvi.[?? d.w.], obtained the war department. the abbe terray in vain said, and wrote, that he had boldly done all possible injury to the creditors of the state during the reign of the late king; that order was restored in the finances; that nothing but what was beneficial to all parties remained to be done; and that the new court was about to enjoy the advantages of the regenerating part of his plan of finance; all these reasons, set forth in five or six memorials, which he sent in succession to the king and queen, did not avail to keep him in office. his talents were admitted, but the odium which his operations had necessarily brought upon his character, combined with the immorality of his private life, forbade his further stay at court; he was succeeded by m. de clugny. de maupeou, the chancellor, was exiled; this caused universal joy. lastly, the reassembling of the parliaments produced the strongest sensation; paris was in a delirium of joy, and not more than one person in a hundred foresaw that the spirit of the ancient magistracy would be still the same; and that in a short time it would make new attempts upon the royal authority. madame du barry had been exiled to pont-aux-dames. this was a measure rather of necessity than of severity; a short period of compulsory retreat was requisite in order completely to break off her connections with state affairs. the possession of louveciennes and a considerable pension were continued to her. [the comtesse du barry never forgot the mild treatment she experienced from the court of louis xvi.; during the most violent convulsions of the revolution she signified to the queen that there was no one in france more grieved at the sufferings of her sovereign than herself; that the honour she had for years enjoyed, of living near the throne, and the unbounded kindness of the king and queen, had so sincerely attached her to the cause of royalty that she entreated the queen to honour her by disposing of all she possessed. though they did not accept her offer, their majesties were affected at her gratitude. the comtesse du barry was, as is well known, one of the victims of the revolution. she betrayed at the last great weakness, and the most ardent desire to live. she was the only woman who wept upon the scaffold and implored for mercy. her beauty and tears made an impression on the populace, and the execution was hurried to a conclusion.--madame campan.] everybody expected the recall of m. de choiseul; the regret occasioned by his absence among the numerous friends whom he had left at court, the attachment of the young princess who was indebted to him for her elevation to the throne of france, and all concurring circumstances, seemed to foretell his return; the queen earnestly entreated it of the king, but she met with an insurmountable and unforeseen obstacle. the king, it is said, had imbibed the strongest prejudices against that minister, from secret memoranda penned by his father, and which had been committed to the care of the duc de la vauguyon, with an injunction to place them in his hands as soon as he should be old enough to study the art of reigning. it was by these memoranda that the esteem which he had conceived for the marechal du muy was inspired, and we may add that madame adelaide, who at this early period powerfully influenced the decisions of the young monarch, confirmed the impressions they had made. the queen conversed with m. campan on the regret she felt at having been unable to procure the recall of m. de choiseul, and disclosed the cause of it to him. the abbe de vermond, who, down to the time of the death of louis xv., had been on terms of the strictest friendship with m. campan, called upon him on the second day after the arrival of the court at choisy, and, assuming a serious air, said, "monsieur, the queen was indiscreet enough yesterday to speak to you of a minister to whom she must of course be attached, and whom his friends ardently desire to have near her; you are aware that we must give up all expectation of seeing the duke at court; you know the reasons why; but you do not know that the young queen, having mentioned the conversation in question to me, it was my duty, both as her preceptor and her friend, to remonstrate severely with her on her indiscretion in communicating to you those particulars of which you are in possession. i am now come to tell you that if you continue to avail yourself of the good nature of your mistress to initiate yourself in secrets of state, you will have me for your most inveterate enemy. the queen should find here no other confidant than myself respecting things that ought to remain secret." m. campan answered that he did not covet the important and dangerous character at the new court which the abbe wished to appropriate; and that he should confine himself to the duties of his office, being sufficiently satisfied with the continued kindness with which the queen honoured him. notwithstanding this, however, he informed the queen, on the very same evening, of the injunction he had received. she owned that she had mentioned their conversation to the abbe; that he had indeed seriously scolded her, in order to make her feel the necessity of being secret in concerns of state; and she added, "the abbe cannot like you, my dear campan; he did not expect that i should, on my arrival in france, find in my household a man who would suit me so exactly as you have done. i know that he has taken umbrage at it; that is enough. i know, too, that you are incapable of attempting anything to injure him in my esteem; an attempt which would besides be vain, for i have been too long attached to him. as to yourself, be easy on the score of the abbe's hostility, which shall not in any way hurt you." the abbe de vermond having made himself master of the office of sole confidant to the queen, was nevertheless agitated whenever he saw the young king; he could not be ignorant that the abbe had been promoted by the duc de choiseul, and was believed to favour the encyclopedists, against whom louis xvi. entertained a secret prejudice, although he suffered them to gain so great an ascendency during his reign. the abbe had, moreover, observed that the king had never, while dauphin, addressed a single word to him; and that he very frequently only answered him with a shrug of the shoulders. he therefore determined on writing to louis xvi., and intimating that he owed his situation at court solely to the confidence with which the late king had honoured him; and that as habits contracted during the queen's education placed him continually in the closest intimacy with her, he could not enjoy the honour of remaining near her majesty without the king's consent. louis xvi. sent back his letter, after writing upon it these words: "i approve the abbe de vermond continuing in his office about the queen." chapter v. at the period of his grandfather's death, louis xvi. began to be exceedingly attached to the queen. the first period of so deep a mourning not admitting of indulgence in the diversion of hunting, he proposed to her walks in the gardens of choisy; they went out like husband and wife, the young king giving his arm to the queen, and accompanied by a very small suite. the influence of this example had such an effect upon the courtiers that the next day several couples, who had long, and for good reasons, been disunited, were seen walking upon the terrace with the same apparent conjugal intimacy. thus they spent whole hours, braving the intolerable wearisomeness of their protracted tete-a-tetes, out of mere obsequious imitation. the devotion of mesdames to the king their father throughout his dreadful malady had produced that effect upon their health which was generally apprehended. on the fourth day after their arrival at choisy they were attacked by pains in the head and chest, which left no doubt as to the danger of their situation. it became necessary instantly to send away the young royal family; and the chateau de la muette, in the bois de boulogne, was selected for their reception. their arrival at that residence, which was very near paris, drew so great a concourse of people into its neighbourhood, that even at daybreak the crowd had begun to assemble round the gates. shouts of "vive le roi!" were scarcely interrupted for a moment between six o'clock in the morning and sunset. the unpopularity the late king, had drawn upon himself during his latter years, and the hopes to which a new reign gives birth, occasioned these transports of joy. a fashionable jeweller made a fortune by the sale of mourning snuff-boxes, whereon the portrait of the young queen, in a black frame of shagreen, gave rise to the pun: "consolation in chagrin." all the fashions, and every article of dress, received names expressing the spirit of the moment. symbols of abundance were everywhere represented, and the head-dresses of the ladies were surrounded by ears of wheat. poets sang of the new monarch; all hearts, or rather all heads, in france were filled with enthusiasm. never did the commencement of any reign excite more unanimous testimonials of love and attachment. it must be observed, however, that, amidst all this intoxication, the anti-austrian party never lost sight of the young queen, but kept on the watch, with the malicious desire to injure her through such errors as might arise from her youth and inexperience. their majesties had to receive at la muette the condolences of the ladies who had been presented at court, who all felt themselves called on to pay homage to the new sovereigns. old and young hastened to present themselves on the day of general reception; little black bonnets with great wings, shaking heads, low curtsies, keeping time with the motions of the head, made, it must be admitted, a few venerable dowagers appear somewhat ridiculous; but the queen, who possessed a great deal of dignity, and a high respect for decorum, was not guilty of the grave fault of losing the state she was bound to preserve. an indiscreet piece of drollery of one of the ladies of the palace, however, procured her the imputation of doing so. the marquise de clermont-tonnerre, whose office required that she should continue standing behind the queen, fatigued by the length of the ceremony, seated herself on the floor, concealed behind the fence formed by the hoops of the queen and the ladies of the palace. thus seated, and wishing to attract attention and to appear lively, she twitched the dresses of those ladies, and played a thousand other tricks. the contrast of these childish pranks with the solemnity which reigned over the rest of the queen's chamber disconcerted her majesty: she several times placed her fan before her face to hide an involuntary smile, and the severe old ladies pronounced that the young queen had decided all those respectable persons who were pressing forward to pay their homage to her; that she liked none but the young; that she was deficient in decorum; and that not one of them would attend her court again. the epithet 'moqueuse' was applied to her; and there is no epithet less favourably received in the world. the next day a very ill-natured song was circulated; the stamp of the party to which it was attributable might easily be seen upon it. i remember only the following chorus: "little queen, you must not be so saucy, with your twenty years; your ill-used courtiers soon will see you pass, once more, the barriers. fal lal lal, fal lal la." the errors of the great, or those which ill-nature chooses to impute to them, circulate in the world with the greatest rapidity, and become historical traditions, which every one delights to repeat. more than fifteen years after this occurrence i heard some old ladies in the most retired part of auvergne relating all the particulars of the day of public condolence for the late king, on which, as they said, the queen had laughed in the faces of the sexagenarian duchesses and princesses who had thought it their duty to appear on the occasion. the king and the princes, his brothers, determined to avail themselves of the advantages held out by inoculation, as a safeguard against the illness under which their grandfather had just fallen; but the utility of this new discovery not being then generally acknowledged in france, many persons were greatly alarmed at the step; those who blamed it openly threw all the responsibility of it upon the queen, who alone, they said, could have ventured to give such rash advice, inoculation being at this time established in the northern courts. the operation upon the king and his brothers, performed by doctor jauberthou, was fortunately quite successful. when the convalescence of the princes was perfectly established, the excursions to marly became cheerful enough. parties on horseback and in calashes were formed continually. the queen was desirous to afford herself one very innocent gratification; she had never seen the day break; and having now no other consent than that of the king to seek, she intimated her wish to him. he agreed that she should go, at three o'clock in the morning, to the eminences of the gardens of marly; and, unfortunately, little disposed to partake in her amusements, he himself went to bed. foreseeing some inconveniences possible in this nocturnal party, the queen determined on having a number of people with her; and even ordered her waiting women to accompany her. all precautions were ineffectual to prevent the effects of calumny, which thenceforward sought to diminish the general attachment that she had inspired. a few days afterwards, the most wicked libel that appeared during the earlier years of her reign was circulated in paris. the blackest colours were employed to paint an enjoyment so harmless that there is scarcely a young woman living in the country who has not endeavoured to procure it for herself. the verses which appeared on this occasion were entitled "sunrise." the duc d'orleans, then duc de chartres, was among those who accompanied the young queen in her nocturnal ramble: he appeared very attentive to her at this epoch; but it was the only moment of his life in which there was any advance towards intimacy between the queen and himself. the king disliked the character of the duc de chartres, and the queen always excluded him from her private society. it is therefore without the slightest foundation that some writers have attributed to feelings of jealousy or wounded self-love the hatred which he displayed towards the queen during the latter years of their existence. it was on this first journey to marly that boehmer, the jeweller, appeared at court,--a man whose stupidity and avarice afterwards fatally affected the happiness and reputation of marie antoinette. this person had, at great expense, collected six pear-formed diamonds of a prodigious size; they were perfectly matched and of the finest water. the earrings which they composed had, before the death of louis xv., been destined for the comtesse du barry. boehmer; by the recommendation of several persons about the court, came to offer these jewels to the queen. he asked four hundred thousand francs for them. the young princess could not withstand her wish to purchase them; and the king having just raised the queen's income, which, under the former reign, had been but two hundred thousand livres, to one hundred thousand crowns a year, she wished to make the purchase out of her own purse, and not burthen the royal treasury with the payment. she proposed to boehmer to take off the two buttons which formed the tops of the clusters, as they could be replaced by two of her own diamonds. he consented, and then reduced the price of the earrings to three hundred and sixty thousand francs; the payment for which was to be made by instalments, and was discharged in the course of four or five years by the queen's first femme de chambre, deputed to manage the funds of her privy purse. i have omitted no details as to the manner in which the queen first became possessed of these jewels, deeming them very needful to place in its true light the too famous circumstance of the necklace, which happened near the end of her reign. it was also on this first journey to marly that the duchesse de chartres, afterwards duchesse d'orleans, introduced into the queen's household mademoiselle bertin, a milliner who became celebrated at that time for the total change she effected in the dress of the french ladies. it may be said that the mere admission of a milliner into the house of the queen was followed by evil consequences to her majesty. the skill of the milliner, who was received into the household, in spite of the custom which kept persons of her description out of it, afforded her the opportunity of introducing some new fashion every day. up to this time the queen had shown very plain taste in dress; she now began to make it a principal occupation; and she was of course imitated by other women. all wished instantly to have the same dress as the queen, and to wear the feathers and flowers to which her beauty, then in its brilliancy, lent an indescribable charm. the expenditure of the younger ladies was necessarily much increased; mothers and husbands murmured at it; some few giddy women contracted debts; unpleasant domestic scenes occurred; in many families coldness or quarrels arose; and the general report was,--that the queen would be the ruin of all the french ladies. fashion continued its fluctuating progress; and head-dresses, with their superstructures of gauze, flowers, and feathers, became so lofty that the women could not find carriages high enough to admit them; and they were often seen either stooping, or holding their heads out of the windows. others knelt down in order to manage these elevated objects of ridicule with less danger. [if the use of these extravagant feathers and head-dresses had continued, say the memoirs of that period very seriously, it would have effected a revolution in architecture. it would have been found necessary to raise the doors and ceilings of the boxes at the theatre, and particularly the bodies of carriages. it was not without mortification that the king observed the queen's adoption of this style of dress: she was never so lovely in his eyes as when unadorned by art. one day carlin, performing at court as harlequin, stuck in his hat, instead of the rabbit's tail, its prescribed ornament, a peacock's feather of excessive length. this new appendage, which repeatedly got entangled among the scenery, gave him an opportunity for a great deal of buffoonery. there was some inclination to punish him; but it was presumed that he had not assumed the feather without authority.-note by the editor.] innumerable caricatures, exhibited in all directions, and some of which artfully gave the features of the queen, attacked the extravagance of fashion, but with very little effect. it changed only, as is always the case, through the influence of inconstancy and time. the queen's toilet was a masterpiece of etiquette; everything was done in a prescribed form. both the dame d'honneur and the dame d'atours usually attended and officiated, assisted by the first femme de chambre and two ordinary women. the dame d'atours put on the petticoat, and handed the gown to the queen. the dame d'honneur poured out the water for her hands and put on her linen. when a princess of the royal family happened to be present while the queen was dressing, the dame d'honneur yielded to her the latter act of office, but still did not yield it directly to the princesses of the blood; in such a case the dame d'honneur was accustomed to present the linen to the first femme de chambre, who, in her turn, handed it to the princess of the blood. each of these ladies observed these rules scrupulously as affecting her rights. one winter's day it happened that the queen, who was entirely undressed, was just going to put on her shift; i held it ready unfolded for her; the dame d'honneur came in, slipped off her gloves, and took it. a scratching was heard at the door; it was opened, and in came the duchesse d'orleans: her gloves were taken off, and she came forward to take the garment; but as it would have been wrong in the dame d'honneur to hand it to her she gave it to me, and i handed it to the princess. more scratching it was madame la comtesse de provence; the duchesse d'orleans handed her the linen. all this while the queen kept her arms crossed upon her bosom, and appeared to feel cold; madame observed her uncomfortable situation, and, merely laying down her handkerchief without taking off her gloves, she put on the linen, and in doing so knocked the queen's cap off. the queen laughed to conceal her impatience, but not until she had muttered several times, "how disagreeable! how tiresome!" all this etiquette, however inconvenient, was suitable to the royal dignity, which expects to find servants in all classes of persons, beginning even with the brothers and sisters of the monarch. speaking here of etiquette, i do not allude to majestic state, appointed for days of ceremony in all courts. i mean those minute ceremonies that were pursued towards our kings in their inmost privacies, in their hours of pleasure, in those of pain, and even during the most revolting of human infirmities. these servile rules were drawn up into a kind of code; they offered to a richelieu, a la rochefoucauld and a duras, in the exercise of their domestic functions, opportunities of intimacy useful to their interests; and their vanity was flattered by customs which converted the right to give a glass of water, to put on a dress, and to remove a basin, into honourable prerogatives. princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities naturally ended by believing that they were of a distinct nature, of a purer essence than the rest of mankind. this sort of etiquette, which led our princes to be treated in private as idols, made them in public martyrs to decorum. marie antoinette found in the chateau of versailles a multitude of established customs which appeared to her insupportable. the ladies-in-waiting, who were all obliged to be sworn, and to wear full court dresses, were alone entitled to remain in the room, and to attend in conjunction with the dame d'honneur and the tirewoman. the queen abolished all this formality. when her head was dressed, she curtsied to all the ladies who were in her chamber, and, followed only by her own women, went into her closet, where mademoiselle bertin, who could not be admitted into the chamber, used to await her. it was in this inner closet that she produced her new and numerous dresses. the queen was also desirous of being served by the most fashionable hairdresser in paris. now the custom which forbade all persons in inferior offices, employed by royalty, to exert their talents for the public, was no doubt intended to cut off all communication between the privacy of princes and society at large; the latter being always extremely curious respecting the most trifling particulars relative to the private life of the former. the queen, fearing that the taste of the hairdresser would suffer if he should discontinue the general practice of his art, ordered him to attend as usual certain ladies of the court and of paris; and this multiplied the opportunities of learning details respecting the household, and very often of misrepresenting them. one of the customs most disagreeable to the queen was that of dining every day in public. maria leczinska had always submitted to this wearisome practice; marie antoinette followed it as long as she was dauphiness. the dauphin dined with her, and each branch of the family had its public dinner daily. the ushers suffered all decently dressed people to enter; the sight was the delight of persons from the country. at the dinner-hour there were none to be met upon the stairs but honest folks, who, after having seen the dauphiness take her soup, went to see the princes eat their 'bouilli', and then ran themselves out of breath to behold mesdames at their dessert. very ancient usage, too, required that the queens of france should appear in public surrounded only by women; even at meal-times no persons of the other sex attended to serve at table; and although the king ate publicly with the queen, yet he himself was served by women with everything which was presented to him directly at table. the dame d'honneur, kneeling, for her own accommodation, upon a low stool, with a napkin upon her arm, and four women in full dress, presented the plates to the king and queen. the dame d'honneur handed them drink. this service had formerly been the right of the maids of honour. the queen, upon her accession to the throne, abolished the usage altogether. she also freed herself from the necessity of being followed in the palace of versailles by two of her women in court dresses, during those hours of the day when the ladies-in-waiting were not with her. from that time she was accompanied only by a single valet de chambre and two footmen. all the changes made by marie antoinette were of the same description; a disposition gradually to substitute the simple customs of vienna for those of versailles was more injurious to her than she could possibly have imagined. when the king slept in the queen's apartment he always rose before her; the exact hour was communicated to the head femme de chambre, who entered, preceded by a servant of the bedchamber bearing a taper; she crossed the room and unbolted the door which separated the queen's apartment from that of the king. she there found the first valet de chambre for the quarter, and a servant of the chamber. they entered, opened the bed curtains on the king's side, and presented him slippers generally, as well as the dressing-gown, which he put on, of gold or silver stuff. the first valet de chambre took down a short sword which was always laid within the railing on the king's side. when the king slept with the queen, this sword was brought upon the armchair appropriated to the king, and which was placed near the queen's bed, within the gilt railing which surrounded the bed. the first femme de chambre conducted the king to the door, bolted it again, and, leaving the queen's chamber, did not return until the hour appointed by her majesty the evening before. at night the queen went to bed before the king; the first femme de chambre remained seated at the foot of her bed until the arrival of his majesty, in order, as in the morning, to see the king's attendants out and bolt the door after them. the queen awoke habitually at eight o'clock, and breakfasted at nine, frequently in bed, and sometimes after she had risen, at a table placed opposite her couch. in order to describe the queen's private service intelligibly, it must be recollected that service of every kind was honour, and had not any other denomination. to do the honours of the service was to present the service to a person of superior rank, who happened to arrive at the moment it was about to be performed. thus, supposing the queen asked for a glass of water, the servant of the chamber handed to the first woman a silver gilt waiter, upon which were placed a covered goblet and a small decanter; but should the lady of honour come in, the first woman was obliged to present the waiter to her, and if madame or the comtesse d'artois came in at the moment, the waiter went again from the lady of honour into the hands of the princess before it reached the queen. it must be observed, however, that if a princess of the blood instead of a princess of the family entered, the service went directly from the first woman to the princess of the blood, the lady of honour being excused from transferring to any but princesses of the royal family. nothing was presented directly to the queen; her handkerchief or her gloves were placed upon a long salver of gold or silver gilt, which was placed as a piece of furniture of ceremony upon a side-table, and was called a gantiere. the first woman presented to her in this manner all that she asked for, unless the tirewoman, the lady of honour, or a princess were present, and then the gradation pointed out in the instance of the glass of water was always observed. whether the queen breakfasted in bed or up, those entitled to the petites entrees were equally admitted; this privilege belonged of right to her chief physician, chief surgeon, physician in ordinary, reader, closet secretary, the king's four first valets de chambre and their reversioners, and the king's chief physicians and surgeons. there were frequently from ten to twelve persons at this first entree. the lady of honour or the superintendent, if present, placed the breakfast equipage upon the bed; the princesse de lamballe frequently performed that office. as soon as the queen rose, the wardrobe woman was admitted to take away the pillows and prepare the bed to be made by some of the valets de chambre. she undrew the curtains, and the bed was not generally made until the queen was gone to mass. generally, excepting at st. cloud, where the queen bathed in an apartment below her own, a slipper bath was rolled into her room, and her bathers brought everything that was necessary for the bath. the queen bathed in a large gown of english flannel buttoned down to the bottom; its sleeves throughout, as well as the collar, were lined with linen. when she came out of the bath the first woman held up a cloth to conceal her entirely from the sight of her women, and then threw it over her shoulders. the bathers wrapped her in it and dried her completely. she then put on a long and wide open chemise, entirely trimmed with lace, and afterwards a white taffety bed-gown. the wardrobe woman warmed the bed; the slippers were of dimity, trimmed with lace. thus dressed, the queen went to bed again, and the bathers and servants of the chamber took away the bathing apparatus. the queen, replaced in bed, took a book or her tapestry work. on her bathing mornings she breakfasted in the bath. the tray was placed on the cover of the bath. these minute details are given here only to do justice to the queen's scrupulous modesty. her temperance was equally remarkable; she breakfasted on coffee or chocolate; at dinner ate nothing but white meat, drank water only, and supped on broth, a wing of a fowl, and small biscuits, which she soaked in a glass of water. the tirewoman had under her order a principal under-tirewoman, charged with the care and preservation of all the queen's dresses; two women to fold and press such articles as required it; two valets, and a porter of the wardrobe. the latter brought every morning into the queen's apartments baskets covered with taffety, containing all that she was to wear during the day, and large cloths of green taffety covering the robes and the full dresses. the valet of the wardrobe on duty presented every morning a large book to the first femme de chambre, containing patterns of the gowns, full dresses, undresses, etc. every pattern was marked, to show to which sort it belonged. the first femme de chambre presented this book to the queen on her awaking, with a pincushion; her majesty stuck pins in those articles which she chose for the day,--one for the dress, one for the afternoon-undress, and one for the full evening dress for card or supper parties in the private apartments. the book was then taken back to the wardrobe, and all that was wanted for the day was soon after brought in in large taffety wrappers. the wardrobe woman, who had the care of the linen, in her turn brought in a covered basket containing two or three chemises and handkerchiefs. the morning basket was called pret du jour. in the evening she brought in one containing the nightgown and nightcap, and the stockings for the next morning; this basket was called pret de la nuit. they were in the department of the lady of honour, the tirewoman having nothing to do with the linen. nothing was put in order or taken care of by the queen's women. as soon as the toilet was over, the valets and porter belonging to the wardrobe were called in, and they carried all away in a heap, in the taffety wrappers, to the tirewoman's wardrobe, where all were folded up again, hung up, examined, and cleaned with so much regularity and care that even the cast-off clothes scarcely looked as if they had been worn. the tirewoman's wardrobe consisted of three large rooms surrounded with closets, some furnished with drawers and others with shelves; there were also large tables in each of these rooms, on which the gowns and dresses were spread out and folded up. for the winter the queen had generally twelve full dresses, twelve undresses called fancy dresses, and twelve rich hoop petticoats for the card and supper parties in the smaller apartments. she had as many for the summer; those for the spring served likewise for the autumn. all these dresses were discarded at the end of each season, unless, indeed, she retained some that she particularly liked. i am not speaking of muslin or cambric gowns, or others of the same kind--they were lately introduced; but such as these were not renewed at each returning season, they were kept several years. the chief women were charged with the care and examination of the diamonds; this important duty was formerly confided to the tirewoman, but for many years had been included in the business of the first femmes de chambre. the public toilet took place at noon. the toilet-table was drawn forward into the middle of the room. this piece of furniture was generally the richest and most ornamented of all in the apartment of the princesses. the queen used it in the same manner and place for undressing herself in the evening. she went to bed in corsets trimmed with ribbon, and sleeves trimmed with lace, and wore a large neck handkerchief. the queen's combing cloth was presented by her first woman if she was alone at the commencement of the toilet; or, as well as the other articles, by the ladies of honour if they were come. at noon the women who had been in attendance four and twenty hours were relieved by two women in full dress; the first woman went also to dress herself. the grandee entrees were admitted during the toilet; sofas were placed in circles for the superintendent, the ladies of honour, and tirewomen, and the governess of the children of france when she came there; the duties of the ladies of the bedchamber, having nothing to do with any kind of domestic or private functions, did not begin until the hour of going out to mass; they waited in the great closet, and entered when the toilet was over. the princes of the blood, captains of the guards, and all great officers having the entry paid their court at the hour of the toilet. the queen saluted by nodding her head or bending her body, or leaning upon her toilet-table as if moving to rise; the last mode of salutation was for the princes of the blood. the king's brothers also came very generally to pay their respects to her majesty while her hair was being dressed. in the earlier years of the reign the first part of the dressing was performed in the bedchamber and according to the laws of etiquette; that is to say, the lady of honour put on the chemise and poured out the water for the hands, the tirewoman put on the skirt of the gown or full dress, adjusted the handkerchief, and tied on the necklace. but when the young queen became more seriously devoted to fashion, and the head-dress attained so extravagant a height that it became necessary to put on the chemise from below,--when, in short, she determined to have her milliner, mademoiselle benin, with her whilst she was dressing, whom the ladies would have refused to admit to any share in the honour of attending on the queen, the dressing in the bedchamber was discontinued, and the queen, leaving her toilet, withdrew into her closet to dress. on returning into her chamber, the queen, standing about the middle of it, surrounded by the superintendent, the ladies of honour and tirewomen, her ladies of the palace, the chevalier d'honneur, the chief equerry, her clergy ready to attend her to mass, and the princesses of the royal family who happened to come, accompanied by all their chief attendants and ladies, passed in order into the gallery as in going to mass. the queen's signatures were generally given at the moment of entry into the chamber. the secretary for orders presented the pen. presentations of colonels on taking leave were usually made at this time. those of ladies, and, such as had a right to the tabouret, or sitting in the royal presence, were made on sunday evenings before card-playing began, on their coming in from paying their respects. ambassadors were introduced to the queen on tuesday mornings, accompanied by the introducer of ambassadors on duty, and by m. de sequeville, the secretary for the ambassadors. the introducer in waiting usually came to the queen at her toilet to apprise her of the presentations of foreigners which would be made. the usher of the chamber, stationed at the entrance, opened the folding doors to none but the princes and princesses of the royal family, and announced them aloud. quitting his post, he came forward to name to the lady of honour the persons who came to be presented, or who came to take leave; that lady again named them to the queen at the moment they saluted her; if she and the tirewoman were absent, the first woman took the place and did that duty. the ladies of the bedchamber, chosen solely as companions for the queen, had no domestic duties to fulfil, however opinion might dignify such offices. the king's letter in appointing them, among other instructions of etiquette, ran thus: "having chosen you to bear the queen company." there were hardly any emoluments accruing from this place. the queen heard mass with the king in the tribune, facing the grand altar and the choir, with the exception of the days of high ceremony, when their chairs were placed below upon velvet carpets fringed with gold. these days were marked by the name of grand chapel day. the queen named the collector beforehand, and informed her of it through her lady of honour, who was besides desired to send the purse to her. the collectors were almost always chosen from among those who had been recently presented. after returning from mass the queen dined every sunday with the king only, in public in the cabinet of the nobility, a room leading to her chamber. titled ladies having the honours sat during the dinner upon folding-chairs placed on each side of the table. ladies without titles stood round the table; the captain of the guards and the first gentleman of the chamber were behind the king's chair; behind that of the queen were her first maitre d'hotel, her chevalier d'honneur, and the chief equerry. the queen's maitre d'hotel was furnished with a large staff, six or seven feet in length, ornamented with golden fleurs-de-lis, and surmounted by fleurs-de-lis in the form of a crown. he entered the room with this badge of his office to announce that the queen was served. the comptroller put into his hands the card of the dinner; in the absence of the maitre d'hotel he presented it to the queen himself, otherwise he only did him the honours of the service. the maitre d'hotel did not leave his place, he merely gave the orders for serving up and removing; the comptroller and gentlemen serving placed the various dishes upon the table, receiving them from the inferior servants. the prince nearest to the crown presented water to wash the king's hands at the moment he placed himself at table, and a princess did the same service to the queen. the table service was formerly performed for the queen by the lady of honour and four women in full dress; this part of the women's service was transferred to them on the suppression of the office of maids of honour. the queen put an end to this etiquette in the first year of her reign. when the dinner was over the queen returned without the king to her apartment with her women, and took off her hoop and train. this unfortunate princess, against whom the opinions of the french people were at length so much excited, possessed qualities which deserved to obtain the greatest popularity. none could doubt this who, like myself, had heard her with delight describe the patriarchal manners of the house of lorraine. she was accustomed to say that, by transplanting their manners into austria, the princes of that house had laid the foundation of the unassailable popularity enjoyed by the imperial family. she frequently related to me the interesting manner in which the ducs de lorraine levied the taxes. "the sovereign prince," said she, "went to church; after the sermon he rose, waved his hat in the air, to show that he was about to speak, and then mentioned the sum whereof he stood in need. such was the zeal of the good lorrainers that men have been known to take away linen or household utensils without the knowledge of their wives, and sell them to add the value to their contribution. it sometimes happened, too, that the prince received more money than he had asked for, in which case he restored the surplus." all who were acquainted with the queen's private qualities knew that she equally deserved attachment and esteem. kind and patient to excess in her relations with her household, she indulgently considered all around her, and interested herself in their fortunes and in their pleasures., she had, among her women, young girls from the maison de st. cyr, all well born; the queen forbade them the play when the performances were not suitable; sometimes, when old plays were to be represented, if she found she could not with certainty trust to her memory, she would take the trouble to read them in the morning, to enable her to decide whether the girls should or should not go to see them,--rightly considering herself bound to watch over their morals and conduct. etext editor's bookmarks: carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a high pitch common and blamable practice of indulgence dignified tone which alone secures the respect due to power etiquette still existed at court, dignity alone was wanting happiness does not dwell in palaces his seraglio in the parc-aux-cerfs i love the conveniences of life too well leave me in peace; be assured that i can put no heir in danger most intriguing little carmelite in the kingdom princes thus accustomed to be treated as divinities princess at years was not mistress of the whole alphabet taken pains only to render himself beloved by his pupil the jesuits were suppressed the king delighted to manage the most disgraceful points to be formally mistress, a husband had to be found ventured to give such rash advice: inoculation was but one brilliant action that she could perform memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe book . section xiii. editor in continuation: i am again, for this and the following chapter, compelled to resume the pen in my own person, and quit the more agreeable office of a transcriber for my illustrious patroness. i have already mentioned that the princesse de lamballe, on first returning from england to france, anticipated great advantages from the recall of the emigrants. the desertion of france by so many of the powerful could not but be a deathblow to the prosperity of the monarchy. there was no reason for these flights at the time they began. the fugitives only set fire to the four quarters of the globe against their country. it was natural enough that the servants whom they had left behind to keep their places should take advantage of their masters' pusillanimity, and make laws to exclude those who had, uncalled for, resigned the sway into bolder and more active hands. i do not mean to impeach the living for the dead; but, when we see those bearing the lofty titles of kings and princesses, escaping with their wives and families, from an only brother and sister with helpless infant children, at the hour of danger, we cannot help wishing for a little plebeian disinterestedness in exalted minds. i have travelled europe twice, and i have never seen any woman with that indescribable charm of person, manner, and character, which distinguished marie antoinette. this is in itself a distinction quite sufficient to detach friends from its possessor through envy. besides, she was queen of france, the woman of highest rank in a most capricious, restless and libertine nation. the two princesses placed nearest to her, and who were the first to desert her, though both very much inferior in personal and mental qualifications, no doubt, though not directly, may have entertained some anticipations of her place. such feelings are not likely to decrease the distaste, which results from comparisons to our own disadvantage. it is, therefore, scarcely to be wondered at, that those nearest to the throne should be least attached to those who fill it. how little do such persons think that the grave they are thus insensibly digging may prove their own! in this case it only did not by a miracle. what the effect of the royal brothers' and the nobility's remaining in france would have been we can only conjecture. that their departure caused, great and irreparable evils we know; and we have good reason to think they caused the greatest. those who abandon their houses on fire, silently give up their claims to the devouring element. thus the first emigration kindled the french flame, which, though for a while it was got under by a foreign stream, was never completely, extinguished till subdued by its native current. the unfortunate louis xvi. and marie antoinette ceased to be sovereigns from the period they were ignominiously dragged to their jail at the tuileries. from this moment they were abandoned to the vengeance of miscreants, who were disgracing the nation with unprovoked and useless murders. but from this moment also the zeal of the princesses elizabeth and de lamballe became redoubled. out of one hundred individuals and more, male and female, who had been exclusively occupied about the person of marie antoinette, few, excepting this illustrious pair, and the inestimable clery, remained devoted to the last. the saint-like virtues of these princesses, malice itself has not been able to tarnish. their love and unalterable friendship became the shield of their unfortunate sovereigns, and their much injured relatives, till the dart struck their own faithful bosoms. princes of the earth! here is a lesson of greatness from the great. scarcely had the princesse de lamballe been reinstated in the pavilion of flora at the tuileries, when, by the special royal command, and in her majesty's presence, she wrote to most of the nobility, entreating their return to france. she urged them, by every argument, that there was no other means of saving them and their country from the horrors impending over them and france, should they persevere in their pernicious absence. in some of these letters, which i copied, there was written on the margin, in the queen's hand, "i am at her elbow, and repeat the necessity of your returning, if you love your king, your religion, your government, and your country. marie antoinette. return! return! return!" among these letters, i remember a large envelope directed to the duchesse de brisac, then residing alternately at the baths of albano and the mineral waters at valdagno, near vicenza, in the venetian states. her grace was charged to deliver letters addressed to her majesty's royal brothers, the comte de provence, and the comte d'artois, who were then residing, i think, at stra, on the brenta, in company with madame de polcatre, diane de polignac, and others. a few days after, i took another envelope, addressed to the count dufour, who was at turin. it contained letters for m. and madame de polignac, m. and madame de guiche grammont, the king's aunts at rome, and the two princesses of piedmont, wives of his majesty's brothers. if, therefore, a judgment can be formed from the impressions of the royal family, who certainly must have had ample information with respect to the spirit which predominated at paris at that period, could the nobility have been prevailed on to have obeyed the mandates of the queen and prayers and invocations of the princess, there can be no doubt that much bloodshed would have been spared, and the page of history never have been sullied by the atrocious names which now stand there as beacons of human infamy. the storms were now so fearfully increasing that the king and queen, the duc de penthievre, the count fersen, the princesse elizabeth, the duchesse d'orleans, and all the friends of the princesse de lamballe, once more united in anxious wishes for her to quit france. even the pope himself endeavoured to prevail upon her highness to join the royal aunts at rome. to all these applications she replied, "i have nothing to reproach myself with. if my inviolable duty and unalterable attachment to my sovereigns, who are my relations and my friends; if love for my dear father and for my adopted country are crimes, in the face of god and the world i confess my guilt, and shall die happy if in such a cause!" the duc de penthievre, who loved her as well as his own child, the duchesse d'orleans, was too good a man, and too conscientious a prince, not to applaud the disinterested firmness of his beloved daughter-in-law; yet, foreseeing and dreading the fatal consequence which must result from so much virtue at a time when vice alone predominated, unknown to the princesse de lamballe, he interested the court of france to write to the court of sardinia to entreat that the king, as head of her family, would use his good offices in persuading the princess to leave the scenes of commotion, in which she was so much exposed, and return to her native country. the king of sardinia, her family, and her particular friend, the princess of piedmont, supplicated ineffectually. the answer of her highness to the king, at turin, was as follows: "sire, and most august cousin,-- "i do not recollect that any of our illustrious ancestors of the house of savoy, before or since the great hero charles emmanuel, of immortal memory, ever dishonoured or tarnished their illustrious names with cowardice. in leaving the court of france at this awful crisis, i should be the first. can your majesty pardon my presumption in differing from your royal counsel? the king, queen, and every member of the royal family of france, both from the ties of blood and policy of states, demand our united efforts in their defence. i cannot swerve from my determination of never quitting them, especially at a moment when they are abandoned by every one of their former attendants, except myself. in happier days your majesty may command my obedience; but, in the present instance, and given up as is the court of france to their most atrocious persecutors, i must humbly insist on being guided by my own decision. during the most brilliant period of the reign of marie antoinette, i was distinguished by the royal favour and bounty. to abandon her in adversity, sire, would stain my character, and that of my illustrious family, for ages to come, with infamy and cowardice, much more to be dreaded than the most cruel death." similar answers were returned to all those of her numerous friends and relatives, who were so eager to shelter her from the dangers threatening her highness and the royal family. her highness was persuaded, however, to return once more to england, under the pretext of completing the mission she had so successfully began; but it is very clear that neither the king or queen had any serious idea of her succeeding, and that their only object was to get her away from the theatre of disaster. circumstances had so completely changed for the worst, that, though her highness was received with great kindness, her mission was no longer listened to. the policy of england shrunk from encouraging twenty thousand french troops to be sent in a body to the west indies, and france was left to its fate. a conversation with mr. burke, in which the disinclination of england to interfere was distinctly owned, created that deep-rooted grief and apprehension in the mind of the queen from which her majesty never recovered. the princesse de lamballe was the only one in her confidence. it is well known that the king of england greatly respected the personal virtues of their french majesties; but upon the point of business, both king and ministers were now become ambiguous and evasive. her highness, therefore, resolved to return. it had already been whispered that she had left france, only to save herself, like the rest; and she would no longer remain under so slanderous an imputation. she felt, too, the necessity of her friendship to her royal mistress. though the queen of england, by whom her highness was very much esteemed, and many other persons of the first consequence in the british nation, foreseeing the inevitable fate of the royal family, and of all their faithful adherents, anxiously entreated her not to quit england, yet she became insensible to every consideration as to her own situation and only felt the isolated one of her august sovereign, her friend, and benefactress. section xiv. editor in continuation: events seemed molded expressly to produce the state of feeling which marked that disastrous day, the th of june, . it frequently happens that nations, like individuals, rush wildly upon the very dangers they apprehend, and select such courses as invite what they are most solicitous to avoid. so it was with everything preceding this dreadful day. by a series of singular occurrences i did not witness its horrors, though in some degree their victim. not to detain my readers unnecessarily, i will proceed directly to the accident which withdrew me from the scene. the apartment of the princesse de lamballe, in the pavilion of flora, looked from one side upon the pont royal. on the day of which i speak, a considerable quantity of combustibles had been thrown from the bridge into one of her rooms. the princess, in great alarm, sent instantly for me. she desired to have my english man servant, if he were not afraid, secreted in her room, while she herself withdrew to another part of the palace, till the extent of the intended mischief could be ascertained. i assured her highness that i was not only ready to answer for my servant, but would myself remain with him, as he always went armed, and i was so certain of his courage and fidelity that i could not hesitate even to trust my life in his hands. "for god's sake, 'mia cara'," exclaimed the princess, "do not risk your own safety, if you have any value for my friendship. i desire you not to go near the pavilion of flora. your servant's going is quite sufficient. never again let me hear such a proposition. what! after having hitherto conducted yourself so punctually, would you, by one rash act, devote yourself to ruin, and deprive us of your valuable services?" i begged her highness would pardon the ardour of the dutiful zeal i felt for her in the moment of danger. "yes, yes," continued she; "that is all very well; but this is not the first time i have been alarmed at your too great intrepidity; and if ever i hear of your again attempting to commit yourself so wantonly, i will have you sent to turin immediately, there to remain till you have recovered your senses. i always thought english heads cool; but i suppose your residence in france has changed the national character of yours." once more, with tears in my eyes, i begged her forgiveness, and, on my knees, implored that she would not send me away in the hour of danger. after having so long enjoyed the honour of her confidence, i trusted she would overlook my fault, particularly as it was the pure emanation of my resentment at any conspiracy against one i so dearly loved; and to whom i had been under so many obligations, that the very idea of being deprived of such a benefactress drove me frantic. her highness burst into tears. "i know your heart," exclaimed she; "but i also know too well our situation, and it is that which makes me tremble for the consequences which must follow your overstepping the bounds so necessary to be observed by all of us at this horrid period." and then she called me again her cars 'inglesina', and graciously condescended to embrace me, and bathed my face with her tears, in token of her forgiveness, and bade me sit down and compose myself, and weep no more. scarcely was i seated, when we were both startled by deafening shouts for the head of madame veto, the name they gave the poor unfortunate queen. an immense crowd of cannibals and hired ruffians were already in the tuileries, brandishing all sorts of murderous weapons, and howling for blood! my recollections from this moment are very indistinct. i know that in an instant the apartment was filled; that the queen, the princesse elizabeth, all the attendants, even the king, i believe, appeared there. i myself received a wound upon my hand in warding a blow from my face; and in the turmoil of the scene, and of the blow, i fainted, and was conveyed by some humane person to a place of safety, in the upper part of the palace. thus deprived of my senses for several hours, i was spared the agony of witnessing the scenes of horror that succeeded. for two or three days i remained in a state of so much exhaustion and alarm, that when the princess came to me i did not know her, nor even where i was. as soon as i was sufficiently recovered, places were taken for me and another person in one of the common diligences, by which i was conveyed to passy, where the princess came to me in the greatest confusion. my companion in the palace was the widow of one of the swiss guards, who had been murdered on the th of october, in defending the queen's apartment at versailles. the poor woman had been herself protected by her majesty, and accompanied me by the express order of the princesse de lamballe. what the princess said to her on departing, i know not, for i only caught the words "general insurrection," on hearing which the afflicted woman fell into a fit. to me, her highness merely exclaimed, "do not come to paris till you hear from me;" and immediately set off to return to the tuileries. however, as usual, my courage soon got the better of my strength, and of every consideration of personal safety. on the third day, i proposed to the person who took care of me that we should both walk out together, and, if there appeared no symptoms of immediate danger, it was agreed that we might as well get into one of the common conveyances, and proceed forthwith to paris; for i could no longer repress my anxiety to learn what was going on there, and the good creature who was with me was no less impatient. when we got into a diligence, i felt the dread of another severe lecture like the last, and thought it best not to incur fresh blame by new imprudence. i therefore told the driver to set us down on the high road near paris leading to the bois de boulogne. but before we got so far, the woods resounded with the howling of mobs, and we heard, "vive le roi" vociferated, mingled with "down with the king,"--"down with the queen;" and, what was still more horrible, the two parties were in actual bloody strife, and the ground was strewn with the bodies of dead men, lying like slaughtered sheep. it was fortunate that we were the only persons in the vehicle. the driver, observing our extreme agitation, turned round to us. "nay, nay," cried he; "do not alarm yourselves. it is only the constitutionalists and the jacobins fighting against each other. i wish the devil had them both." it was evident, however, that, though the man was desirous of quieting our apprehensions, he was considerably disturbed by his own; for though he acknowledged he had a wife and children in paris, who he hoped were safe, still he dared not venture to proceed, but said, if we wished to be driven back, he would take us to any place we liked, out of paris. our anxiety to know what was going forward at the tuileries was now become intolerable; and the more so, from the necessity we felt of restraining our feelings. at last, however, we were in some degree relieved from this agony of reserve. "god knows," exclaimed the driver, "what will be the consequence of all this bloodshed! the poor king and queen are greatly to be pitied!" this ejaculation restored our courage, and we said he might drive us wherever he chose out of the sight of those horrors; and it was at length settled that he should take us to passy. "oh," cried he, "if you will allow me, i will take you to my father's house there; for you seem more dead than alive, both of you, and ought to go where you can rest in quiet and safety." my companion, who was a german, now addressed me in that language. "german!" exclaimed the driver on hearing her. "german! why, i am a german myself, and served the good king, who is much to be pitied, for many years; and when i was wounded, the queen, god bless her! set me up in the world, as i was made an invalid; and i have ever since been enabled to support my family respectably. d---- the assembly! i shall never be a farthing the better for them!" "oh," replied i, "then i suppose you are not a jacobin?" the driver, with a torrent of curses, then began execrating the very name of jacobin. this emboldened me to ask him when he had left paris. he replied, "only this very morning," and added that the assembly had shut the gates of the tuileries under the pretence of preventing the king and queen from being assassinated. "but that is all a confounded lie," continued he, "invented to keep out the friends of the royal family. but, god knows, they are now so fallen, they have few such left to be turned away!" "i am more enraged," pursued he, "at the ingratitude of the nobility than i am at these hordes of bloodthirsty plunderers, for we all know that the nobility owe everything to the king. why do they not rise en masse to shield the royal family from these bloodhounds? can they imagine they will be spared if the king should be murdered? i have no patience with them!" i then asked him our fare. "two livres is the fare, but you shall not pay anything. i see plainly, ladies, that you are not what you assume to be." "my good man," replied i, "we are not; and therefore take this louis d'or for your trouble." he caught my hand and pressed it to his lips, exclaiming, "i never in my life knew a man who was faithful to his king, that god did not provide for." he then took us to passy, but advised us not to remain at the place where we had been staying; and fortunate enough it was for us that we did not, for the house was set on fire and plundered by a rebel mob very soon after. i told the driver how much i was obliged to him for his services, and he seemed delighted when i promised to give him proofs of my confidence in his fidelity. "if," said i, "you can find out my servant whom i left in paris, i will give you another louis d'or." i was afraid, at first, to mention where he was to look for him. "if he be not dead," replied the driver, "i will find him out." "what!" cried i, "even though he should be at the tuileries?" "why, madame, i am one of the national guard. i have only to put on my uniform to be enabled to go to any part of the palace i please. tell me his name, and where you think it likely he may be found, and depend upon it i will bring him to you." "perhaps," continued he, "it is your husband disguised as a servant; but no matter. give me a clue, and i'll warrant you he shall tell you the rest himself by this time to-morrow." "well, then," replied i, "he is in the pavilion of flora." "what, with the princesse de lamballe? oh, i would go through fire and water for that good princess! she has done me the honour to stand godmother to one of my children, and allows her a pension." i took him at his word. we changed our quarters to his father's house, a very neat little cottage, about a quarter of a mile from the town. he afterwards rendered me many services in going to and fro from passy to paris; and, as he promised, brought me my servant. when the poor fellow arrived, his arm was in a sling. he had been wounded by a musket shot, received in defence of the princess. the history of his disaster was this: on the night of the riot, as he was going from the pont royal to the apartment of her highness, he detected a group of villains under her windows. six of them were attempting to enter by a ladder. he fired, and two fell. while he was reloading, the others shot at him. had he not, in the flurry of the moment, fired both his pistols at the same time, he thinks he should not have been wounded, but might have punished the assailant. one of the men, he said, could have been easily taken by the national guard, who so glaringly encouraged the escape that he could almost swear the guard was a party concerned. the loss of blood had so exhausted him that he could not pursue the offender himself, whom otherwise he could have taken without any difficulty. as the employing of my servant had only been proposed, and the sudden interruption of my conversation with her highness by the riot had prevented my ever communicating the project to him, i wondered how he got into the business, or ascertained so soon that the apartment of the princess was in danger. he explained that he never had heard of its being so; but my own coachman having left me at the palace that day, and not hearing of me for some time, had driven home, and, fearing that my not returning arose from something which had happened, advised him to go to the pont royal and hear what he could learn, as there was a report of many persons having been murdered and thrown over the bridge. my man took the advice, and armed himself to be ready in case of attack. it was between one and two o'clock after midnight when he went. the first objects he perceived were these miscreants attempting to scale the palace. he told me that the queen had been most grossly insulted; that the gates of the tuileries had been shut in consequence; that a small part alone remained open to the public, who were kept at their distance by a national ribbon, which none could pass without being instantly arrested. this had prevented his apprising the princess of the attempt which he had accidentally defeated, and which he wished me to communicate to her immediately. i did so by letter, which my good driver carried to paris, and delivered safe into the hands of our benefactress. the surprise of the princess on hearing from me, and her pleasure at my good fortune in finding by accident such means, baffles all description. though she was at the time overwhelmed with the imminent dangers which threatened her, yet she still found leisure to show her kindness to those who were doing their best, though in vain, to serve her. the following letter, which she sent me in reply, written amidst all the uneasiness it describes, will speak for her more eloquently than my praises: "i can understand your anxiety. it was well for you that you were unconscious of the dreadful scenes which were passing around you on that horrid day. the princesse de tarente, madame de tourzel, madame de mockau, and all the other ladies of the household owed the safety of their lives to one of the national guards having given his national cockade to the queen. her majesty placed it on her head, unperceived by the mob. one of the gentlemen of the king's wardrobe provided the king and the princesse elizabeth with the same impenetrable shield. though the cannibals came for murder, i could not but admire the enthusiastic deference that was shown to this symbol of authority, which instantly paralyzed, the daggers uplifted for our extermination. "merlin de thionville was the stoic head of this party. the princesse elizabeth having pointed him out to me, i ventured to address him respecting the dangerous situation to which the royal family were daily exposed. i flattered him upon his influence over the majority of the faubourgs, to which only we could look for the extinction of these disorders. he replied that the despotism of the court had set a bad example to the people; that he felt for the situation of the royal party as individuals, but he felt much more for the safety of the french nation, who were in still greater danger than their majesties had to dread, from the austrian faction, by which a foreign army had been encouraged to invade the territory of france, where they were now waiting the opportunity of annihilating french liberty forever! "to this her majesty replied, 'when the deputies of the assembly have permitted, nay, i may say, encouraged this open violation of the king's asylum, and, by their indifference to the safety of all those who surround us, have sanctioned the daily insults to which we have been, and still are, exposed, it is not to be wondered, at that all sovereigns should consider it their interest to make common cause with us, to crush internal commotions, levelled, not only against the throne, and the persons of the sovereign and his family, but against the very principle of monarchy itself.' "here the king, though much intimidated for the situation of the queen and his family, for whose heads the wretches were at that very moment howling in their ears, took up the conversation. "'these cruel facts,' said he, 'and the menacing situation you even now witness, fully justify our not rejecting foreign aid, though god knows how deeply i deplore the necessity of such a cruel resource! but, when all internal measures of conciliation have been trodden under foot, and the authorities, who ought to check it and protect us from these cruel outrages, are only occupied in daily fomenting the discord between us and our subjects; though a forlorn hope, what other hope is there of safety? i foresee the drift of all these commotions, and am resigned; but what will become of this misguided nation, when the head of it shall be destroyed?' "here the king, nearly choked by his feelings, was compelled to pause for a moment, and he then proceeded. "'i should not feel it any sacrifice to give up the guardianship of the nation, could i, in so doing, insure its future tranquillity; but i foresee that my blood, like that of one of my unhappy brother sovereigns,--[charles the first, of england.]--will only open the flood-gates of human misery, the torrent of which, swelled with the best blood of france, will deluge this once peaceful realm.' "this, as well as i can recollect, is the substance of what passed at the castle on this momentous day. our situation was extremely doubtful, and the noise and horrid riots were at times so boisterous, that frequently we could not, though so near them, distinguish a word the king and queen said; and yet, whenever the leaders of these organized ruffians spoke or threatened, the most respectful stillness instantly prevailed. "i weep in silence for misfortunes, which i fear are inevitable! the king, the queen, the princesse elizabeth and myself, with many others under this unhappy roof, have never ventured to undress or sleep in bed, till last night. none of us any longer reside on the ground floor. "by the very manly exertions of some of the old officers incorporated in the national army, the awful riot i have described was overpowered, and the mob, with difficulty, dispersed. among these, i should particularize generals de vomenil, de mandat, and de roederer. principally by their means the interior of the tuileries was at last cleared, though partial mobs, such as you have often witnessed, still subsist. "i am thus particular in giving you a full account of this last revolutionary commotion, that your prudence may still keep you at a distance from the vortex. continue where you are, and tell your man servant how much i am obliged to him, and, at the same time, how much i am grieved at his being wounded! i knew nothing of the affair but from your letter and your faithful messenger. he is an old pensioner of mine, and a good honest fellow. you may depend on him. serve yourself, through him, in communicating with me. though he has had a limited education, he is not wanting in intellect. remember that honesty, in matters of such vital import, is to be trusted before genius. "my apartment appears like a barrack, like a bear garden, like anything but what it was! numbers of valuable things have been destroyed, numbers carried off. still, notwithstanding all the horrors of these last days, it delights me to be able to tell you that no one in the service of the royal family failed in duty at this dreadful crisis. i think we may firmly rely on the inviolable attachment of all around us. no jealousy, no considerations of etiquette, stood in the way of their exertions to show themselves worthy of the situations they hold. the queen showed the greatest intrepidity during the whole of these trying scenes. "at present, i can say no more. petion, the mayor of paris, has just been announced; and, i believe, he wishes for an audience of her majesty, though he never made his appearance during the whole time of the riots in the palace. adieu, mia cara inglesina!" the receipt of this letter, however it might have affected me to hear what her highness suffered, in common with the rest of the unfortunate royal inmates of the tuileries, gave me extreme pleasure from the assurance it contained of the firmness of those nearest to the sufferers. i was also sincerely gratified in reflecting on the probity and disinterested fidelity of this worthy man, which contrasted him, so strikingly and so advantageously to himself, with many persons of birth and education, whose attachment could not stand the test of the trying scenes of the revolution, which made them abandon and betray, where they had sworn an allegiance to which they were doubly bound by gratitude. my man servant was attended, and taken the greatest care of. the princess never missed a day in sending to inquire after his health; and, on his recovery, the queen herself not only graciously condescended to see him, but, besides making him a valuable present, said many flattering and obliging things of his bravery and disinterestedness. i should scarcely have deemed these particulars honourable as they are to the feelings of the illustrious personages from whom they proceeded--worth mentioning in a work of this kind, did they not give indications of character rarely to be met with (and, in their case, how shamefully rewarded!), from having occurred at a crisis when their minds were occupied in affairs of such deep importance, and amidst the appalling dangers which hourly threatened their own existence. her majesty's correspondence with foreign courts had been so much increased by these scenes of horror, especially her correspondence with her relations in italy, that, ere long, i was sent for back to paris. section xv. journal of the princess resumed and concluded: "the insurrection of the th of june, and the uncertain state of the safety of the royal family, menaced as it was by almost daily riots, induced a number of well-disposed persons to prevail on general la fayette to leave his army and come to paris, and there personally remonstrate against these outrages. had he been sincere he would have backed the measure by appearing at the head of his army, then well-disposed, as cromwell did when he turned out the rogues who were seeking the lord through the blood of their king, and put the keys in his pocket. violent disorders require violent remedies. with an army and a few pieces of cannon at the door of the assembly, whose members were seeking the aid of the devil, for the accomplishment of their horrors, he might, as was done when the same scene occurred in england in , by good management; have averted the deluge of blood. but, by appearing before the assembly isolated, without 'voila mon droit,' which the king of prussia had had engraven on his cannon, he lost the opinion of all parties. [in this instance the general grossly committed himself, in the opinion of every impartial observer of his conduct. he should never have shown himself in the capital, but at the head of his army. france, circumstanced as it was, torn by intestine commotion, was only to be intimidated by the sight of a popular leader at the head of his forces. usurped authority can only be quashed by the force of legitimate authority. la fayette being the only individual in france that in reality possessed such an authority, not having availed himself at a crisis like the one in which he was called upon to act, rendered his conduct doubtful, and all his intended operations suspicious to both parties, whether his feelings were really inclined to prop up the fallen kingly authority, or his newly-acquired republican principles prompted him to become the head of the democratical party, for no one can see into the hearts of men; his popularity from that moment ceased to exist.] "la fayette came to the palace frequently, but the king would never see him. he was obliged to return, with the additional mortification of having been deceived in his expected support from the national guard of paris, whose pay had been secretly trebled by the national assembly, in order to secure them to itself. his own safety, therefore, required that he should join the troops under his command. he left many persons in whom he thought he could confide; among whom were some who came to me one day requesting i would present them to the queen without loss of time, as a man condemned to be shot had confessed to his captain that there was a plot laid to murder her majesty that very night. "i hastened to the royal apartment, without mentioning the motive; but some such catastrophe was no more than what we incessantly expected, from the almost hourly changes of the national guard, for the real purpose of giving easy access to all sorts of wretches to the very rooms of the unfortunate queen, in order to furnish opportunities for committing the crime with impunity. "after i had seen the queen, the applicants were introduced, and, in my presence, a paper was handed by them to her majesty. at the moment she received it, i was obliged to leave her for the purpose of watching an opportunity for their departure unobserved. these precautions were necessary with regard to every person who came to us in the palace, otherwise the jealousy of the assembly and its emissaries and the national guard of the interior might have been alarmed, and we should have been placed under express and open surveillance. the confusion created by the constant change of guard, however, stood us in good stead in this emergency. much passing and repassing took place unheeded in the bustle. "when the visitors had departed, and her majesty at one window of the palace, and i at another, had seen them safe over the pont royal, i returned to her majesty. she then graciously handed me the paper which they had presented. "it contained an earnest supplication, signed by many thousand good citizens, that the king and queen would sanction the plan of sending the dauphin to the army of la fayette. they pledged themselves, with the assistance of the royalists, to rescue the royal family. they, urged that if once the king could be persuaded to show himself at the head of his army, without taking any active part, but merely for his own safety and that of his family, everything might be accomplished with the greatest tranquillity. "the queen exclaimed, 'what! send my child! no! never while i breathe! [little did this unfortunate mother think that they, who thus pretended to interest themselves for this beautiful, angelic prince only a few months before, would, when she was in her horrid prison after the butchery of her husband, have required this only comfort to be violently torn from her maternal arms! little, indeed, did she think, when her maternal devotedness thus repelled the very thought of his being trusted to myriads of sworn defenders, how soon he would be barbarously consigned by the infamous assembly as the foot-stool of the inhuman savage cobbler, simon, to be the night-boy of the excrements of the vilest of the works of human nature!] yet were i an independent queen, or the regent of a minority, i feel that i should be inclined to accept the offer, to place myself at the head of the army, as my immortal mother did, who, by that step, transmitted the crown of our ancestors to its legitimate descendants. it is the monarchy itself which now requires to be asserted. though d'orleans is actively engaged in attempting the dethronement of his majesty, i do not think the nation will submit to such a prince, or to any other monarchical government, if the present be decidedly destroyed. "'all these plans, my dear princess,' continued she, 'are mere castles in the air. the mischief is too deeply rooted. as they have already frantically declared for the king's abdication, any strong measure now, incompetent as we are to assure its success, would at once arm the advocates of republicanism to proclaim the king's dethronement. "'the cruel observations of petion to his majesty, on our ever memorable return from varennes, have made a deeper impression than you are aware of. when the king observed to him, "what do the french nation want?"--"a republic," replied he. and though he has been the means of already costing us some thousands, to crush this unnatural propensity, yet i firmly believe that he himself is at the head of all the civil disorders fomented for its attainment. i am the more confirmed in this opinion from a conversation i had with the good old man, m. de malesherbes, who assured me the great sums we were lavishing on this man were thrown away, for he would be certain, eventually, to betray us: and such an inference could only have been drawn from the lips of the traitor himself. petion must have given malesherbes reason to believe this. i am daily more and more convinced it will be the case. yet, were i to show the least energy or activity in support of the king's authority, i should then be accused of undermining it. all france would be up in arms against the danger of female influence. the king would only be lessened in the general opinion of the nation, and the kingly authority still more weakened. calm submission to his majesty is, therefore, the only safe, course for both of us, and we must wait events.' "while her majesty was thus opening her heart to me, the king and princesse elizabeth entered, to inform her that m. laporte, the head of the private police, had discovered, and caused to be arrested, some of the wretches who had maliciously attempted to fire the palace of the tuileries. "'set them at liberty!' exclaimed her majesty; 'or, to clear themselves and their party, they will accuse us of something worse.' "'such, too, is my opinion, sire,' observed i; 'for however i abhor their intentions, i have here a letter from one of these miscreants which was found among the combustibles. it cautions us not to inhabit the upper part of the pavilion. my not having paid the attention which was expected to the letter, has aroused the malice of the writer, and caused a second attempt to be made from the pont royal upon my own apartment; in preventing which, a worthy man has been cruelly wounded in the arm.' "'merciful heaven!' exclaimed the poor queen and the princesse elizabeth, i not dangerously, i hope! "'i hope not,' added i; 'but the attempt, and its escaping unpunished, though there were guards all around, is a proof how perilous it will be, while we are so weak, to kindle their rancour by any show of impotent resentment; for i have reason to believe it was to that, the want of attention to the letter of which i speak was imputed.' "the queen took this opportunity, of laying before the king the above-mentioned plan. his majesty, seeing it in the name of la fayette, took up the paper, and, after he had attentively perused it, tore it in pieces, exclaiming, 'what! has not m. la fayette done mischief enough yet, but must he even expose the names of so many worthy men by committing them to paper at a critical period like this, when he is fully aware that we are in immediate danger of being assailed by a banditti of inhuman cannibals, who would sacrifice every individual attached to us, if, unfortunately, such a paper should be found? i am determined to have nothing to do with his ruinous plans. popularity and ambition made him the principal promoter of republicanism. having failed of becoming a washington, he is mad to become a cromwell. i have no faith in these turncoat constitutionalists.' "i know that the queen heartily concurred in this sentiment concerning general la fayette, as soon as she ascertained his real character, and discovered that he considered nothing paramount to public notoriety. to this he had sacrificed the interest of his country, and trampled under foot the throne; but finding he could not succeed in forming a republican government in france as he had in america, he, like many others, lost his popularity with the demagogues, and, when too late, came to offer his services, through me, to the queen, to recruit a monarchy which his vanity had undermined to gratify, his chimerical ambition. her majesty certainly saw him frequently, but never again would she put herself in the way of being betrayed by one whom she considered faithless to all." [thus ended the proffered services of general la fayette, who then took the command of the national army, served against that of the prince de conde, and the princes of his native country, and was given up with general bournonville, de lameth, and others, by general dumourier, on the first defeat of the french, to the austrians, by whom they were sent to the fortress of olmutz in hungary, where they remained till after the death of the wretch robespierre, when they were exchanged for the duchesse d'angouleme, now dauphine of france. from the retired life led by general la fayette on his return to france, there can be but little doubt that he spent a great part of his time in reflecting on the fatal errors of his former conduct, as he did not coincide with any of the revolutionary principles which preceded the short-lived reign of imperialism. but though napoleon too well knew him to be attached from principle to republicanism--every vestige of which he had long before destroyed--to employ him in any military capacity, still he recalled him from his hiding-place, in order to prevent his doing mischief, as he politically did--every other royalist whom he could bring under the banners of his imperialism. had napoleon made use of his general knowledge of mankind in other respects, as he politically did in france over his conquered subjects, in respecting ancient habits, and gradually weaned them from their natural prejudices instead of violently forcing all men to become frenchmen, all men would have fought for him, and not against him. these were the weapons by which his power became annihilated, and which, in the end, will be the destruction of all potentates who presume to follow his fallacious plan of forming individuals to a system instead of accommodating systems to individuals. the fruits from southern climes have been reared in the north, but without their native virtue or vigour. it is more dangerous to attack the habits of men than their religion. the british constitution, though a blessing to englishmen, is very ill-suited to nations not accustomed to the climate and its variations. every country has peculiarities of thought and manners resulting from the physical influence of its sky and soil. whenever we lose sight of this truth, we naturally lose the affections of those whose habits we counteract.] here ends the journal of my lamented benefactress. i have continued the history to the close of her career, and that of the royal family, especially as her highness herself acted so important a part in many of the scenes, which are so strongly illustrated by her conversation and letters. it is only necessary to add that the papers which i have arranged were received from her highness amidst the disasters which were now thickening around her and her royal friends. section xvi. from the time i left passy till my final departure from paris for italy, which took place on the nd of august, , my residence was almost exclusively at the capital. the faithful driver, who had given such proofs of probity, continued to be of great service, and was put in perpetual requisition. i was daily about on the business of the queen and the princess, always disguised, and most frequently as a drummerboy; on which occasions the driver and my man servant were my companions. my principal occupation was to hear and take down the debates of the assembly, and convey and receive letters from the queen to the princesse de lamballe, to and from barnave, bertrand de moleville, alexandre de lameth, deport de fertre, duportail, montmorin, turbo, de mandat, the duc de brissac, etc., with whom my illustrious patronesses kept up a continued correspondence, to which i believe all of them fell a sacrifice; for, owing to the imprudence of the king in not removing their communications when he removed the rest of his papers from the tuileries, the exposure of their connections with the court was necessarily consequent upon the plunder of the palace on the th of august, . in my masquerade visits to the assembly, i got acquainted with an editor of one of the papers; i think he told me his name was duplessie. being pleased with the liveliness of my remarks on some of the organized disorders, as i termed them, and with some comments i made upon the meanness of certain disgusting speeches on the patriotic gifts, my new acquaintance suffered me to take copies of his own shorthand remarks and reports. by this means the queen and the princess had them before they appeared in print. m. duplessie was on other occasions of great service to me, especially as a protector in the mobs, for my man servant and the honest driver were so much occupied in watching the movements of the various faubourg factions, that i was often left entirely unattended. the horrors of the tuileries, both by night and day, were now grown appallingly beyond description. almost unendurable as they had been before, they were aggravated by the insults of the national guard to every passenger to and from the palace. i was myself in so much peril, that the princess thought it necessary to procure a trusty person, of tried courage, to see me through the throngs, with a large bandbox of all sorts of fashionable millinery, as the mode of ingress and egress least liable to excite suspicion. thus equipped, and guarded by my cicisbeo, i one day found myself, on entering the tuileries, in the midst of an immense mob of regular trained rioters, who, seeing me go towards the palace, directed their attention entirely to me. they took me for some one belonging to the queen's milliner, madame bertin, who, they said, was fattening upon the public misery, through the queen's extravagance. the poor queen herself they called by names so opprobious that decency will not suffer me to repeat them. with a volley of oaths, pressing upon us, they bore us to another part of the garden, for the purpose of compelling us to behold six or eight of the most infamous outcasts, amusing themselves, in a state of exposure, with their accursed hands and arms tinged with blood up to the elbows. the spot they had chosen for this exhibition of their filthy persons was immediately before the windows of the apartments of the queen and the ladies of the court. here they paraded up and down, to the great entertainment of a throng of savage rebels, by whom they were applauded and encouraged with shouts of "bis! bis!" signifying in english," again! again!" the demoniac interest excited by this scene withdrew the attention of those who were enjoying it from me, and gave me the opportunity of escaping unperceived, merely with the loss of my bandbox. of that the infuriated mob made themselves masters; and the hats, caps, bonnets, and other articles of female attire, were placed on the parts of their degraded carcases, which, for the honour of human nature, should have been shot. overcome with agony at these insults, i burst from the garden in a flood of tears. on passing the gate, i was accosted by a person who exclaimed in a tone of great kindness, "qu'as tu, ma bonne? qu'est ce qui vous afflige?" knowing the risk i should run in representing the real cause of my concern, i immediately thought of ascribing it to the loss of the property of which i had been plundered. i told him i was a poor milliner, and had been robbed of everything i possessed in the world by the mob. "come back with me," said he, "and i will have it restored to you." i knew it was of no avail, but policy stimulated me to comply; and i returned with him into the garden toward the palace. what should i have felt, had i been aware, when this man came up, that i was accosted by the villain danton! the person who was with me knew him, but dared not speak, and watched a chance of escaping in the crowd for fear of being discovered. when i looked round and found myself alone, i said i had lost my brother in the confusion, which added to my grief. "oh, never mind," said danton; "take hold of my arm; no one shall molest you. we will look for your brother, and try to recover your things;" and on we went together: i, weeping, i may truly say, for my life, stopped at every step, while he related my doleful story to all whose curiosity was excited by my grief. on my appearing arm in arm with danton before the windows of the queen's apartments, we were observed by her majesty and the princesses. their consternation and perplexity, as well as alarm for my safety, may readily be conceived. a signal from the window instantly apprised me that i might enter the palace, to which my return had been for some time impatiently expected. finding it could no longer be of any service to carry on the farce of seeking my pretended brother, i begged to be escorted out of the mob to the apartments of the princesse de lamballe. "oh," said danton, "certainly! and if you had only told the people that you were going to that good princess, i am sure your things would not have been taken from you. but," added he, "are you perfectly certain they were not for that detestable marie antoinette?" "oh!" i replied, "quite, quite certain!" all this while the mob was at my heels. "then," said he, "i will not leave you till you are safe in the apartments of the princesse de lamballe, and i will myself make known to her your loss: she is so good," continued he, "that i am convinced she will make you just compensation." i then told him how much i should be obliged by his doing so, as i had been commissioned to deliver the things, and if i was made to pay for them, the loss would be more serious than i could bear. "bah! bah!" exclaimed he. "laissez moi faire! laissez moi faire!" when he came to the inner door, which i pretended to know nothing about, he told the gentleman of the chamber his name, and said he wished to see his mistress. her highness came in a few minutes, and from her looks and visible agitation at the sight of danton, i feared she would have betrayed both herself and me. however, while he was making a long preamble, i made signs, from which she inferred that all was safe. when danton had finished telling her the story, she calmly said to me, "do you recollect, child, the things you have been robbed of?" i replied that, if i had pen and ink, i could even set down the prices. "oh, well, then, child, come in," said her highness, "and we will see what is to be done!" "there!" exclaimed danton; "did i not tell you this before?" then, giving me a hearty squeeze of the hand, he departed, and thus terminated the millinery speculation, which, i have no doubt, cost her highness a tolerable sum. as soon as he was gone, the princess said, "for heaven's sake, tell me the whole of this affair candidly; for the queen has been in the greatest agitation at the bare idea of your knowing danton, ever since we first saw you walking with him! he is one of our moat inveterate enemies." i said that if they had but witnessed one half of the scenes that i saw, i was sure their feelings would have been shocked beyond description. "we did not see all, but we heard too much for the ears of our sex." i then related the particulars of our meeting to her highness, who observed, "this accident, however unpleasant, may still turn out to our advantage. this fellow believes you to be a marchande de modes, and the circumstance of his having accompanied you to my apartment will enable you, in future, to pass to and from the pavilion unmolested by the national guard." with tears of joy in her eyes for my safety, she could not, however, help laughing when i told her the farce i kept up respecting the loss of my brother, and my bandbox with the millinery, for which i was also soon congratulated most graciously by her majesty, who much applauded my spirit and presence of mind, and condescended, immediately, to entrust me with letters of the greatest importance, for some of the most distinguished members of the assembly, with which i left the palace in triumph, but taking care to be ready with a proper story of my losses. when i passed the guard-room, i was pitied by the very wretches, who, perhaps, had already shared in the spoils; and who would have butchered me, no doubt, into the bargain, could they have penetrated the real object of my mission. they asked me if i had been paid for the loss i sustained. i told them i had not, but i was promised that it should be settled. "settled!" said one of the wretches. "get the money as soon as you can. do not trust to promises of its being settled. they will all be settled themselves soon!" the next day, on going to the palace, i found the princesse de lamballe in the greatest agitation, from the accounts the court had just received of the murder of a man belonging to arthur dillon, and of the massacres at nantes. "the horrid prints, pamphlets, and caricatures," cried she, "daily exhibited under the very windows of the tuileries, against his majesty, the queen, the austrian party, and the coblentz party, the constant thwarting of every plan, and these last horrors at nantes, have so overwhelmed the king that he is nearly become a mere automaton. daily and nightly execrations are howled in his ears. look at our boasted deliverers! the poor queen, her children, and all of us belonging to the palace, are in danger of our lives at merely being seen; while they by whom we have been so long buoyed up with hope are quarrelling amongst themselves for the honour and etiquette of precedency, leaving us to the fury of a race of cannibals, who know no mercy, and will have destroyed us long before their disputes of etiquette can be settled." the utterance of her highness while saying this was rendered almost inarticulate by her tears. "what support against internal disorganization," continued she, "is to be expected from so disorganized a body as the present army of different nations, having all different interests?" i said there was no doubt that the prussian army was on its march, and would soon be joined by that of the princes and of austria. "you speak as you wish, mia cara inglesina, but it is all to no purpose. would to god they had never been applied to, never been called upon to interfere. oh, that her majesty could have been persuaded to listen to dumourier and some other of the members, instead of relying on succours which, i fear, will never enter paris in our lifetime! no army can subdue a nation; especially a nation frenzied by the recent recovery of its freedom and independence from the shackles of a corrupt and weak administration. the king is too good; the queen has no equal as to heart; but they have both been most grossly betrayed. the royalists on one side, the constitutionalists on the other, will be the victims of the jacobins, for they are the most powerful, they are the most united, they possess the most talent, and they act in a body, and not merely for the time being. believe me, my dear, their plans are too well grounded to be defeated, as every one framed by the fallacious constitutionalists and mad-headed royalists has been; and so they will ever be while they continue to form two separate interests. from the very first moment when these two bodies were worked upon separately, i told the queen that, till they were united for the same object, the monarchy would be unsafe, and at the mercy of the jacobins, who, from hatred to both parties, would overthrow it themselves to rule despotically over those whom they no longer respected or feared, but whom they hated, as considering them both equally their former oppressors. "may the all-seeing power," continued her highness, "grant, for the good of this shattered state, that i may be mistaken, and that my predictions may prove different in the result; but of this i see no hope, unless in the strength of our own internal resources. god knows how powerful they might prove could they be united at this moment! but from the anarchy and division kept up between them, i see no prospect of their being brought to bear, except in a general overthrow of this, as you have justly observed, organized system of disorders, from which at some future period we may obtain a solid, systematic order of government. would charles the second ever have reigned after the murder of his father had england been torn to pieces by different factions? no! it was the union of the body of the nation for its internal tranquillity, the amalgamation of parties against domestic faction, which gave vigour to the arm of power, and enabled the nation to check foreign interference abroad, while it annihilated anarchy at home. by that means the protector himself laid the first stone of the restoration. the division of a nation is the surest harbinger of success to its invaders, the death-blow to its sovereign's authority, and the total destruction of that innate energy by which alone a country can obtain the dignity of its own independence." section xvii. while her highness was thus pondering on the dreadful situation of france, strengthening her arguments by those historical illustrations, which, from the past, enabled her to look into the future, a message came to her from her majesty. she left me, and, in a few minutes, returned to her apartment, accompanied by the queen and her royal highness the princesse elizabeth. i was greatly surprised at seeing these two illustrious and august personages bathed in tears. of course, i could not be aware of any new motive to create any new or extraordinary emotion; yet there was in the countenances of all of the party an appearance different from anything i had ever witnessed in them, or any other person before; a something which seemed to say, they no longer had any affinity with the rest of earthly beings. they had all been just writing to their distant friends and relations. a fatal presentiment, alas! too soon verified, told them it was for the last time. her highness the princesse de lamballe now approached me. "her majesty," observed the princess, "wishes to give you a mark of her esteem, in delivering to you, with her own hands, letters to her family, which it is her intention to entrust to your especial care. "on this step her majesty has resolved, as much to send you out of the way of danger, as from the conviction occasioned by the firm reliance your conduct has created in us, that you will faithfully obey the orders you may receive, and execute our intentions with that peculiar intelligence which the emergency of the case requires. "but even the desirable opportunity which offers, through you, for the accomplishment of her mission, might not have prevailed with her majesty to hasten your departure, had not the wretch danton twice inquired at the palace for the 'little milliner,' whom he rescued and conducted safe to the apartments of the pavilion of flora. this, probably, may be a matter of no real consequence whatever; but it is our duty to avoid danger, and it has been decided that you should, at least for a time, absent paris. "per cio, mia cara inglesina, speak now, freely and candidly: is it your wish to return to england, or go elsewhere? for though we are all sorry to lose you, yet it would be a source of still greater sorrow to us, prizing your services and fidelity as we do, should any plans and purposes of ours lead you into difficulty or embarrassment." "oh, mon dieu! c'est vrai!" interrupted her majesty, her eyes at the same time filled with tears. "i should never forgive myself," continued the princess, "if i should prove the cause of any misfortune to you." "nor i!" most graciously subjoined the queen. "therefore," pursued the princess, "speak your mind without reserve." here my own feelings, and the sobs of the illustrious party, completely overcame me, and i could not proceed. the princesse de lamballe clasped me in her arms. "not only letters," exclaimed she, "but my life i would trust to the fidelity of my vera, verissima, cara inglesina! and now," continued her highness, turning round to the queen, "will it please your majesty to give inglesina your commands." "here, then," said the queen, "is a letter for my dear sister, the queen of naples, which you must deliver into her own hands. here is another for my sister, the duchess of parma. if she should not be at parma, you will find her at colorno. this is for my brother, the archduke of milan; this for my sister-in-law, the princesse clotilde piedmont, at turin; and here are four others. you will take off the envelope when you get to turin, and then put them into the post yourself. do not give them to, or send them by, any person whatsoever. "tell my sisters the state of paris. inform them of our cruel situation. describe the riots and convulsions you have seen. above all, assure them how dear they are to me, and how much i love them." at the word love, her majesty threw herself on a sofa and wept bitterly. the princesse elizabeth gave me a letter for her sister, and two for her aunts, to be delivered to them, if at rome; but if not, to be put under cover and sent through the post at rome to whatever place they might have made their residence. i had also a packet of letters to deliver for the princesse de lamballe at turin; and another for the duc de serbelloni at milan. her majesty and the princesse elizabeth not only allowed me the honour to kiss their hands, but they, both gave me their blessing, and good wishes for my safe return, and then left me with the princesse de lamballe. her majesty had scarcely left the apartment of the princess, when i recollected she had forgotten to give me the cipher and the key for the letters. the princess immediately went to the queen's apartment, and returned with them shortly after. "now that we are alone," said her highness, "i will tell you what her majesty has graciously commanded me to signify to you in her royal name. the queen commands me to say that you are provided for for life; and that, on the first vacancy which may occur, she intends fixing you at court. "therefore mia cara inglesina, take especial care what you are about, and obey her majesty's wishes when you are absent, as implicitly as you have hitherto done all her commands during your abode near her. you are not to write to any one. no one is to be made acquainted with your route. you are not to leave paris in your own carriage. it will be sent after you by your man servant, who is to join you at chalon sur saone. "i have further to inform you that her majesty the queen, on sending you the cipher, has at the same time graciously condescended to add these presents as further marks of her esteem." her highness then showed me a most beautiful gold watch, chain and seals. "these," said she, placing them with her own hands, "her majesty desired me to put round your neck in testimony of her regard." at the same time her highness presented me, on her own part, with a beautiful pocketbook, the covers of which were of gold enamelled, with the word "souvenir" in diamonds on one side, and a large cipher of her own initials on the other. the first page contained the names of the queen and her royal highness the princesse elizabeth, in their own handwriting. there was a cheque in it on a swiss banker, at milan, of the name of bonny. having given me these invaluable tokens, her highness proceeded with her instructions. "at chalon," continued she, "mia cara, your man servant will perhaps bring you other letters. take two places in the stage for yourself and your femme de chambre, in her name, and give me the memorandum, that our old friend, the driver, may procure the passports. you must not be seen; for there is no doubt that danton has given the police a full description of your person. now go and prepare: we shall see each other again before your departure." only a few minutes afterwards my man servant came to me to say that it would be some hours before the stage would set off, and that there was a lady in her carriage waiting for me in the bois de boulogne. i hastened thither. what was my surprise on finding it was the princess. i now saw her for the last time! let me pass lightly over this sad moment. i must not, however, dismiss the subject, without noticing the visible changes which had taken place in the short space of a month, in the appearance of all these illustrious princesses. their very complexions were no longer the same, as if grief had changed the whole mass of their blood. the queen, in particular, from the month of july to the d of august, looked ten years older. the other two princesses were really worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and the want of rest, as, during the whole month of july, they scarcely ever slept, for fear of being murdered in their beds, and only threw themselves on them, now and then, without undressing. the king, three or four times in the night, would go round to their different apartments, fearful they might be destroyed in their sleep, and ask, "etes vous la?" when they would answer him from within, "nous sommes encore ici." indeed, if, when nature was exhausted, sleep by chance came to the relief of their worn-out and languid frames, it was only to awaken them to fresh horrors, which constantly threatened the convulsion by which they were finally annihilated. it would be uncandid in me to be silent concerning the marked difference i found in the feelings of the two royal sisters of her majesty. i had never had the honour before to execute any commissions for her royal highness the duchess of parma, and, of course, took that city in my way to naples. i did not reach parma till after the horrors which had taken place at the tuileries on the th of august, . the whole of the unfortunate royal family of france were then lodged in the temple. there was not a feeling heart in europe unmoved at their afflicting situation. i arrived at colorno, the country residence of the duchess of parma, just as her royal highness was going out on horseback. i ordered my servant to inform one of the pages that i came by express from paris, and requested the honour to know when it would be convenient for her royal highness to allow me a private audience, as i was going, post-haste, to rome and naples. of course, i did not choose to tell my business either to my own or her royal highness's servant, being in honour and duty bound to deliver the letter and the verbal message of her then truly unfortunate sister in person and in privacy. the mention of paris i saw somewhat startled and confused her. meantime, she came near enough to my carriage for me to say to her in german, in order that none of the servants, french or italian, might understand, that i had a letter to deliver into her own hands, without saying from whom. she then desired i would alight, and she soon followed me; and, after having very graciously ordered me some refreshments, asked me from whom i had been sent. i delivered her majesty's letter. before she opened it, she exclaimed, "'o dio! tutto e perduto e troppo tardi'! oh, god! all is lost, it is too late!" i then gave her the cipher and the key. in a few minutes i enabled her to decipher the letter. on getting through it, she again exclaimed, "'e tutto inutile'! it is entirely useless! i am afraid they are all lost. i am sorry you are so situated as not to allow of your remaining here to rest from your fatigue. whenever you come to parma, i shall be glad to see you." she then took out her pocket handkerchief, shed a few tears, and said that, as circumstances were now so totally changed, to answer the letter might only commit her, her sister, and myself; but that if affairs took the turn she wished, no doubt, her sister would write again. she then mounted her horse, and wished me a good journey; and i took leave, and set off for rome. i must confess that the conduct of the duchess of parma appeared to me rather cold, if not unfeeling. perhaps she was afraid of showing too much emotion, and wished to encourage the idea that princesses ought not to give way to sensibility, like common mortals. but how different was the conduct of the queen of naples! she kissed the letter: she bathed it with her tears! scarcely could she allow herself time to decipher it. at every sentence she exclaimed, "oh, my dear, oh, my adored sister! what will become of her! my brothers are now both no more! surely, she will soon be liberated!" then, turning suddenly to me, she asked with eagerness, "do you not think she will? oh, marie, marie! why did she not fly to vienna? why did she not come to me instead of writing? tell me, for god's sake, all you know!" i said i knew nothing further of what had taken place at paris, having travelled night and day, except what i had heard from the different couriers, which i had met and stopped on my route; but i hoped to be better informed by sir william hamilton, as all my letters were to be sent from france to turin, and thence on to sir william at naples; and if i found no letters with him, i should immediately set off and return to turin or milan, to be as near france as possible for my speedy return if necessary. i ventured to add that it was my earnest prayer that all the european sovereigns would feel the necessity of interesting themselves for the royal family of france, with whose fate the fate of monarchy throughout europe might be interwoven. "oh, god of heaven!" cried the queen, "all that dear family may ere now have been murdered! perhaps they are already numbered among the dead! oh, my poor, dear, beloved marie! oh, i shall go frantic! i must send for general acton." wringing her hands, she pulled the bell, and in a few minutes the general came. on his entering the apartment, she flew to him like one deprived of reason. "there!" exclaimed she. "there! behold the fatal consequences!" showing him the letter. "louis xvi. is in the state of charles the first of england, and my sister will certainly be murdered." "no, no, no!" exclaimed the general. "something will be done. calm yourself, madame." then turning to me, "when," said he, "did you leave paris?" "when all was lost!" interrupted the queen. "nay," cried the general; "pray let me speak. all is not lost, you will find; have but a little patience." "patience!" said the queen. "for two years i have heard of nothing else. nothing has been done for these unfortunate beings." she then threw herself into a chair. "tell him!" cried she to me, "tell him! tell him!" i then informed the general that i had left paris on the d of august, but did not believe at the time, though the daily riots were horrible, that such a catastrophe could have occurred so soon as eight days after. the queen was now quite exhausted, and general acton rang the bell for the lady-in-waiting, who entered accompanied by the duchesse curigliano marini, and they assisted her majesty to bed. when she had retired, "do not," said the general to me, "do not go to sir william's to-night. he is at caserte. you seem too much fatigued." "more from grief," replied i, "and reflection on the fatal consequences that might result to the great personages i have so lately left, than from the journey." "take my advice," resumed he. "you had much better go to bed and rest yourself. you look very ill." i did as he recommended, and went to the nearest hotel i could find. i felt no fatigue of mind or body till i had got into bed, where i was confined for several days with a most violent fever. during my illness i received every attention both from the court, and our ambassador and lady hamilton, who kindly visited me every day. the queen of naples i never again saw till my return in , after the murder of the queen of france; and i am glad i did not, for her agony would have acted anew upon my disordered frame, and might have proved fatal. i was certainly somewhat prepared for a difference of feeling between the two princesses, as the unfortunate marie antoinette, in the letters to the queen of naples, always wrote, "to my much beloved sister, the queen of the two sicilies, etc.," and to the other, merely, "to the duchess of parma, etc." but i could never have dreamt of a difference so little flattering, under such circumstances, to the duchess of parma. section xviii. from the moment of my departure from paris on the d of august, , the tragedy hastened to its denouement. on the night of the th, the tocsin was sounded, and the king and the royal family looked upon their fate as sealed. notwithstanding the personal firmness of his majesty, he was a coward for others. he dreaded the responsibility of ordering blood to be shed, even in defence of his nearest and dearest interests. petion, however, had given the order to repel force by force to de mandat, who was murdered upon the steps of the hotel de ville. it has been generally supposed that petion had received a bribe for not ordering the cannon against the tuileries on the night of the th, and that de mandat was massacred by the agents of petion for the purpose of extinguishing all proof that he was only acting under the instructions of the mayor. i shall not undertake to judge of the propriety of the king's impression that there was no safety from the insurgents but in the hall, and under the protection of the assembly. had the members been well disposed towards him, the event might have proved very different. but there is one thing certain. the queen would never have consented to this step but to save the king and her innocent children. she would have preferred death to the humiliation of being under obligations to her sworn enemies; but she was overcome by the king declaring, with tears in his eyes, that he would not quit the palace without her. the princesses elizabeth and de lamballe fell at her feet, implored her majesty to obey the king, and assured her there was no alternative between instant death and refuge from it in the assembly. "well," said the queen, "if our lot be death, let us away to receive it with the national sanction." i need not expatiate on the succession of horrors which now overwhelmed the royal sufferers. their confinement at the feuillans, and their subsequent transfer to the temple, are all topics sufficiently enlarged upon by many who were actors in the scenes to which they led. the princesse de lamballe was, while it was permitted, the companion of their captivity. but the consolation of her society was considered too great to be continued. her fate had no doubt been predetermined; and, unwilling to await the slow proceedings of a trial, which it was thought politic should precede the murder of her royal mistress, it was found necessary to detach her from the wretched inmates of the temple, in order to have her more completely within the control of the miscreants, who hated her for her virtues. the expedient was resorted to of casting suspicion upon the correspondence which her highness kept up with the exterior of the prison, for the purpose of obtaining such necessaries as were required, in consequence of the utter destitution in which the royal family retired from the tuileries. two men, of the names of devine and priquet, were bribed to create a suspicion, by their informations against the queen's female attendant. the first declared that on the th of august, while he was on duty near the cell of the king, he saw a woman about eleven o'clock in the day come from a room in the centre, holding in one hand three letters, and with the other cautiously opening the door of the right-hand chamber, whence she presently came back without the letters and returned into the centre chamber. he further asserted that twice, when this woman opened the door, he distinctly saw a letter half-written, and every evidence of an eagerness to hide it from observation. the second informant, priquet, swore that, while on duty as morning sentinel on the gallery between the two towers, he saw, through the window of the central chamber, a woman writing with great earnestness and alarm during the whole time he was on guard. all the ladies were immediately summoned before the authorities. the hour of the separation between the princess and her royal friend accorded with the solemnity of the circumstance. it was nearly midnight when they were torn asunder, and they never met again. the examinations were all separate. that of the princesse de lamballe was as follows q. your name? a. marie-therese-louise de savoy, bourbon lamballe. q. what do you know of the events which occurred on the th of august? a. nothing. q. where did you pass that day? a. as a relative i followed the king to the national assembly. q. were you in bed on the nights of the th and th? a. no. q. where were you then? a. in my apartments, at the chateau. q. did you not go to the apartments of the king in the course of that night? a. finding there was a likelihood of a commotion, went thither towards one in the morning. q. you were aware, then, that the people had arisen? a. i learnt it from hearing the tocsin. q. did you see the swiss and national guards, who passed the night on the terrace? a. i was at the window, but saw neither. q. was the king in his apartment when you went thither? a. there were a great number of persons in the room, but not the king. q. did you know of the mayor of paris being at the tuileries? a. i heard he was there. q. at what hour did the king go to the national assembly? a. seven. q. did he not, before he went, review the troops? do you know the oath he made them swear? a. i never heard of any oath. q. have you any knowledge of cannon being mounted and pointed in the apartments? a. no. q. have you ever seen messrs. mandat and d'affry in the chateau? a. no. q. do you know the secret doors of the tuileries? a. i know of no such doors. q. have you not, since you have been in the temple, received and written letters, which you sought to send away secretly? a. i have never received or written any letters, excepting such as have been delivered to the municipal officer. q. do you know anything of an article of furniture which is making for madame elizabeth? a. no. q. have you not recently received some devotional books? a. no. q. what are the books which you have at the temple? a. i have none. q. do you know anything of a barred staircase? a. no. q. what general officers did you see at the tuileries, on the nights of the th and th? a. i saw no general officers, i only saw m. roederer. for thirteen hours was her highness, with her female companions in misfortune, exposed to these absurd forms, and to the gaze of insulting and malignant curiosity. at length, about the middle of the day, they were told that it was decreed that they should be detained till further orders, leaving them the choice of prisons, between that of la force and of la salpetriere. her highness immediately decided on the former. it was at first determined that she should be separated from madame de tourzel, but humanity so far prevailed as to permit the consolation of her society, with that of others of her friends and fellow-sufferers, and for a moment the princess enjoyed the only comfort left to her, that of exchanging sympathy with her partners in affliction. but the cell to which she was doomed proved her last habitation upon earth. on the st of september the marseillois began their murderous operations. three hundred persons in two days massacred upwards of a thousand defence less prisoners, confined under the pretext of malpractices against the state, or rather devotedness to the royal cause. the spirit which produced the massacres of the prisons at paris extended them through the principal towns and cities all over france. even the universal interest felt for the princesse de lamballe was of no avail against this frenzy. i remember once (as if it were from a presentiment of what was to occur) the king observing to her, "i never knew any but fools and sycophants who could keep themselves clear from the lash of public censure. how is it, then, that you, my dear princess, who are neither, contrive to steer your bark on this dangerous coast without running against the rocks on which so many good vessels like your own have been dashed to pieces?" "oh, sire," replied her highness, "my time is not yet come--i am not dead yet!" too soon, and too horribly, her hour did come! the butchery of the prisons was now commenced. the duc de penthievre set every engine in operation to save his beloved daughter-in-law. he sent for manuel, who was then procureur of paris. the duke declared that half his fortune should be manuel's if he could but save the princesse de lamballe and the ladies who were in the same prison with her from the general massacre. manuel promised the duke that he would instantly set about removing them all from the reach of the blood-hunters. he began with those whose removal was least likely to attract attention, leaving the princesse de lamballe, from motives of policy, to the last. meanwhile, other messengers had been dispatched to different quarters for fear of failure with manuel. it was discovered by one of these that the atrocious tribunal,--[thibaudeau, hebert, simonier, etc.]--who sat in mock judgment upon the tenants of these gloomy abodes, after satiating themselves with every studied insult they could devise, were to pronounce the word "libre!" it was naturally presumed that the predestined victims, on hearing this tempting sound, and seeing the doors at the same moment set open by the clerks of the infamous court, would dart off in exultation, and, fancying themselves liberated, rush upon the knives of the barbarians, who were outside, in waiting for their blood! hundreds were thus slaughtered. to save the princess from such a sacrifice, it was projected to prevent her from appearing before the tribunal, and a belief was encouraged that means would be devised to elude the necessity. the person who interested himself for her safety contrived to convey a letter containing these words: "let what will happen, for god's sake do not quit your cell. you will be spared. adieu." manuel, however, who knew not of this cross arrangement, was better informed than its projector. he was aware it would be impossible for her highness to escape from appearing before the tribunal. he had already removed her companions. the princesse de tarente, the marquise de tourzel, her daughter, and others, were in safety. but when, true to his promise, he went to the princesse de lamballe, she would not be prevailed upon to quit her cell. there was no time for parley. the letter prevailed, and her fate was inevitable. the massacre had begun at daybreak. the fiends had been some hours busy in the work of death. the piercing shrieks of the dying victims brought the princess and her remaining companion upon their knees, in fervent prayer for the souls of the departed. the messengers of the tribunal now appeared. the princess was compelled to attend the summons. she went, accompanied by her faithful female attendant. a glance at the seas of blood, of which she caught a glimpse upon her way to the court, had nearly shocked her even to sudden death. would it had! she staggered, but was sustained by her companion. her courage triumphed. she appeared before the gore-stained tribunes. after some questions of mere form, her highness was commanded to swear to be faithful to the new order of government, and to hate the king, the queen, and royalty. "to the first," replied her highness, "i willingly submit. to the second, how can i accede? there is nothing of which i can accuse the royal family. to hate them is against my nature. they are my sovereigns. they are my friends and relations. i have served them for many years, and never have i found reason for the slightest complaint." the princess could no longer articulate. she fell into the arms of her attendant. the fatal signal was pronounced. she recovered, and, crossing the court of the prison, which was bathed with the blood of mutilated victims, involuntarily exclaimed, "gracious heaven! what a sight is this!" and fell into a fit. nearest to her in the mob stood a mulatto, whom she had caused to be baptized, educated, and maintained; but whom, for ill-conduct, she had latterly excluded from her presence. this miscreant struck at her with his halbert. the blow removed her cap. her luxuriant hair (as if to hide her angelic beauty from the sight of the murderers, pressing tiger-like around to pollute that form, the virtues of which equalled its physical perfection)--her luxuriant hair fell around and veiled her a moment from view. an individual, to whom i was nearly allied, seeing the miscreants somewhat staggered, sprang forward to the rescue; but the mulatto wounded him. the princess was lost to all feeling from the moment the monster first struck at her. but the demons would not quit their prey. she expired gashed with wounds. scarcely was the breath out of her body, when the murderers cut off her head. one party of them fixed it, like that of the vilest traitor, on an immense pole, and bore it in triumph all over paris; while another division of the outrageous cannibals were occupied in tearing her clothes piecemeal from her mangled corpse. the beauty of that form, though headless, mutilated and reeking with the hot blood of their foul crime--how shall i describe it?--excited that atrocious excess of lust, which impelled these hordes of assassins to satiate their demoniac passions upon the remains of this virtuous angel. this incredible crime being perpetrated, the wretches fastened ropes round the body, arms, and legs, and dragged it naked through the streets of paris, till no vestige remained by which it could be distinguished as belonging to the human species; and then left it among the hundreds of innocent victims of that awful day, who were heaped up to putrefy in one confused and disgusting mass. the head was reserved for other purposes of cruelty and horror. it was first borne to the temple, beneath the windows of the royal prisoners. the wretches who were hired daily to insult them in their dens of misery, by proclaiming all the horrors vomited from the national vesuvius, were commissioned to redouble their howls of what had befallen the princesse de lamballe. [these horrid circumstances i had from the chevalier clery, who was the only attendant allowed to assist louis xvi. and his unhappy family, during their last captivity; but who was banished from the temple as soon as his royal master was beheaded, and never permitted to return. clery told me all this when i met him at pyrmont, in germany. he was then in attendance upon the late comtesse de lisle, wife of louie xviii., at whose musical parties i had often the honour of assisting, when on a visit to the beautiful duchesse de guiche. on returning to paris from germany, on my way back into italy, i met the wife of clery, and her friend m. beaumont, both old friends of mine, who confirmed clery's statement, and assured me they were all for two years in hourly expectation of being sent to the place de greve for execution. the death of robespierre saved their lives. madame clery taught marie antoinette to play upon the harp. madame beaumont was a natural daughter of louis xv. i had often occasion to be in their agreeable society; and, as might be expected, their minds were stored with the most authentic anecdotes and information upon the topics of the day.] the queen sprang up at the name of her friend. she heard subjoined to, it, "la voila en triomphe," and then came shouts and laughter. she looked out. at a distance she perceived something like a bacchanalian procession, and thought, as she hoped, that the princess was coming to her in triumph from her prison, and her heart rejoiced in the anticipation of once more being, blessed with her society. but the king, who had seen and heard more distinctly from his apartment, flew to that of the queen. that the horrid object might not escape observation, the monsters had mounted upon each other's shoulders so as to lift the bleeding head quite up to the prison bars. the king came just in time to snatch her majesty from the, spot, and thus she was prevented from seeing it. he took her up in his arms and carried her to a distant part of the temple, but the mob pursued her in her retreat, and howled the fatal truth even at her, very door, adding that her head would be the next, the nation would require. her majesty fell into violent hysterics. the butchers of human flesh continued in the interior of the temple, parading the triumph of their assassination, until the shrieks of the princesse elizabeth at the state in which she saw the queen, and serious fears for the safety of the royal prisoners, aroused the commandant to treble the national guards and chase the barbarians to the outside, where they remained for hours. section xix. it now remains for me to complete my record by a few facts and observations relating to the illustrious victims who a short time survived the princesse de lamballe. i shall add to this painful narrative some details which have been mentioned to me concerning their remorseless persecutors, who were not long left unpursued by just and awful retribution. having done this, i shall dismiss the subject. the execrable and sacrilegious modern french pharisees, who butchered, on the st, nd, and rd of september, , all the prisoners at paris, by these massacres only gave the signal for the more diabolical machinations which led to the destruction of the still more sacred victims of the st of january, and the th of october, , and the myriads who followed. the king himself never had a doubt with regard to his ultimate fate. his only wish was to make it the means of emancipation for the queen and royal family. it was his intention to appeal to the national assembly upon the subject, after his trial. such also was the particular wish of his saint-like sister, the princesse elizabeth, who imagined that an appeal under such circumstances could not be resisted. but the queen strongly opposed the measure; and his majesty said he should be loath, in the last moments of his painful existence, in anything to thwart one whom he loved so tenderly. he had long accustomed himself, when he spoke of the queen and royal infants, in deference to the temper of the times, only to say, "my wife and children." they, as he told clery, formed a tie, and the only one remaining, which still bound him to earth. their last embraces, he said, went so to his aching heart, that he could even yet feel their little hands clinging about him, and see their streaming eyes, and hear their agonized and broken voices. the day previous to the fatal catastrophe, when permitted for the last time to see his family, the princesse elizabeth whispered him, not for herself, but for the queen and his helpless innocents, to remember his intentions. he said he should not feel himself happy if, in his last hour, he did not give them a proof of his paternal affection, in obtaining an assurance that the sacrifice of his life should be the guarantee of theirs. so intent was his mind upon this purpose, said clery to me, that when his assassins came to take him to the slaughtering-place, he said, "i hope my death will appease the nation, and that my innocent family, who have suffered on my account, will now be released." the ruffians answered, "the nation, always magnanimous, only seeks to punish the guilty. you may be assured your family will be respected." events have proved how well they kept their word. it was to fulfil the intention of recommending his family to the people with his dying breath that he commenced his address upon the scaffold, when santerre ordered the drums to drown his last accents, and the axe to fall! the princesse elizabeth, and perhaps others of the royal prisoners, hoped he would have been reprieved, till herbert, that real 'pere du chene', with a smile upon his countenance, came triumphantly to announce to the disconsolate family that louis was no more! perhaps there never was a king more misrepresented and less understood, especially by the immediate age in which he lived, than louis xvi. he was the victim of natural timidity, increased by the horror of bloodshed, which the exigencies of the times rendered indispensable to his safety. he appeared weak in intellect, when he was only so from circumstances. an overwrought anxiety to be just made him hesitate about the mode of overcoming the abuses, until its procrastination had destroyed the object of his wishes. he had courage sufficient, as well as decision, where others were not menaced and the danger was confined to himself; but, where his family or his people were involved, he was utterly unfit to give direction. the want of self-sufficiency in his own faculties have been his, and his throne's, ruin. he consulted those who caused him to swerve from the path his own better reason had dictated, and, in seeking the best course, he often chose the worst. the same fatal timidity which pervaded his character extended to his manners. from being merely awkward, he at last became uncouth; but from the natural goodness of his heart, the nearest to him soon lost sight of his ungentleness from the rectitude of his intentions, and, to parody the poet, saw his deportment in his feelings. previous to the revolution, louis xvi. was generally considered gentle and affable, though never polished. but the numberless outrages suffered by his queen, his family, his friends, and himself, especially towards the close of his career, soured him to an air of rudeness, utterly foreign to his nature and to his intention. it must not be forgotten that he lived in a time of unprecedented difficulty. he was a lamb governing tigers. so far as his own personal bearing is concerned, who is there among his predecessors, that, replaced upon the throne, would have resisted the vicissitudes brought about by internal discord, rebellion, and riot, like himself? what said he when one of the heterogeneous, plebeian, revolutionary assemblies not only insulted him, but added to the insult a laugh? "if you think you can govern better, i am ready to resign," was the mild but firm reply of louis. how glorious would have been the triumph for the most civilized nation in the centre of europe had the insulter taken him at his word. when the experimentalists did attempt to govern, we all know, and have too severely felt, the consequences. yet this unfortunate monarch has been represented to the world as imbecile, and taxed with wanting character, firmness, and fortitude, because he has been vanquished! the despot-conqueror has been vanquished since! his acquirements were considerable. his memory was remarkably retentive and well-stored,--a quality, i should infer from all i have observed, common to most sovereigns. by the multiplicity of persons they are in the habit of seeing, and the vast variety of objects continually passing through their minds, this faculty is kept in perpetual exercise. but the circumstance which probably injured louis xvi. more than any other was his familiarity with the locksmith, gamin. innocent as was the motive whence it arose, this low connection lessened him more with the whole nation than if he had been the most vicious of princes. how careful sovereigns ought to be, with respect to the attention they bestow on men in humble life; especially those whose principles may have been demoralized by the meanness of the associations consequent upon their occupation, and whose low origin may have denied them opportunities of intellectual cultivation. this observation map even be extended to the liberal arts. it does not follow because a monarch is fond of these that he should so far forget himself as to make their professors his boon companions. he loses ground whenever he places his inferiors on a level with himself. men are estimated from the deference they pay to their own stations in society. the great frederic of prussia used to sap, "i must show myself a king, because my trade is royalty." it was only in destitution and anguish that the real character of louis developed itself. he was firm and patient, utterly regardless of himself, but wrung to the heart for others, not even excepting his deluded murderers. nothing could swerve him from his trust in heaven, and he left a glorious example of how far religion can triumph over every calamity and every insult this world has power to inflict. there was a national guard, who, at the time of the imprisonment of the royal family, was looked upon as the most violent of jacobins, and the sworn enemy of royalty. on that account the sanguinary agents of the self-created assembly employed him to frequent the temple. his special commission was to stimulate the king and royal family by every possible argument to self-destruction. but this man was a friend in disguise. he undertook the hateful office merely to render every service in his power, and convey regular information of the plots of the assembly against those whom he was deputed to persecute. the better to deceive his companions, he would read aloud to the royal family all the debates of the regicides, which those who were with him encouraged, believing it meant to torture and insult, when the real motive was to prepare them to meet every accusation, by communicating to them each charge as it occurred. so thoroughly were the assembly deceived, that the friendly guard was allowed free access to the apartments, in order to facilitate, as was imagined, his wish to agonize and annoy. by this means, he was enabled to caution the illustrious prisoners never to betray any emotion at what he read, and to rely upon his doing his best to soften the rigour of their fate. the individual of whom i speak communicated these circumstances to me himself. he declared, also, that the duc d'orleans came frequently to the temple during the imprisonment of louis xvi., but, always in disguise; and never, till within a few days after the murder of the poor king, did he disclose himself. on that occasion he had bribed the men who were accustomed to light the fires, to admit him in their stead to the apartment of the princesse elizabeth. he found her on her knees, in fervent prayer for the departed soul of her beloved brother. he performed this office, totally unperceived by this predestined victim; but his courage was subdued by her piety. he dared not extend the stratagem to the apartment of the queen. on leaving the angelic princess, he was so overcome by remorse that he: requested my informant to give him a glass of water, saying, "that woman has unmanned me." it was by this circumstance he was discovered. the queen was immediately apprised by the good man of the occurrence. "gracious god!" exclaimed her majesty, "i thought once or twice that i had seen him at our miserable dinner hours, occupied with the other jailers at the outside door. i even mentioned the circumstance to elizabeth, and she replied, "i also have observed a man resembling d'orleans, but it cannot be he, for the man i noticed had a wooden leg." "that was the very disguise he was discovered in this morning, when preparing, or pretending to prepare, the fire in the princesse elizabeth's apartment," replied the national guard. "merciful heaven!" said the queen, "is he not yet satisfied? must he even satiate his barbarous brutality with being an eye-witness of the horrid state into which he has thrown us? save me," continued her majesty, "oh, save me from contaminating my feeble sight, which is almost exhausted, nearly parched up for the loss of my dear husband, by looking on him!--oh, death! come, come and release me from such a sight!" "luckily," observed the guard to me, "it was the hour of the general jail dinner, and we were alone; otherwise, i should infallibly have been discovered, as my tears fell faster than those of the queen, for really hers seemed to be nearly exhausted: however," pursued he, "that d'orleans did see the queen, and that the queen saw him, i am very sure. from what passed between them in the month of july, , she was hurried off from the temple to the common prison, to take her trial." this circumstance combined, with other motives, to make the assembly hasten the duke's trial soon after, who had been sent with his young son to marseilles, there being no doubt that he wished to rescue the queen, so as to have her in his own power. on the th of october, her majesty was beheaded. her death was consistent with her life. she met her fate like a christian, but still like a queen. perhaps, had marie antoinette been uncontrolled in the exercise of her judgment, she would have shown a spirit in emergency better adapted to wrestle with the times than had been discovered by his majesty. certain it is she was generally esteemed the most proper to be consulted of the two. from the imperfect idea which many of the persons in office entertained of the king's capacity, few of them ever made any communication of importance but to the queen. her majesty never kept a single circumstance from her husband's knowledge, and scarcely decided on the smallest trifle without his consent; but so thorough was his confidence in the correctness of her judgment that he seldom, if ever, opposed her decisions. the princesse de lamballe used to say, "though marie antoinette is not a woman of great or uncommon talents, yet her long practical knowledge gave her an insight into matters of moment which she turned to advantage with so much coolness and address amid difficulties, that i am convinced she only wanted free scope to have shone in the history of princes as a great queen. her natural tendencies were perfectly domestic. had she been kept in countenance by the manners of the times, or favoured earlier by circumstances, she would have sought her only pleasures in the family circle, and, far from court intrigue, have become the model of her sex and age." it is by no means to be wondered at that, in her peculiar situation, surrounded by a thoughtless and dissipated court, long denied the natural ties so necessary to such a heart, in the heyday of youth and beauty, and possessing an animated and lively spirit, she should have given way in the earlier part of her career to gaiety, and been pleased with a round of amusement. the sincere friendship which she afterwards formed for the duchesse de polignac encouraged this predilection. the plot to destroy her had already been formed, and her enemies were too sharp-sighted and adroit not to profit and take advantage of the opportunities afforded by this weakness. the miscreant had murdered her character long, long before they assailed her person. the charge against her of extravagance has been already refuted. her private palace was furnished from the state lumber rooms, and what was purchased, paid for out of her savings. as for her favourites, she never had but two, and these were no supernumerary expense or encumbrance to the state. perhaps it would have been better had she been more thoroughly directed by the princesse de lamballe. she was perfectly conscious of her good qualities, but de polignac dazzled and humoured her love of amusement and display of splendour. though this favourite was the image of her royal mistress in her amiable characteristics, the resemblance unfortunately extended to her weaknesses. this was not the case with the princesse de lamballe; she possessed steadiness, and was governed by the cool foresight of her father-in-law, the duc de penthievre, which both the other friends wanted. the unshaken attachment of the princesse de lamballe to the queen, notwithstanding the slight at which she at one time had reason to feel piqued, is one of the strongest evidences against the slanderers of her majesty. the moral conduct of the princess has never been called in question. amid the millions of infamous falsehoods invented to vilify and degrade every other individual connected with the court, no imputation, from the moment of her arrival in france, up to the fatal one of her massacre, ever tarnished her character. to her opinion, then, the most prejudiced might look with confidence. certainly no one had a greater opportunity of knowing the real character of marie antoinette. she was an eye-witness to her conduct during the most brilliant and luxurious portion of her reign; she saw her from the meridian of her magnificence down to her dejection to the depths of unparalleled misery. if the unfortunate queen had ever been guilty of the slightest of those glaring vices of which she was so generally accused, the princess must have been aware of them; and it was not in her nature to have remained the friend and advocate, even unto death, of one capable of depravity. yet not a breath of discord ever arose between them on that score. virtue and vice can never harmonize; and even had policy kept her highness from avowing a change of sentiments, it never could have continued her enthusiasm, which was augmented, and not diminished, by the fall of her royal friend. an attachment which holds through every vicissitude must be deeply rooted from conviction of the integrity of its object. the friendship that subsisted between this illustrious pair is an everlasting monument that honours their sex. the queen used to say of her, that she was the only woman she had ever known without gall. "like the blessed land of ireland," observed her majesty, "exempt from the reptiles elsewhere so dangerous to mankind, so was she freed by providence from the venom by which the finest form in others is empoisoned. no envy, no ambition, no desire, but to contribute to the welfare and happiness of her fellow creatures--and yet, with all these estimable virtues, these angelic qualities, she is doomed, from her virtuous attachment to our persons, to sink under the weight of that affliction, which, sooner or later, must bury us all in one common ruin--a ruin which is threatening hourly." these presentiments of the awful result of impending storms were mutual. from frequent conversations with the princesse de lamballe, from the evidence of her letters and her private papers, and from many remarks which have been repeated to me personally by her highness, and from persons in her confidence, there is abundant evidence of the forebodings she constantly had of her own and the queen's untimely end. [a very remarkable circumstance was related to me when i was at vienna, after this horrid murder. the princess of lobkowitz, sister to the princesse de lamballe, received a box, with an anonymous letter, telling her to conceal the box carefully till further notice. after the riots had subsided a little in france, she was apprised that the box contained all, or the greater part, of the jewels belonging to the princess, and had been taken from the tuileries on the th of august. it is supposed that the jewels had been packed by the princess in anticipation of her doom, and forwarded to her sister through her agency or desire.] there was no friend of the queen to whom the king showed any deference, or rather anything like the deference he paid to the princesse de lamballe. when the duchesse de polignac, the comtesse diane de polignac, the comte d'artois, the duchesse de guiche, her husband, the present duc de grammont, the prince of hesse-darmstadt, etc., fled from paris, he and the queen, as if they had foreseen the awful catastrophe which was to destroy her so horribly, entreated her to leave the court, and take refuge in italy. so also did her father-in-law, the duc de penthievre; but all in vain. she saw her friend deprived of de polignac, and all those near and dear to her heart, and became deaf to every solicitation. could such constancy, which looked death in its worst form in the face unshrinking, have existed without great and estimable qualities in its possessor? the brother-in-law of the princesse de lamballe, the duc d'orleans, was her declared enemy merely from her attachment to the queen. these three great victims have been persecuted to the tomb, which had no sooner closed over the last than the hand of heaven fell upon their destroyer. that louis xvi. was not the friend of this member of his family can excite no surprise, but must rather challenge admiration. he had been seduced by his artful and designing regicide companions to expend millions to undermine the throne, and shake it to pieces under the feet of his relative, his sovereign, the friend of his earliest youth, who was aware of the treason, and who held the thunderbolt, but would not crush him. but they have been foiled in their hope of building a throne for him upon the ruin they had made, and placed an age where they flattered him he would find a diadem. the prince de conti told me at barcelona that the duchesse d'orleans had assured him that, even had the duc d'orleans survived, he never could have attained, his object. the immense sums he had lavished upon the horde of his revolutionary satellites had, previous to his death, thrown him into embarrassment. the avarice of his party increased as his resources diminished. the evil, as evil generally does, would have wrought its own punishment in either way. he must have lived suspected and miserable, had he not died. but his reckless character did not desert him at the scaffold. it is said that before he arrived at the place de greve he ate a very rich ragout, and drank a bottle of champagne, and left the world as he had gone through it. the supernumerary, the uncalled-for martyr, the last of the four devoted royal sufferers, was beheaded the following spring. for this murder there could not have been the shadow of a pretext. the virtues of this victim were sufficient to redeem the name of elizabeth [the eighteen years' imprisonment and final murder of mary, queen of scots, by elizabeth of england, is enough to stigmatize her forever, independently of the many other acts of tyranny which stain her memory. the dethronement by elizabeth of russia of the innocent prince ivan, her near relation, while yet in the cradle, gives the northern empress a claim to a similar character to the british queen.] from the stain with which the two of england and russia, who had already borne it, had clouded its immortality. she had never, in any way, interfered in political events. malice itself had never whispered a circumstance to her dispraise. after this wanton assassination, it is scarcely to be expected that the innocent and candid looks and streaming azure eyes of that angelic infant, the dauphin, though raised in humble supplication to his brutal assassins, with an eloquence which would have disarmed the savage tiger, could have won wretches so much more pitiless than the most ferocious beasts of the wilderness, or saved him from their slow but sure poison, whose breath was worse than the upas tree to all who came within its influence. the duchesse d'angouleme, the only survivor of these wretched captives, is a living proof of the baleful influence of that contaminated prison, the infectious tomb of the royal martyrs. that once lovely countenance, which, with the goodness and amiableness of her royal father, whose mildness hung on her lips like the milk and honey of human kindness, blended the dignity, grace, elegance, and innocent vivacity, which were the acknowledged characteristics of her beautiful mother, lost for some time all traces of its original attractions. the lines of deep-seated sorrow are not easily obliterated. if the sanguinary republic had not wished to obtain by exchange the generals la fayette, bournonville, lameth, etc., whom dumourier had treacherously consigned into the hands of austria, there is little: doubt but that, from the prison in which she was so long doomed to vegetate only to make life a burthen, she would have been sent to share the fate of her murdered family. how can the parisians complain that they found her royal highness, on her return to france, by no means what they required in a princess? can it be wondered at that her marked grief should be visible when amidst the murderers of her family? it should rather be a wonder that she can at all bear the scenes in which she moves, and not abhor the very name of paris, when every step must remind her of some out rage to herself, or those most dear to her, or of some beloved relative or friend destroyed! her return can only be accounted for by the spell of that all-powerful 'amor patriae', which sometimes prevails over every other influence. before i dismiss this subject, it may not be uninteresting to my readers to receive some desultory anecdotes that i have heard concerning one or two of the leading monsters, by whom the horrors upon which i have expatiated were occasioned. david, the famous painter, was a member of the sanguinary tribunal which condemned the king. on this account he has been banished from france since the restoration. if any one deserved this severity, it was david. it was at the expense of the court of louis xvi. that this ungrateful being was sent to rome, to perfect himself in his sublime art. his studies finished, he was pensioned from the same patrons, and upheld as an artist by the special protection of every member of the royal family. and yet this man, if he may be dignified by the name, had the baseness to say in the hearing of the unfortunate louis xvi., when on trial, "well! when are we to have his head dressed, a la guillotine." at another time, being deputed to visit the temple, as one of the committee of public safety, as he held out his snuff-box before the princesse elizabeth, she, conceiving he meant to offer it, took a pinch. the monster, observing what she had done, darting a look of contempt at her, instantly threw away the snuff, and dashed the box to pieces on the floor. robespierre had a confidential physician, who attended him almost to the period when he ascended the scaffold, and who was very often obliged, 'malgre-lui', to dine tete-a-tete with this monopolizer of human flesh and blood. one day he happened to be with him, after a very extraordinary number had been executed, and amongst the rest, some of the physician's most intimate acquaintances. the unwilling guest was naturally very downcast, and ill at ease, and could not dissemble his anguish. he tried to stammer out excuses and get away from the table. robespierre, perceiving his distress, interrogated him as to the cause. the physician, putting his hand to his head, discovered his reluctance to explain. robespierre took him by the hand, assured him he had nothing to fear, and added, "come, doctor, you, as a professional man, must be well informed as to the sentiments of the major part of the parisians respecting me. i entreat you, my dear friend, frankly to avow their opinion. it may perhaps serve me for the future, as a guide for governing them." the physician answered, "i can no longer resist the impulse of nature. i know i shall thereby oppose myself to your power, but i must tell you, you are generally abhorred,--considered the attila, the sylla, of the age,--the two-footed plague, that, walks about to fill peaceful abodes with miseries and family mournings. the myriads you are daily sending to the slaughter at the place de greve, who have, committed no crime, the carts of a certain description, you have ordered daily to bear a stated number to be sacrificed, directing they should be taken from the prisons, and, if enough are not in the prisons, seized, indiscriminately in the streets, that no place in the deadly vehicle may be left unoccupied, and all this without a trial, without even an accusation, and without any sanction but your own mandate--these things call the public curse upon you, which is not the less bitter for not being audible." "ah!" said robespierre, laughing. "this puts me in mind of a story told of the cruelty and tyranny, of pope sixtus the fifth, who, having one night, after he had enjoyed himself at a bacchanalian supper, when heated with wine, by way of a 'bonne bouche', ordered the first man that should come through the gate of the 'strada del popolo' at rome to be immediately hanged. every person at this drunken conclave--nay, all rome--considered the pope a tyrant, the most cruel of tyrants, till it was made known and proved, after his death, that the wretch so executed had murdered his father and mother ten years previously. i know whom i send to the place de greve. all who go there are guilty, though they may not seem so. go on, what else have you heard?" "why, that you have so terrified all descriptions of persons, that they fear even your very breath, and look upon you as worse than the plague; and i should not be surprised, if you persist in this course of conduct, if something serious to yourself should be the consequence, and that ere long." not the least extraordinary part of the story is that this dialogue between the devil and the doctor took place but a very, few hours previous to robespierre's being denounced by tallien and carriere to the national convention, as a conspirator against the republican cause. in defending himself from being arrested by the guard, he attempted to shoot himself, but the ball missed, broke the monster's jaw-bone only, and nearly impeded his speaking. singularly enough, it was this physician who was sent for to assist and dress his wounds. robespierre replied to the doctor's observations, laughing, and in the following language: "oh, poor devils! they do not know their own interest. but my plan of exterminating the evil will soon teach them. this is the only thing for the good of the nation; for, before you can reform a thousand frenchmen, you must first lop off half a million of these vagabonds, and, if god spare my life, in a few months there will be so many the less to breed internal commotions, and disturb the general peace of europe. [when bonaparte was contriving the consulship for life, and, in the irish way, forced the italian republic to volunteer an offer of the consulship of italy, by a deputation to him at paris, i happened to be there. many italians, besides the deputies, went on the occasion, and, among them, we had the good fortune to meet the abbe fortis, the celebrated naturalist, a gentleman of first-rate abilities, who had travelled three-fourths of the globe in mineralogical research. the abbe chanced one day to be in company with my husband, who was an old acquaintance of his, where many of the chopfallen deputies, like themselves, true lovers of their country, could not help declaring their indignation at its degraded state, and reprobating bonaparte for rendering it so ridiculous in the face of europe and the world. the abbe fords, with the voice of a stentor, and spreading his gigantic form, which exceeded six feet in height, exclaimed: "this would not have been the case had that just and wise man robespierre lived but a little longer." every one present was struck with horror at the observation. noticing the effect of his words, the abbe resumed: "i knew well i should frighten you in showing any partiality for that bloody monopoliser of human heads. but you do not know the perfidy of the french nation so well as i do. i have lived among them many years. france is the sink of human deception. a frenchman will deceive his father, wife, and child; for deception is his element. robespierre knew this, and acted upon it, as you shall hear." the abbe then related to us the story i have detailed above, verbatim, as he had it from the son of esculapius, who himself confirmed it afterwards in a conversation with the abbe in our presence. having completed his anecdote, "well," said the abbe, "was i not right in my opinion of this great philosopher and foreseer of evils, when i observed that had he but lived a few months longer, there would have been so many less in the world to disturb its tranquillity?"] the same physician observed that from the immense number of executions during the sanguinary reign of that monster, the place de greve became so complete a swamp of human blood that it would scarcely hold the scaffolding of the instrument of death, which, in consequence, was obliged to be continually moved from one side of the square to the other. many of the soldiers and officers, who were obliged to attend these horrible executions, had constantly their half-boots and stockings filled with the blood of the poor sufferers; and as, whenever there was any national festival to be given, it generally followed one of the most sanguinary of these massacres, the public places, the theatres especially, all bore the tracks of blood throughout the saloons and lobbies. the infamous carrier, who was the execrable agent of his still more execrable employer, robespierre, was left afterwards to join tallien in a conspiracy against him, merely to save himself; but did not long survive his atrocious crimes or his perfidy. it is impossible to calculate the vast number of private assassinations committed in the dead of the night, by order of this cannibal, on persons of every rank and description. my task is now ended. nothing remains for me but the reflections which these sad and shocking remembrances cannot fail to awaken in all minds, and especially in mine. is it not astonishing that, in an age so refined, so free from the enormous and flagitious crimes which were the common stains of barbarous centuries, and at an epoch peculiarly enlightened by liberal views, the french nation, by all deemed the most polished since the christian era, should have given an example of such wanton, brutal, and coarse depravity to the world, under pretences altogether chimerical, and, after unprecedented bloodshed and horror, ended at the point where it began! the organized system of plunder and anarchy, exercised under different forms more or less sanguinary, produced no permanent result beyond an incontestible proof that the versatility of the french nation, and its puny suppleness of character, utterly incapacitate it for that energetic enterprise without which there can be no hope of permanent emancipation from national slavery. it is my unalterable conviction that the french will never know how to enjoy an independent and free constitution. the tree of liberty unavoidably in all nations has been sprinkled with human blood; but, when bathed by innocent victims, like the foul weed, though it spring up, it rots in its infancy, and becomes loathsome and infectious. such has been the case in france; and the result justifies the italian satire: "un albero senza fruta baretta senza testa governo che non resta." etext editor's bookmarks: honesty is to be trusted before genius more dangerous to attack the habits of men than their religion memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen volume chapter xi. about the close of the last century several of the northern sovereigns took a fancy for travelling. christian iii., king of denmark, visited the court of france in , during the reign of louis xv. we have seen the king of sweden and joseph ii. at versailles. the grand duke of russia (afterwards paul i.), son of catherine ii., and the princess of wurtemberg, his wife, likewise resolved to visit france. they travelled under the titles of the comte and comtesse du nord. they were presented on the th of may, . the queen received them with grace and dignity. on the day of their arrival at versailles they dined in private with the king and queen. the plain, unassuming appearance of paul i. pleased louis xvi. he spoke to him with more confidence and cheerfulness than he had spoken to joseph ii. the comtesse du nord was not at first so successful with the queen. this lady was of a fine height, very fat for her age, with all the german stiffness, well informed, and perhaps displaying her acquirements with rather too much confidence. when the comte and comtesse du nord were presented the queen was exceedingly nervous. she withdrew into her closet before she went into the room where she was to dine with the illustrious travellers, and asked for a glass of water, confessing "she had just experienced how much more difficult it was to play the part of a queen in the presence of other sovereigns, or of princes born to become so, than before courtiers." she soon recovered from her confusion, and reappeared with ease and confidence. the dinner was tolerably cheerful, and the conversation very animated. brilliant entertainments were given at court in honour of the king of sweden and the comte du nord. they were received in private by the king and queen, but they were treated with much more ceremony than the emperor, and their majesties always appeared to me to be very, cautious before these personages. however, the king one day asked the russian grand duke if it were true that he could not rely on the fidelity of any one of those who accompanied him. the prince answered him without hesitation, and before a considerable number of persons, that he should be very sorry to have with him even a poodle that was much attached to him, because his mother would take care to have it thrown into the seine, with a stone round its neck, before he should leave paris. this reply, which i myself heard, horrified me, whether it depicted the disposition of catherine, or only expressed the prince's prejudice against her. the queen gave the grand duke a supper at trianon, and had the gardens illuminated as they had been for the emperor. the cardinal de rohan very indiscreetly ventured to introduce himself there without the queen's knowledge. having been treated with the utmost coolness ever since his return from vienna, he had not dared to ask her himself for permission to see the illumination; but he persuaded the porter of trianon to admit him as soon as the queen should have set off for versailles, and his eminence engaged to remain in the porter's lodge until all the carriages should have left the chateau. he did not keep his word, and while the porter was busy in the discharge of his duty, the cardinal, who wore his red stockings and had merely thrown on a greatcoat, went down into the garden, and, with an air of mystery, drew up in two different places to see the royal family and suite pass by. her majesty was highly offended at this piece of boldness, and next day ordered the porter to be discharged. there was a general feeling of disgust at the cardinal's conduct, and of commiseration towards the porter for the loss of his place. affected at the misfortune of the father of a family, i obtained his forgiveness; and since that time i have often regretted the feeling which induced me to interfere. the notoriety of the discharge of the porter of trianon, and the odium that circumstance would have fixed upon the cardinal, would have made the queen's dislike to him still more publicly known, and would probably have prevented the scandalous and notorious intrigue of the necklace. the queen, who was much prejudiced against the king of sweden, received him very coldly. [gustavus iii., king of sweden, travelled in france under the title of comte d'haga. upon his accession to the throne, he managed the revolution which prostrated the authority of the senate with equal skill, coolness, and courage. he was assassinated in , at a masked ball, by auckarstrum.--note by the editor.] all that was said of the private character of that sovereign, his connection with the comte de vergennes, from the time of the revolution of sweden, in , the character of his favourite armfeldt, and the prejudices of the monarch himself against the swedes who were well received at the court of versailles, formed the grounds of this dislike. he came one day uninvited and unexpected, and requested to dine with the queen. the queen received him in the little closet, and desired me to send for her clerk of the kitchen, that she might be informed whether there was a proper dinner to set before comte d'haga, and add to it if necessary. the king of sweden assured her that there would be enough for him; and i could not help smiling when i thought of the length of the menu of the dinner of the king and queen, not half of which would have made its appearance had they dined in private. the queen looked significantly at me, and i withdrew. in the evening she asked me why i had seemed so astonished when she ordered me to add to her dinner, saying that i ought instantly to have seen that she was giving the king of sweden a lesson for his presumption. i owned to her that the scene had appeared to me so much in the bourgeois style, that i involuntarily thought of the cutlets on the gridiron, and the omelette, which in families in humble circumstances serve to piece out short commons. she was highly diverted with my answer, and repeated it to the king, who also laughed heartily at it. the peace with england satisfied all classes of society interested in the national honour. the departure of the english commissary from dunkirk, who had been fixed at that place ever since the shameful peace of as inspector of our navy, occasioned an ecstasy of joy. [by the treaty of utrecht ( ) it was stipulated that the fortifications and port of dunkirk should be destroyed. by the treaty of paris ( ) a commissary was to reside at dunkirk to see that no attempt was made to break this treaty. this stipulation was revoked by the peace of versailles, in .--see dyer's "modern europe," st edition, vol. i., pp. - and .] the government communicated to the englishman the order for his departure before the treaty was made public. but for that precaution the populace would have probably committed some excess or other, in order to make the agent of english power feel the effects of the resentment which had constantly increased during his stay at that port. those engaged in trade were the only persons dissatisfied with the treaty of . that article which provided for, the free admission of english goods annihilated at one blow the trade of rouen and the other manufacturing towns throughout the kingdom. the english swarmed into paris. a considerable number of them were presented at court. the queen paid them marked attention; doubtless she wished them to distinguish between the esteem she felt for their noble nation and the political views of the government in the support it had afforded to the americans. discontent was, however, manifested at court in consequence of the favour bestowed by the queen on the english noblemen; these attentions were called infatuations. this was illiberal; and the queen justly complained of such absurd jealousy. the journey to fontainebleau and the winter at paris and at court were extremely brilliant. the spring brought back those amusements which the queen began to prefer to the splendour of fetes. the most perfect harmony subsisted between the king and queen; i never saw but one cloud between them. it was soon dispelled, and the cause of it is perfectly unknown to me. my father-in-law, whose penetration and experience i respected greatly, recommended me, when he saw me placed in the service of a young queen, to shun all kinds of confidence. "it procures," said he, "but a very fleeting, and at the same time dangerous sort of favour; serve with zeal to the best of your judgment, but never do more than obey. instead of setting your wits to work to discover why an order or a commission which may appear of consequence is given to you, use them to prevent the possibility of your knowing anything of the matter." i had occasion to act on this wise advice. one morning at trianon i went into the queen's chamber; there were letters lying upon the bed, and she was weeping bitterly. her tears and sobs were occasionally interrupted by exclamations of "ah! that i were dead!--wretches! monsters! what have i done to them?" i offered her orange-flower water and ether. "leave me," said she, "if you love me; it would be better to kill me at once." at this moment she threw her arm over my shoulder and began weeping afresh. i saw that some weighty trouble oppressed her heart, and that she wanted a confidant. i suggested sending for the duchesse de polignac; this she strongly opposed. i renewed my arguments, and her opposition grew weaker. i disengaged myself from her arms, and ran to the antechamber, where i knew that an outrider always waited, ready to mount and start at a moment's warning for versailles. i ordered him to go full speed, and tell the duchesse de polignac that the queen was very uneasy, and desired to see her instantly. the duchess always had a carriage ready. in less than ten minutes she was at the queen's door. i was the only person there, having been forbidden to send for the other women. madame de polignac came in; the queen held out her arms to her, the duchess rushed towards her. i heard her sobs renewed and withdrew. a quarter of an hour afterwards the queen, who had become calmer, rang to be dressed. i sent her woman in; she put on her gown and retired to her boudoir with the duchess. very soon afterwards the comte d'artois arrived from compiegne, where he had been with the king. he eagerly inquired where the queen was; remained half an hour with her and the duchess; and on coming out told me the queen asked for me. i found her seated on the couch by the side of her friend; her features had resumed their usual cheerful and gracious appearance. she held out her hand to me, and said to the duchess, "i know i have made her so uncomfortable this morning that i must set her poor heart at ease." she then added, "you must have seen, on some fine summer's day, a black cloud suddenly appear and threaten to pour down upon the country and lay it waste. the lightest wind drives it away, and the blue sky and serene weather are restored. this is just the image of what has happened to me this morning." she afterwards told me that the king would return from compiegne after hunting there, and sup with her; that i must send for her purveyor, to select with him from his bills of fare all such dishes as the king liked best; that she would have no others served up in the evening at her table; and that this was a mark of attention that she wished the king to notice. the duchesse de polignac also took me by the hand, and told me how happy she was that she had been with the queen at a moment when she stood in need of a friend. i never knew what could have created in the queen so lively and so transient an alarm; but i guessed from the particular care she took respecting the king that attempts had been made to irritate him against her; that the malice of her enemies had been promptly discovered and counteracted by the king's penetration and attachment; and that the comte d'artois had hastened to bring her intelligence of it. it was, i think, in the summer of , during one of the trianon excursions, that the queen of naples--[caroline, sister of marie antoinette.]--sent the chevalier de bressac to her majesty on a secret mission relative to a projected marriage between the hereditary prince, her son, and madame, the king's daughter; in the absence of the lady of honour he addressed himself to me. although he said a great deal to me about the close confidence with which the queen of naples honoured him, and about his letter of credit, i thought he had the air of an adventurer.--[he afterwards spent several years shut up in the chateau de l'oeuf.]--he had, indeed, private letters for the queen, and his mission was not feigned; he talked to me very rashly even before his admission, and entreated me to do all that lay in my power to dispose the queen's mind in favour of his sovereign's wishes; i declined, assuring him that it did not become me to meddle with state affairs. he endeavoured, but in vain, to prove to me that the union contemplated by the queen of naples ought not to be looked upon in that light. i procured m. de bressac the audience he desired, but without suffering myself even to seem acquainted with the object of his mission. the queen told me what it was; she thought him a person ill-chosen for the occasion; and yet she thought that the queen, her sister, had done wisely in not sending a man worthy to be avowed,--it being impossible that what she solicited should take place. i had an opportunity on this occasion, as indeed on many others, of judging to what extent the queen valued and loved france and the dignity of our court. she then told me that madame, in marrying her cousin, the duc d'angouleme, would not lose her rank as daughter of the queen; and that her situation would be far preferable to that of queen of any other country; and that there was nothing in europe to be compared to the court of france; and that it would be necessary, in order to avoid exposing a french princess to feelings of deep regret, in case she should be married to a foreign prince, to take her from the palace of versailles at seven years of age, and send her immediately to the court in which she was to dwell; and that at twelve would be too late; for recollections and comparisons would ruin the happiness of all the rest of her life. the queen looked upon the destiny of her sisters as far beneath her own; and frequently mentioned the mortifications inflicted by the court of spain upon her sister, the queen of naples, and the necessity she was under of imploring the mediation of the king of france. she showed me several letters that she had received from the queen of naples relative to her differences with the court of madrid respecting the minister acton. she thought him useful to her people, inasmuch as he was a man of considerable information and great activity. in these letters she minutely acquainted her majesty with the nature of the affronts she had received, and represented mr. acton to her as a man whom malevolence itself could not suppose capable of interesting her otherwise than by his services. she had had to suffer the impertinences of a spaniard named las casas, who had been sent to her by the king, her father-in-law, to persuade her to dismiss mr. acton from the business of the state, and from her intimacy. she complained bitterly to the queen, her sister, of the insulting proceedings of this charge d'affaires, whom she told, in order to convince him of the nature of the feelings which attached her to mr. acton, that she would have portraits and busts of him executed by the most eminent artists of italy, and that she would then send them to the king of spain, to prove that nothing but the desire to retain a man of superior capacity had induced her to bestow on him the favour he enjoyed. this las casas dared to answer her that it would be useless trouble; that the ugliness of a man did not always render him displeasing; and that the king of spain had too much experience not to know that there was no accounting for the caprices of a woman. this audacious reply filled the queen of naples with indignation, and her emotion caused her to miscarry on the same day. in consequence of the mediation of louis xvi. the queen of naples obtained complete satisfaction, and mr. acton continued prime minister. among the characteristics which denoted the goodness of the queen, her respect for personal liberty should have a place. i have seen her put up with the most troublesome importunities from people whose minds were deranged rather than have them arrested. her patient kindness was put to a very disagreeable trial by an ex-councillor of the bordeaux parliament, named castelnaux; this man declared himself the lover of the queen, and was generally known by that appellation. for ten successive years did he follow the court in all its excursions. pale and wan, as people who are out of their senses usually are, his sinister appearance occasioned the most uncomfortable sensations. during the two hours that the queen's public card parties lasted, he would remain opposite her majesty. he placed himself in the same manner before her at chapel, and never failed to be at the king's dinner or the dinner in public. at the theatre he invariably seated himself as near the queen's box as possible. he always set off for fontainebleau or st. cloud the day before the court, and when her majesty arrived at her various residences, the first person she met on getting out of her carriage was this melancholy madman, who never spoke to any one. when the queen stayed at petit trianon the passion of this unhappy man became still more annoying. he would hastily swallow a morsel at some eating-house, and spend all the rest of the day, even when it rained, in going round and round the garden, always walking at the edge of the moat. the queen frequently met him when she was either alone or with her children; and yet she would not suffer any violence to be used to relieve her from this intolerable annoyance. having one day given m. de seze permission to enter trianon, she sent to desire he would come to me, and directed me to inform that celebrated advocate of m. de castelnaux's derangement, and then to send for him that m. de seze might have some conversation with him. he talked to him nearly an hour, and made considerable impression upon his mind; and at last m. de castelnaux requested me to inform the queen positively that, since his presence was disagreeable to her, he would retire to his province. the queen was very much rejoiced, and desired me to express her full satisfaction to m. de seze. half an hour after m. de seze was gone the unhappy madman was announced. he came to tell me that he withdrew his promise, that he had not sufficient command of himself to give up seeing the queen as often as possible. this new determination: was a disagreeable message to take to her majesty but how was i affected at hearing her say, "well, let him annoy me! but do not let him be deprived of the blessing of freedom." [on the arrest of the king and queen at varennes, this unfortunate castelnaux attempted to starve himself to death. the people in whose house he lived, becoming uneasy at his absence, had the door of his room forced open, when he was found stretched senseless on the floor. i do not know what became of him after the th of august.--madame campan.] the direct influence of the queen on affairs during the earlier years of the reign was shown only in her exertions to obtain from the king a revision of the decrees in two celebrated causes. it was contrary to her principles to interfere in matters of justice, and never did she avail herself of her influence to bias the tribunals. the duchesse de praslin, through a criminal caprice, carried her enmity to her husband so far as to disinherit her children in favour of the family of m. de guemenee. the duchesse de choiseul, who, was warmly interested in this affair, one day entreated the queen, in my presence, at least to condescend to ask the first president when the cause would be called on; the queen replied that she could not even do that, for it would manifest an interest which it was her duty not to show. if the king had not inspired the queen with a lively feeling of love, it is quite certain that she yielded him respect and affection for the goodness of his disposition and the equity of which he gave so many proofs throughout his reign. one evening she returned very late; she came out of the king's closet, and said to m. de misery and myself, drying her eyes, which were filled with tears, "you see me weeping, but do not be uneasy at it: these are the sweetest tears that a wife can shed; they are caused by the impression which the justice and goodness of the king have made upon me; he has just complied with my request for a revision of the proceedings against messieurs de bellegarde and de monthieu, victims of the duc d'aiguillon's hatred to the duc de choiseul. he has been equally just to the duc de guines in his affair with tort. it is a happy thing for a queen to be able to admire and esteem him who has admitted her to a participation of his throne; and as to you, i congratulate you upon your having to live under the sceptre of so virtuous a sovereign." the queen laid before the king all the memorials of the duc de guines, who, during his embassy to england, was involved in difficulties by a secretary, who speculated in the public funds in london on his own account, but in such a manner as to throw a suspicion of it on the ambassador. messieurs de vergennes and turgot, bearing but little good-will to the duc de guines, who was the friend of the duc de choiseul, were not disposed to render the ambassador any service. the queen succeeded in fixing the king's particular attention on this affair, and the innocence of the duc de guines triumphed through the equity of louis xvi. an incessant underhand war was carried on between the friends and partisans of m. de choiseul, who were called the austrians, and those who sided with messieurs d'aiguillon, de maurepas, and de vergennes, who, for the same reason, kept up the intrigues carried on at court and in paris against the queen. marie antoinette, on her part, supported those who had suffered in this political quarrel, and it was this feeling which led her to ask for a revision of the proceedings against messieurs de bellegarde and de monthieu. the first, a colonel and inspector of artillery, and the second, proprietor of a foundry at st. etienne, were, under the ministry of the duc d'aiguillon, condemned to imprisonment for twenty years and a day for having withdrawn from the arsenals of france, by order of the duc de choiseul, a vast number of muskets, as being of no value except as old iron, while in point of fact the greater part of those muskets were immediately embarked and sold to the americans. it appears that the duc de choiseul imparted to the queen, as grounds of defence for the accused, the political views which led him to authorise that reduction and sale in the manner in which it had been executed. it rendered the case of messieurs de bellegarde and de monthieu more unfavourable that the artillery officer who made the reduction in the capacity of inspector was, through a clandestine marriage, brother-in-law of the owner of the foundry, the purchaser of the rejected arms. the innocence of the two prisoners was, nevertheless, made apparent; and they came to versailles with their wives and children to throw themselves at the feet of their benefactress. this affecting scene took place in the grand gallery, at the entrance to the queen's apartment. she wished to restrain the women from kneeling, saying that they had only had justice done them; and that she ought to be congratulated upon the most substantial happiness attendant upon her station, that of laying just appeals before the king. on every occasion, when the queen had to speak in public, she used the most appropriate and elegant language, notwithstanding the difficulty a foreigner might be expected to experience. she answered all addresses herself, a custom which she learned at the court of maria theresa. the princesses of the house of bourbon had long ceased to take the trouble of speaking in such cases. madame addlaide blamed the queen for not doing as they did, assuring her that it was quite sufficient to mutter a few words that might sound like an answer, while the addressers, occupied with what they had themselves been saying, would always take it for granted that a proper answer had been returned. the queen saw that idleness alone dictated such a proceeding, and that as the practice even of muttering a few words showed the necessity of answering in some way, it must be more proper to reply simply but clearly, and in the best style possible. sometimes indeed, when apprised of the subject of the address, she would write down her answer in the morning, not to learn it by heart, but in order to settle the ideas or sentiments she wished to introduce. the influence of the comtesse de polignac increased daily; and her friends availed themselves of it to effect changes in the ministry. the dismissal of m. de montbarrey, a man without talents or character, was generally approved of. it was rightly attributed to the queen. he had been placed in administration by m. de maurepas, and maintained by his aged wife; both, of course, became more inveterate than ever against the queen and the polignac circle. the appointment of m. de segur to the place of minister of war, and of m. de castries to that of minister of marine, were wholly the work of that circle. the queen dreaded making ministers; her favourite often wept when the men of her circle compelled her to interfere. men blame women for meddling in business, and yet in courts it is continually the men themselves who make use of the influence of the women in matters with which the latter ought to have nothing to do. when m. de segur was presented to the queen on his new appointment, she said to me, "you have just seen a minister of my making. i am very glad, so far as regards the king's service, that he is appointed, for i think the selection a very good one; but i almost regret the part i have taken in it. i take a responsibility upon myself. i was fortunate in being free from any; and in order to relieve myself from this as much as possible i have just promised m. de segur, and that upon my word of honour, not to back any petition, nor to hinder any of his operations by solicitations on behalf of my proteges." during the first administration of m. necker, whose ambition had not then drawn him into schemes repugnant to his better judgment, and whose views appeared to the queen to be very judicious, she indulged in hopes of the restoration of the finances. knowing that m. de maurepas wished to drive m. necker to resign, she urged him to have patience until the death of an old man whom the king kept about him from a fondness for his first choice, and out of respect for his advanced age. she even went so far as to tell him that m. de maurepas was always ill, and that his end could not be very distant. m. necker would not wait for that event. the queen's prediction was fulfilled. m. de maurepas ended his days immediately after a journey to fontainebleau in . m. necker had retired. he had been exasperated by a piece of treachery in the old minister, for which he could not forgive him. i knew something of this intrigue at the time; it has since been fully explained to me by madame la marechale de beauvau. m. necker saw that his credit at court was declining, and fearing lest that circumstance should injure his financial operations, he requested the king to grant him some favour which might show the public that he had not lost the confidence of his sovereign. he concluded his letter by pointing out five requests--such an office, or such a mark of distinction, or such a badge of honour, and so on, and handed it to m. de maurepas. the or's were changed into and's; and the king was displeased at m. necker's ambition, and the assurance with which he displayed it. madame la marechale de beauvau assured me that the marechal de castries saw the minute of m. necker's letter, and that he likewise saw the altered copy. the interest which the queen took in m. necker died away during his retirement, and at last changed into strong prejudice against him. he wrote too much about the measures he would have pursued, and the benefits that would have resulted to the state from them. the ministers who succeeded him thought their operations embarrassed by the care that m. necker and his partisans incessantly took to occupy the public with his plans; his friends were too ardent. the queen discerned a party spirit in these combinations, and sided wholly with his enemies. after those inefficient comptrollers-general, messieurs joly de fleury and d'ormesson, it became necessary to resort to a man of more acknowledged talent, and the queen's friends, at that time combining with the comte d'artois and with m. de vergennes, got m. de calonne appointed. the queen was highly displeased, and her close intimacy with the duchesse de polignac began to suffer for this. her majesty, continuing to converse with me upon the difficulties she had met with in private life, told me that ambitious men without merit sometimes found means to gain their ends by dint of importunity, and that she had to blame herself for having procured m. d'adhemar's appointment to the london embassy, merely because he teased her into it at the duchess's house. she added, however, that it was at a time of perfect peace with the english; that the ministry knew the inefficiency of m. d'adhemar as well as she did, and that he could do neither harm nor good. often in conversations of unreserved frankness the queen owned that she had purchased rather dearly a piece of experience which would make her carefully watch over the conduct of her daughters-in-law, and that she would be particularly scrupulous about the qualifications of the ladies who might attend them; that no consideration of rank or favour should bias her in so important a choice. she attributed several of her youthful mistakes to a lady of great levity, whom she found in her palace on her arrival in france. she also determined to forbid the princesses coming under her control the practice of singing with professors, and said, candidly, and with as much severity as her slanderers could have done, "i ought to have heard garat sing, and never to have sung duets with him." the indiscreet zeal of monsieur augeard contributed to the public belief that the queen disposed of all the offices of finance. he had, without any authority for doing so, required the committee of fermiers-general to inform him of all vacancies, assuring them that they would be meeting the wishes of the queen. the members complied, but not without murmuring. when the queen became aware of what her secretary had done, she highly disapproved of it, caused her resentment to be made known to the fermiers-general, and abstained from asking for appointments,--making only one request of the kind, as a marriage portion for one of her attendants, a young woman of good family. chapter xii. the queen did not sufficiently conceal the dissatisfaction she felt at having been unable to prevent the appointment of m. de calonne; she even one day went so far as to say at the duchess's, in the midst of the partisans and protectors of that minister, that the finances of france passed alternately from the hands of an honest man without talent into those of a skilful knave. m. de calonne was thus far from acting in concert with the queen all the time that he continued in office; and, while dull verses were circulated about paris describing the queen and her favourite dipping at pleasure into the coffers of the comptroller-general, the queen was avoiding all communication with him. during the long and severe winter of - the king gave three millions of livres for the relief of the indigent. m. de calonne, who felt the necessity of making advances to the queen, caught at this opportunity of showing her respect and devotion. he offered to place in her hands one million of the three, to be distributed in her name and under her direction. his proposal was rejected; the queen answered that the charity ought to be wholly distributed in the king's name, and that she would this year debar herself of even the slightest enjoyments, in order to contribute all her savings to the relief of the unfortunate. the moment m. de calonne left the closet the queen sent for me: "congratulate me, my dear," said she; "i have just escaped a snare, or at least a matter which eventually might have caused me much regret." she related the conversation which had taken place word for word to me, adding, "that man will complete the ruin of the national finances. it is said that i placed him in his situation. the people are made to believe that i am extravagant; yet i have refused to suffer a sum of money from the royal treasury, although destined for the most laudable purpose, even to pass through my hands." the queen, making monthly retrenchments from the expenditure of her privy purse, and not having spent the gifts customary at the period of her confinement, was in possession of from five to six hundred thousand francs, her own savings. she made use of from two to three hundred thousand francs of this, which her first women sent to m. lenoir, to the cures of paris and versailles, and to the soeurs hospitalieres, and so distributed them among families in need. desirous to implant in the breast of her daughter not only a desire to succour the unfortunate, but those qualities necessary for the due discharge of that duty, the queen incessantly talked to her, though she was yet very young, about the sufferings of the poor during a season so inclement. the princess already had a sum of from eight to ten thousand francs for charitable purposes, and the queen made her distribute part of it herself. wishing to give her children yet another lesson of beneficence, she desired me on new year's eve to get from paris, as in other years, all the fashionable playthings, and have them spread out in her closet. then taking her children by the hand, she showed them all the dolls and mechanical toys which were ranged there, and told them that she had intended to give them some handsome new year's gifts, but that the cold made the poor so wretched that all her money was spent in blankets and clothes to protect them from the rigour of the season, and in supplying them with bread; so that this year they would only have the pleasure of looking at the new playthings. when she returned with her children into her sitting-room, she said there was still an unavoidable expense to be incurred; that assuredly many mothers would at that season think as she did,--that the toyman must lose by it; and therefore she gave him fifty louis to repay him for the cost of his journey, and console him for having sold nothing. the purchase of st. cloud, a matter very simple in itself, had, on account of the prevailing spirit, unfavourable consequences to the queen. the palace of versailles, pulled to pieces in the interior by a variety of new arrangements, and mutilated in point of uniformity by the removal of the ambassadors' staircase, and of the peristyle of columns placed at the end of the marble court, was equally in want of substantial and ornamental repair. the king therefore desired m. micque to lay before him several plans for the repairs of the palace. he consulted me on certain arrangements analogous to some of those adopted in the queen's establishment, and in my presence asked m. micque how much money would be wanted for the execution of the whole work, and how many years he would be in completing it. i forget how many millions were mentioned: m. micque replied that six years would be sufficient time if the treasury made the necessary periodical advances without any delay. "and how many years shall you require," said the king, "if the advances are not punctually made?"--"ten, sire," replied the architect. "we must then reckon upon ten years," said his majesty, "and put off this great undertaking until the year ; it will occupy the rest of the century." the king afterwards talked of the depreciation of property which took place at versailles whilst the regent removed the court of louis xv. to the tuileries, and said that he must consider how to prevent that inconvenience; it was the desire to do this that promoted the purchase of st. cloud. the queen first thought of it one day when she was riding out with the duchesse de polignac and the comtesse diane; she mentioned it to the king, who was much pleased with the thought,--the purchase confirming him in the intention, which he had entertained for ten years, of quitting versailles. the king determined that the ministers, public officers, pages, and a considerable part of his stabling should remain at versailles. messieurs de breteuil and de calonne were instructed to treat with the duc d'orleans for the purchase of st. cloud; at first they hoped to be able to conclude the business by a mere exchange. the value of the chateau de choisy, de la muette, and a forest was equivalent to the sum demanded by the house of orleans; and in the exchange which the queen expected she only saw a saving to be made instead of an increase of expense. by this arrangement the government of choisy, in the hands of the duc de coigny, and that of la muette, in the hands of the marechal de soubise, would be suppressed. at the same time the two concierges, and all the servants employed in these two royal houses, would be reduced; but while the treaty was going forward messieurs de breteuil and de calonne gave up the point of exchange, and some millions in cash were substituted for choisy and la muette. the queen advised the king to give her st. cloud, as a means of avoiding the establishment of a governor; her plan being to have merely a concierge there, by which means the governor's expenses would be saved. the king agreed, and st. cloud was purchased for the queen. she provided the same liveries for the porters at the gates and servants at the chateau as for those at trianon. the concierge at the latter place had put up some regulations for the household, headed, "by order of the queen." the same thing was done at st. cloud. the queen's livery at the door of a palace where it was expected none but that of the king would be seen, and the words "by order of the queen" at the head of the printed papers pasted near the iron gates, caused a great sensation, and produced a very unfortunate effect, not only among the common people, but also. among persons of a superior class. they saw in it an attack upon the customs of monarchy, and customs are nearly equal to laws. the queen heard of this, but she thought that her dignity would be compromised if she made any change in the form of these regulations, though they might have been altogether superseded without inconvenience. "my name is not out of place," said she, "in gardens belonging to myself; i may give orders there without infringing on the rights of the state." this was her only answer to the representations which a few faithful servants ventured to make on the subject. the discontent of the parisians on this occasion probably induced m. d'espremenil, upon the first troubles about the parliament, to say that it was impolitic and immoral to see palaces belonging to a queen of france. [the queen never forgot this affront of m. d'espremenil's; she said that as it was offered at a time when social order had not yet been disturbed, she had felt the severest mortification at it. shortly before the downfall of the throne m. espremenil, having openly espoused the king's side, was insulted in the gardens of the tuileries by the jacobins, and so ill-treated that he was carried home very ill. somebody recommended the queen, on account of the royalist principles he then professed, to send and inquire for him. she replied that she was truly grieved at what had happened to m. d'espremenil, but that mere policy should never induce her to show any particular solicitude about the man who had been the first to make so insulting an attack upon her character.--madame campan] the queen was very much dissatisfied with the manner in which m. de calonne had managed this matter. the abbe de vermond, the most active and persevering of that minister's enemies, saw with delight that the expedients of those from whom alone new resources might be expected were gradually becoming exhausted, because the period when the archbishop of toulouse would be placed over the finances was thereby hastened. the royal navy had resumed an imposing attitude during the war for the independence of america; glorious peace with england had compensated for the former attacks of our enemies upon the fame of france; and the throne was surrounded by numerous heirs. the sole ground of uneasiness was in the finances, but that uneasiness related only to the manner in which they were administered. in a word, france felt confident in its own strength and resources, when two events, which seem scarcely worthy of a place in history, but which have, nevertheless, an important one in that of the french revolution, introduced a spirit of ridicule and contempt, not only against the highest ranks, but even against the most august personages. i allude to a comedy and a great swindling transaction. beaumarchais had long possessed a reputation in certain circles in paris for his wit and musical talents, and at the theatres for dramas more or less indifferent, when his "barbier de seville" procured him a higher position among dramatic writers. his "memoirs" against m. goesman had amused paris by the ridicule they threw upon a parliament which was disliked; and his admission to an intimacy with m. de maurepas procured him a degree of influence over important affairs. he then became ambitious of influencing public opinion by a kind of drama, in which established manners and customs should be held up to popular derision and the ridicule of the new philosophers. after several years of prosperity the minds of the french had become more generally critical; and when beaumarchais had finished his monstrous but diverting "mariage de figaro," all people of any consequence were eager for the gratification of hearing it read, the censors having decided that it should not be performed. these readings of "figaro" grew so numerous that people were daily heard to say, "i have been (or i am going to be) at the reading of beaumarchais's play." the desire to see it performed became universal; an expression that he had the art to use compelled, as it were, the approbation of the nobility, or of persons in power, who aimed at ranking among the magnanimous; he made his "figaro" say that "none but little minds dreaded little books." the baron de breteuil, and all the men of madame de polignac's circle, entered the lists as the warmest protectors of the comedy. solicitations to the king became so pressing that his majesty determined to judge for himself of a work which so much engrossed public attention, and desired me to ask m. le noir, lieutenant of police, for the manuscript of the "mariage de figaro." one morning i received a note from the queen ordering me to be with her at three o'clock, and not to come without having dined, for she should detain me some time. when i got to the queen's inner closet i found her alone with the king; a chair and a small table were ready placed opposite to them, and upon the table lay an enormous manuscript in several books. the king said to me, "there is beaumarchais's comedy; you must read it to us. you will find several parts troublesome on account of the erasures and references. i have already run it over, but i wish the queen to be acquainted with the work. you will not mention this reading to any one." i began. the king frequently interrupted me by praise or censure, which was always just. he frequently exclaimed, "that's in bad taste; this man continually brings the italian concetti on the stage." at that soliloquy of figaro in which he attacks various points of government, and especially at the tirade against state prisons, the king rose up and said, indignantly: "that's detestable; that shall never be played; the bastille must be destroyed before the license to act this play can be any other than an act of the most dangerous inconsistency. this man scoffs at everything that should be respected in a government." "it will not be played, then?" said the queen. "no, certainly," replied louis xvi.; "you may rely upon that." still it was constantly reported that "figaro" was about to be performed; there were even wagers laid upon the subject; i never should have laid any myself, fancying that i was better informed as to the probability than anybody else; if i had, however, i should have been completely deceived. the protectors of beaumarchais, feeling certain that they would succeed in their scheme of making his work public in spite of the king's prohibition, distributed the parts in the "mariage de figaro" among the actors of the theatre francais. beaumarchais had made them enter into the spirit of his characters, and they determined to enjoy at least one performance of this so-called chef d'oeuvre. the first gentlemen of the chamber agreed that m. de la ferte should lend the theatre of the hotel des menus plaisirs, at paris, which was used for rehearsals of the opera; tickets were distributed to a vast number of leaders of society, and the day for the performance was fixed. the king heard of all this only on the very morning, and signed a 'lettre de cachet,'--[a 'lettre de cachet' was any written order proceeding from the king. the term was not confined merely to orders for arrest.]--which prohibited the performance. when the messenger who brought the order arrived, he found a part of the theatre already filled with spectators, and the streets leading to the hotel des menus plaisirs filled with carriages; the piece was not performed. this prohibition of the king's was looked upon as an attack on public liberty. the disappointment produced such discontent that the words oppression and tyranny were uttered with no less passion and bitterness at that time than during the days which immediately preceded the downfall of the throne. beaumarchais was so far put off his guard by rage as to exclaim, "well, gentlemen, he won't suffer it to be played here; but i swear it shall be played,--perhaps in the very choir of notre-dame!" there was something prophetic in these words. it was generally insinuated shortly afterwards that beaumarchais had determined to suppress all those parts of his work which could be obnoxious to the government; and on pretence of judging of the sacrifices made by the author, m. de vaudreuil obtained permission to have this far-famed "mariage de figaro" performed at his country house. m. campan was asked there; he had frequently heard the work read, and did not now find the alterations that had been announced; this he observed to several persons belonging to the court, who maintained that the author had made all the sacrifices required. m. campan was so astonished at these persistent assertions of an obvious falsehood that he replied by a quotation from beaumarchais himself, and assuming the tone of basilio in the "barbier de seville," he said, "faith, gentlemen, i don't know who is deceived here; everybody is in the secret." they then came to the point, and begged him to tell the queen positively that all which had been pronounced reprehensible in m. de beaumarchais's play had been cut out. my father-in-law contented himself with replying that his situation at court would not allow of his giving an opinion unless the queen should first speak of the piece to him. the queen said nothing to him about the matter. shortly, afterwards permission to perform this play was at length obtained. the queen thought the people of paris would be finely tricked when they saw merely an ill-conceived piece, devoid of interest, as it must appear when deprived of its satire. ["the king," says grimm, "made sure that the public would judge unfavourably of the work." he said to the marquis de montesquiou, who was going to see the first representation, 'well, what do you augur of its success?'--'sire, i hope the piece will fail.'--'and so do i,' replied the king. "there is something still more ridiculous than my piece," said beaumarchais himself; "that is, its success." mademoiselle arnould foresaw it the first day, and exclaimed, "it is a production that will fail fifty nights successively." there was as crowded an audience on the seventy-second night as on the first. the following is extracted from grimm's 'correspondence.' "answer of m. de beaumarchais to -----, who requested the use of his private box for some ladies desirous of seeing 'figaro' without being themselves seen. "i have no respect for women who indulge themselves in seeing any play which they think indecorous, provided they can do so in secret. i lend myself to no such acts. i have given my piece to the public, to amuse, and not to instruct, not to give any compounding prudes the pleasure of going to admire it in a private box, and balancing their account with conscience by censuring it in company. to indulge in the pleasure of vice and assume the credit of virtue is the hypocrisy of the age. my piece is not of a doubtful nature; it must be patronised in good earnest, or avoided altogether; therefore, with all respect to you, i shall keep my box." this letter was circulated all over paris for a week.] under the persuasion that there was not a passage left capable of malicious or dangerous application, monsieur attended the first performance in a public box. the mad enthusiasm of the public in favour of the piece and monsieur's just displeasure are well known. the author was sent to prison soon afterwards, though his work was extolled to the skies, and though the court durst not suspend its performance. the queen testified her displeasure against all who had assisted the author of the "mariage de figaro" to deceive the king into giving his consent that it should be represented. her reproaches were more particularly directed against m. de vaudreuil for having had it performed at his house. the violent and domineering disposition of her favourite's friend at last became disagreeable to her. one evening, on the queen's return from the duchess's, she desired her 'valet de chambre' to bring her billiard cue into her closet, and ordered me to open the box that contained it. i took out the cue, broken in two. it was of ivory, and formed of one single elephant's tooth; the butt was of gold and very tastefully wrought. "there," said she, "that is the way m. de vaudreuil has treated a thing i valued highly. i had laid it upon the couch while i was talking to the duchess in the salon; he had the assurance to make use of it, and in a fit of passion about a blocked ball, he struck the cue so violently against the table that he broke it in two. the noise brought me back into the billiard-room; i did not say a word to him, but my looks showed him how angry i was. he is the more provoked at the accident, as he aspires to the post of governor to the dauphin. i never thought of him for the place. it is quite enough to have consulted my heart only in the choice of a governess; and i will not suffer that of a governor to the dauphin to be at all affected by the influence of my friends. i should be responsible for it to the nation. the poor man does not know that my determination is taken; for i have never expressed it to the duchess. therefore, judge of the sort of an evening he must have passed!" chapter xiii. shortly after the public mind had been thrown into agitation by the performance of the "mariage de figaro," an obscure plot, contrived by swindlers, and matured in a corrupted society, attacked the queen's character in a vital point and assailed the majesty of the throne. i am about to speak of the notorious affair of the necklace purchased, as it was said, for the queen by cardinal de rohan. i will narrate all that has come to my knowledge relating to this business; the most minute particulars will prove how little reason the queen had to apprehend the blow by which she was threatened, and which must be attributed to a fatality that human prudence could not have foreseen, but from which, to say the truth, she might have extricated herself with more skill. i have already said that in the queen purchased jewels of boehmer to the value of three hundred and sixty thousand franca, that she paid for them herself out of her own private funds, and that it required several years to enable her to complete the payment. the king afterwards presented her with a set of rubies and diamonds of a fine water, and subsequently with a pair of bracelets worth two hundred thousand francs. the queen, after having her diamonds reset in new patterns, told boehmer that she found her jewel case rich enough, and was not desirous of making any addition to it. [except on those days when the assemblies at court were particularly attended, such as the st of january and the d of february, devoted to the procession of the order of the holy ghost, and on the festivals of easter, whitsuntide, and christmas, the queen no longer wore any dresses but muslin or white florentine taffety. her head-dress was merely a hat; the plainest were preferred; and her diamonds never quitted their caskets but for the dresses of ceremony, confined to the days i have mentioned. before the queen was five and twenty she began to apprehend that she might be induced to make too frequent use of flowers and of ornaments, which at that time were exclusively reserved for youth. madame bertin having brought a wreath for the head and neck, composed of roses, the queen feared that the brightness of the flowers might be disadvantageous to her complexion. she was unquestionably too severe upon herself, her beauty having as yet experienced no alteration; it is easy to conceive the concert of praise and compliment that replied to the doubt she had expressed. the queen, approaching me, said, "i charge you, from this day, to give me notice when flowers shall cease to become me."--"i shall do no such thing," i replied, immediately; "i have not read 'gil bias' without profiting in some degree from it, and i find your majesty's order too much like that given him by the archbishop of granada, to warn him of the moment when he should begin to fall off in the composition of his homilies."--"go," said the queen; "you are less sincere than gil blas; and i world have been more amenable than the archbishop."--madame campan.] still, this jeweller busied himself for some years in forming a collection of the finest diamonds circulating in the trade, in order to compose a necklace of several rows, which he hoped to induce her majesty to purchase; he brought it to m. campan, requesting him to mention it to the queen, that she might ask to see it, and thus be induced to wish to possess it. this m. campan refused to do, telling him that he should be stepping out of the line of his duty were he to propose to the queen an expense of sixteen hundred thousand francs, and that he believed neither the lady of honour nor the tirewoman would take upon herself to execute such a commission. boehmer persuaded the king's first gentleman for the year to show this superb necklace to his majesty, who admired it so much that he himself wished to see the queen adorned with it, and sent the case to her; but she assured him she should much regret incurring so great an expense for such an article, that she had already very beautiful diamonds, that jewels of that description were now worn at court not more than four or five times a year, that the necklace must be returned, and that the money would be much better employed in building a man-of-war. [messieurs boehmer and bassange, jewellers to the crown, were proprietors of a superb diamond necklace, which had, as it was said, been intended for the comtesse du barry. being under the necessity of selling it, they offered it, during the last war, to the king and queen; but their majesties made the following prudent answer: "we stand more in need of ships than of jewels."--"secret correspondence of the court of louis xvi."] boehmer, in sad tribulation at finding his expectations delusive, endeavoured for some time, it is said, to dispose of his necklace among the various courts of europe. a year after his fruitless attempts, boehmer again caused his diamond necklace to be offered to the king, proposing that it should be paid for partly by instalments, and partly in life annuities; this proposal was represented as highly advantageous, and the king, in my presence, mentioned the matter once more to the queen. i remember the queen told him that, if the bargain really was not bad, he might make it, and keep the necklace until the marriage of one of his children; but that, for her part, she would never wear it, being unwilling that the world should have to reproach her with having coveted so expensive an article. the king replied that their children were too young to justify such an expense, which would be greatly increased by the number of years the diamonds would remain useless, and that he would finally decline the offer. boehmer complained to everybody of his misfortune, and all reasonable people blamed him for having collected diamonds to so considerable an amount without any positive order for them. this man had purchased the office of jeweller to the crown, which gave him some rights of entry at court. after several months spent in ineffectual attempts to carry his point, and in idle complaints, he obtained an audience of the queen, who had with her the young princess, her daughter; her majesty did not know for what purpose boehmer sought this audience, and had not the slightest idea that it was to speak to her again about an article twice refused by herself and the king. boehmer threw himself upon his knees, clasped his hands, burst into tears, and exclaimed, "madame, i am ruined and disgraced if you do not purchase my necklace. i cannot outlive so many misfortunes. when i go hence i shall throw myself into the river." "rise, boehmer," said the queen, in a tone sufficiently severe to recall him to himself; "i do not like these rhapsodies; honest men have no occasion to fall on their knees to make their requests. if you were to destroy yourself i should regret you as a madman in whom i had taken an interest, but i should not be in any way responsible for that misfortune. not only have i never ordered the article which causes your present despair, but whenever you have talked to me about fine collections of jewels i have told you that i should not add four diamonds to those which i already possessed. i told you myself that i declined taking the necklace; the king wished to give it to me, but i refused him also; never mention it to me again. divide it and try to sell it piecemeal, and do not drown yourself. i am very angry with you for acting this scene of despair in my presence and before this child. let me never see you behave thus again. go." baehmer withdrew, overwhelmed with confusion, and nothing further was then heard of him. when madame sophie was born the queen told me m. de saint-james, a rich financier, had apprised her that boehmer was still intent upon the sale of his necklace, and that she ought, for her own satisfaction, to endeavour to learn what the man had done with it; she desired me the first time i should meet him to speak to him about it, as if from the interest i took in his welfare. i spoke to him about his necklace, and he told me he had been very fortunate, having sold it at constantinople for the favourite sultana. i communicated this answer to the queen, who was delighted with it, but could not comprehend how the sultan came to purchase his diamonds in paris. the queen long avoided seeing boehmer, being fearful of his rash character; and her valet de chambre, who had the care of her jewels, made the necessary repairs to her ornaments unassisted. on the baptism of the duc d'angouleme, in , the king gave him a diamond epaulet and buckles, and directed baehmer to deliver them to the queen. boehmer presented them on her return from mass, and at the same time gave into her hands a letter in the form of a petition. in this paper he told the queen that he was happy to see her "in possession of the finest diamonds known in europe," and entreated her not to forget him. the queen read boehmer's address to her aloud, and saw nothing in it but a proof of mental aberration; she lighted the paper at a wax taper standing near her, as she had some letters to seal, saying, "it is not worth keeping." she afterwards much regretted the loss of this enigmatical memorial. after having burnt the paper, her majesty said to me, "that man is born to be my torment; he has always some mad scheme in his head; remember, the first time you see him, to tell him that i do not like diamonds now, and that i will buy no more so long as i live; that if i had any money to spare i would rather add to my property at st. cloud by the purchase of the land surrounding it; now, mind you enter into all these particulars and impress them well upon him." i asked her whether she wished me to send for him; she replied in the negative, adding that it would be sufficient to avail myself of the first opportunity afforded by meeting him; and that the slightest advance towards such a man would be misplaced. on the st of august i left versailles for my country house at crespy; on the d came boehmer, extremely uneasy at not having received any answer from the queen, to ask me whether i had any commission from her to him; i replied that she had entrusted me with none; that she had no commands for him, and i faithfully repeated all she had desired me to say to him. "but," said boehmer, "the answer to the letter i presented to her,--to whom must i apply for that?" "to nobody," answered i; "her majesty burnt your memorial without even comprehending its meaning." "ah! madame," exclaimed he, "that is impossible; the queen knows that she has money to pay me!" "money, m. boehmer? your last accounts against the queen were discharged long ago." "madame, you are not in the secret. a man who is ruined for want of payment of fifteen hundred thousand francs cannot be said to be satisfied." "have you lost your senses?" said i. "for what can the queen owe you so extravagant a sum?" "for my necklace, madame," replied boehmer, coolly. "what!" i exclaimed, "that necklace again, which you have teased the queen about so many years! did you not tell me you had sold it at constantinople?" "the queen desired me to give that answer to all who should speak to me on the subject," said the wretched dupe. he then told me that the queen wished to have the necklace, and had had it purchased for her by monseigneur, the cardinal de rohan. "you are deceived," i exclaimed; "the queen has not once spoken to the cardinal since his return from vienna; there is not a man at her court less favourably looked upon." "you are deceived yourself, madame," said boehmer; "she sees him so much in private that it was to his eminence she gave thirty thousand francs, which were paid me as an instalment; she took them, in his presence, out of the little secretaire of sevres porcelain next the fireplace in her boudoir." "and the cardinal told you all this?" "yes, madame, himself." "what a detestable plot!" cried i. "indeed, to say the truth, madame, i begin to be much alarmed, for his eminence assured me that the queen would wear the necklace on whit-sunday, but i did not see it upon her, and it was that which induced me to write to her majesty." he then asked me what he ought to do. i advised him to go on to versailles, instead of returning to paris, whence he had just arrived; to obtain an immediate audience from the baron de breteuil, who, as head of the king's household, was the minister of the department to which boehmer belonged, and to be circumspect; and i added that he appeared to me extremely culpable,--not as a diamond merchant, but because being a sworn officer it was unpardonable of him to have acted without the direct orders of the king, the queen, or the minister. he answered, that he had not acted without direct orders; that he had in his possession all the notes signed by the queen, and that he had even been obliged to show them to several bankers in order to induce them to extend the time for his payments. i urged his departure for versailles, and he assured me he would go there immediately. instead of following my advice, he went to the cardinal, and it was of this visit of boehmer's that his eminence made a memorandum, found in a drawer overlooked by the abbe georgel when he burnt, by order of the cardinal, all the papers which the latter had at paris. the memorandum was thus worded: "on this day, d august, boehmer went to madame campan's country house, and she told him that the queen had never had his necklace, and that he had been deceived." when boehmer was gone, i wanted to follow him, and go to the queen; my father-in-law prevented me, and ordered me to leave the minister to elucidate such an important affair, observing that it was an infernal plot; that i had given boehmer the best advice, and had nothing more to do with the business. boehmer never said one word to me about the woman de lamotte, and her name was mentioned for the first time by the cardinal in his answers to the interrogatories put to him before the king. after seeing the cardinal, boehmer went to trianon, and sent a message to the queen, purporting that i had advised him to come and speak to her. his very words were repeated to her majesty, who said, "he is mad; i have nothing to say to him, and will not see him." two or three days afterwards the queen sent for me to petit trianon, to rehearse with me the part of rosina, which she was to perform in the "barbier de seville." i was alone with her, sitting upon her couch; no mention was made of anything but the part. after we had spent an hour in the rehearsal, her majesty asked me why i had sent boehmer to her; saying he had been in my name to speak to her, and that she would not see him. it was in this manner i learnt that he had not followed my advice in the slightest degree. the change of my countenance, when i heard the man's name, was very perceptible; the queen perceived it, and questioned me. i entreated her to see him, and assured her it was of the utmost importance for her peace of mind; that there was a plot going on, of which she was not aware; and that it was a serious one, since engagements signed by herself were shown about to people who had lent boehmer money. her surprise and vexation were great. she desired me to remain at trianon, and sent off a courier to paris, ordering boehmer to come to her upon some pretext which has escaped my recollection. he came next morning; in fact it was the day on which the play was performed, and that was the last amusement the queen allowed herself at that retreat. the queen made him enter her closet, and asked him by what fatality it was that she was still doomed to hear of his foolish pretence of selling her an article which she had steadily refused for several years. he replied that he was compelled, being unable to pacify his creditors any longer. "what are your creditors to me?" said her majesty. boehmer then regularly related to her all that he had been made to believe had passed between the queen and himself through the intervention of the cardinal. she was equally incensed and surprised at each thing she heard. in vain did she speak; the jeweller, equally importunate and dangerous, repeated incessantly, "madame, there is no longer time for feigning; condescend to confess that you have my necklace, and let some assistance be given to me, or my bankruptcy will soon bring the whole to light." it is easy to imagine how the queen must have suffered. on boehmer's going away, i found her in an alarming condition; the idea that any one could have believed that such a man as the cardinal possessed her full confidence; that she should have employed him to deal with a tradesman without the king's knowledge, for a thing which she had refused to accept from the king himself, drove her to desperation. she sent first for the abbe de vermond, and then for the baron de breteuil. their hatred and contempt for the cardinal made them too easily forget that the lowest faults do not prevent the higher orders of the empire from being defended by those to whom they have the honour to belong; that a rohan, a prince of the church, however culpable he might be, would be sure to have a considerable party which would naturally be joined by all the discontented persons of the court, and all the frondeurs of paris. they too easily believed that he would be stripped of all the advantages of his rank and order, and given up to the disgrace due to his irregular conduct; they deceived themselves. i saw the queen after the departure of the baron and the abbe; her agitation made me shudder. "fraud must be unmasked," said she; "when the roman purple and the title of prince cover a mere money-seeker, a cheat who dares to compromise the wife of his sovereign, france and all europe should know it." it is evident that from that moment the fatal plan was decided on. the queen perceived my alarm; i did not conceal it from her. i knew too well that she had many enemies not to be apprehensive on seeing her attract the attention of the whole world to an intrigue that they would try to complicate still more. i entreated her to seek the most prudent and moderate advice. she silenced me by desiring me to make myself easy, and to rest satisfied that no imprudence would be committed. on the following sunday, the th of august, being the assumption, at twelve o'clock, at the very moment when the cardinal, dressed in his pontifical garments, was about to proceed to the chapel, he was sent for into the king's closet, where the queen then was. the king said to him, "you have purchased diamonds of boehmer?" "yes, sire." "what have you done with them?" "i thought they had been delivered to the queen." "who commissioned you?" "a lady, called the comtesse de lamotte-valois, who handed me a letter from the queen; and i thought i was gratifying her majesty by taking this business on myself." the queen here interrupted him and said, "how, monsieur, could you believe that i should select you, to whom i have not spoken for eight years, to negotiate anything for me, and especially through the mediation of a woman whom i do not even know?" "i see plainly," said the cardinal, "that i have been duped. i will pay for the necklace; my desire to please your majesty blinded me; i suspected no trick in the affair, and i am sorry for it." he then took out of his pocket-book a letter from the queen to madame de lamotte, giving him this commission. the king took it, and, holding it towards the cardinal, said: "this is neither written nor signed by the queen. how could a prince of the house of rohan, and a grand almoner of france, ever think that the queen would sign marie antoinette de france? everybody knows that queens sign only by their baptismal names. but, monsieur," pursued the king, handing him a copy of his letter to baehmer, "have you ever written such a letter as this?" having glanced over it, the cardinal said, "i do not remember having written it." "but what if the original, signed by yourself, were shown to you?" "if the letter be signed by myself it is genuine." he was extremely confused, and repeated several times, "i have been deceived, sire; i will pay for the necklace. i ask pardon of your majesties." "then explain to me," resumed the king, "the whole of this enigma. i do not wish to find you guilty; i had rather you would justify yourself. account for all the manoeuvres with baehmer, these assurances and these letters." the cardinal then, turning pale, and leaning against the table, said, "sire, i am too much confused to answer your majesty in a way--" "compose yourself, cardinal, and go into my cabinet; you will there find paper, pens, and ink,--write what you have to say to me." the cardinal went into the king's cabinet, and returned a quarter of an hour afterwards with a document as confused as his verbal answers had been. the king then said, "withdraw, monsieur." the cardinal left the king's chamber, with the baron de breteuil, who gave him in custody to a lieutenant of the body guard, with orders to take him to his apartment. m. d'agoult, aide-major of the body guard, afterwards took him into custody, and conducted him to his hotel, and thence to the bastille. but while the cardinal had with him only the young lieutenant of the body guard, who was much embarrassed at having such an order to execute, his eminence met his heyduc at the door of the salon of hercules; he spoke to him in german and then asked the lieutenant if he could lend him a pencil; the officer gave him that which he carried about him, and the cardinal wrote to the abbe georgel, his grand vicar and friend, instantly to burn all madame de lamotte's correspondence, and all his other letters. [the abbe georgel thus relates the circumstance: the cardinal, at that trying moment, gave an astonishing proof of his presence of mind; notwithstanding the escort which surrounded him, favoured by the attendant crowd, he stopped, and stooping down with his face towards the wall, as if to fasten his buckle, snatched out his pencil and hastily wrote a few words upon a scrap of paper placed under his hand in his square red cap. he rose again and proceeded. on entering his house, his people formed a lane; he slipped this paper, unperceived, into the hand of a confidential valet de chambre, who waited for him at the door of his apartment." this story is scarcely credible; it is not at the moment of a prisoner's arrest, when an inquisitive crowd surrounds and watches him, that he can stop and write secret messages. however, the valet de chambre posts off to paris. he arrives at the palace of the cardinal between twelve and one o'clock; and his horse falls dead in the stable. "i was in my apartment," said the abbe georgel, "the valet de chambre entered wildly, with a deadly paleness on his countenance, and exclaimed, 'all is lost; the prince is arrested.' he instantly fell, fainting, and dropped the note of which he was the bearer." the portfolio containing the papers which might compromise the cardinal was immediately placed beyond the reach of all search. madame de lamotte also was foolishly allowed sufficient time after she heard of the arrest of the cardinal to burn all the letters she had received from him. assisted by beugnot, she completed this at three the same morning that she was: arrested at four.--see "memoirs of comte de beugnot," vol i., p. .] this commission was executed before m. de crosne, lieutenant of police, had received an order from the baron de breteuil to put seals upon the cardinal's papers. the destruction of all his eminence's correspondence, and particularly that with madame de lamotte, threw an impenetrable cloud over the whole affair. from that moment all proofs of this intrigue disappeared. madame de lamotte was apprehended at bar-sur-aube; her husband had already gone to england. from the beginning of this fatal affair all the proceedings of the court appear to have been prompted by imprudence and want of foresight; the obscurity resulting left free scope for the fables of which the voluminous memorials written on one side and the other consisted. the queen so little imagined what could have given rise to the intrigue, of which she was about to become the victim, that, at the moment when the king was interrogating the cardinal, a terrific idea entered her mind. with that rapidity of thought caused by personal interest and extreme agitation, she fancied that, if a design to ruin her in the eyes of the king and the french people were the concealed motive of this intrigue, the cardinal would, perhaps, affirm that she had the necklace; that he had been honoured with her confidence for this purchase, made without the king's knowledge; and point out some secret place in her apartment, where he might have got some villain to hide it. want of money and the meanest swindling were the sole motives for this criminal affair. the necklace had already been taken to pieces and sold, partly in london, partly in holland, and the rest in paris. the moment the cardinal's arrest was known a universal clamour arose. every memorial that appeared during the trial increased the outcry. on this occasion the clergy took that course which a little wisdom and the least knowledge of the spirit of such a body ought to have foreseen. the rohans and the house of conde, as well as the clergy, made their complaints heard everywhere. the king consented to having a legal judgment, and early in september he addressed letters-patent to the parliament, in which he said that he was "filled with the most just indignation on seeing the means which, by the confession of his eminence the cardinal, had been employed in order to inculpate his most dear spouse and companion." fatal moment! in which the queen found herself, in consequence of this highly impolitic step, on trial with a subject, who ought to have been dealt with by the power of the king alone. the princes and princesses of the house of conde, and of the houses of rohan, soubise, and guemenee, put on mourning, and were seen ranged in the way of the members of the grand chamber to salute them as they proceeded to the palace, on the days of the cardinal's trial; and princes of the blood openly canvassed against the queen of france. the pope wished to claim, on behalf of the cardinal de rohan, the right belonging to his ecclesiastical rank, and demanded that he should be judged at rome. the cardinal de bernis, ambassador from france to his holiness, formerly minister for foreign affairs, blending the wisdom of an old diplomatist with the principles of a prince of the church, wished that this scandalous affair should be hushed up. the king's aunts, who were on very intimate terms with the ambassador, adopted his opinion, and the conduct of the king and queen was equally and loudly censured in the apartments of versailles and in the hotels and coffee-houses of paris. madame, the king's sister-in-law, had been the sole protectress of de lamotte, and had confined her patronage to granting her a pension of twelve to fifteen hundred francs. her brother was in the navy, but the marquis de chabert, to whom he had been recommended, could never train a good officer. the queen in vain endeavoured to call to mind the features of this person, of whom she had often heard as an intriguing woman, who came frequently on sundays to the gallery of versailles. at the time when all france was engrossed by the persecution against the cardinal, the portrait of the comtesse de lamotte valois was publicly sold. her majesty desired me one day, when i was going to paris, to buy her the engraving, which was said to be a tolerable likeness, that she might ascertain whether she could recognise in it any person whom she might have seen in the gallery. [the public, with the exception of the lowest class, were admitted into the gallery and larger apartments of versailles, as they were into the park.--madame campan.] the woman de lamotte's father was a peasant at auteuil, though he called himself valois. madame de boulainvilliers once saw from her terrace two pretty little peasant girls, each labouring under a heavy bundle of sticks. the priest of the village, who was walking with her, told her that the children possessed some curious papers, and that he had no doubt they were descendants of a valois, an illegitimate son of one of the princes of that name. the family of valois had long ceased to appear in the world. hereditary vices had gradually plunged them into the deepest misery. i have heard that the last valois then known occupied the estate called gros bois; that as he seldom came to court, louis xiii. asked him what he was about that he remained so constantly in the country; and that this m. de valois merely answered, "sire, i only do there what i ought." it was shortly afterwards discovered that he was coining. neither the queen herself nor any one near her ever had the slightest connection with the woman de lamotte; and during her prosecution she could point out but one of the queen's servants, named desclos, a valet of the queen's bedchamber, to whom she pre tended she had delivered boehmer's necklace. this desclos was a very honest man; upon being confronted with the woman de lamotte, it was proved that she had never seen him but once, which was at the house of the wife of a surgeon-accoucheur at versailles, the only person she visited at court; and that she had not given him the necklace. madame de lamotte married a private in monsieur's body-guard; she lodged at versailles at the belle image, a very inferior furnished house; and it is inconceivable how so obscure a person could succeed in making herself believed to be a friend of the queen, who, though so extremely affable, seldom granted audiences, and only to titled persons. the trial of the cardinal is too generally known to require me to repeat its details here. the point most embarrassing to him was the interview he had in february, , with m. de saint-james, to whom he confided the particulars of the queen's pretended commission, and showed the contract approved and signed marie antoinette de france. the memorandum found in a drawer of the cardinal's bureau, in which he had himself written what baehmer told him after having seen me at my country house, was likewise an unfortunate document for his eminence. i offered to the king to go and declare that baehmer had told me that the cardinal assured him he had received from the queen's own hand the thirty thousand francs given on account upon the bargain being concluded, and that his eminence had seen her majesty take that sum in bills from the porcelain secretaire in her boudoir. the king declined my offer, and said to me, "were you alone when boehmer told you this?" i answered that i was alone with him in my garden. "well," resumed he, "the man would deny the fact; he is now sure of being paid his sixteen hundred thousand francs, which the cardinal's family will find it necessary to make good to him; we can no longer rely upon his sincerity; it would look as if you were sent by the queen, and that would not be proper." [the guilty woman no sooner knew that all was about to be discovered than she sent for the jewellers, and told them the cardinal had perceived that the agreement, which he believed to have been signed by the queen, was a false and forged document. "however," added she, "the cardinal possesses a considerable fortune, and he can very well pay you." these words reveal the whole secret. the countess had taken the necklace to herself, and flattered herself that m. de rohan, seeing himself deceived and cruelly imposed upon, would determine to pay and make the beat terms he could, rather than suffer a matter of this nature to become public.-"secret correspondence of the court of louis xvi."] the procureur general's information was severe on the cardinal. the houses of conde and rohan and the majority of the nobility saw in this affair only an attack on the prince's rank, the clergy only a blow aimed at the privileges of a cardinal. the clergy demanded that the unfortunate business of the prince cardinal de rohan should be submitted to ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the archbishop of narbonne, then president of the convocation, made representations upon the subject to the king; the bishops wrote to his majesty to remind him that a private ecclesiastic implicated in the affair then pending would have a right to claim his constitutional judges, and that this right was refused to a cardinal, his superior in the hierarchical order. in short, the clergy and the greater part of the nobility were at that time outrageous against authority, and chiefly against the queen. the procureur-general's conclusions, and those of a part of the heads of the magistracy, were as severe towards the cardinal as the information had been; yet he was fully acquitted by a majority of three voices; the woman de lamotte was condemned to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned; and her husband, for contumacy, was condemned to the galleys for life. [the following extract is from the "memoirs" of the abbe georgel: "the sittings were long and multiplied; it was necessary to read the whole proceedings; more than fifty judges sat; a master of requests; a friend of the prince, wrote down all that was said there, and sent it to his advisers, who found means to inform the cardinal of it, and to add the plan of conduct he ought to pursue." d'epremesnil, and other young counsellors, showed upon that occasion but too much audacity in braving the court, too much eagerness in seizing an opportunity of attacking it. they were the first to shake that authority which their functions made it a duty in them to respect.--note by the editor.] m. pierre de laurencel, the procureur general's substitute, sent the queen a list of the names of the members of the grand chamber, with the means made use of by the friends of the cardinal to gain their votes during the trial. i had this list to keep among the papers which the queen deposited in the house of m. campan, my father-in-law, and which, at his death, she ordered me to preserve. i burnt this statement, but i remember ladies performed a part not very creditable to their principles; it was by them, in consideration of large sums which they received, that some of the oldest and most respected members were won over. i did not see a single name amongst the whole parliament that was gained directly. the belief confirmed by time is, that the cardinal was completely duped by the woman de lamotte and cagliostro. the king may have been in error in thinking him an accomplice in this miserable and criminal scheme, but i have faithfully repeated his majesty's judgment about it. however, the generally received opinion that the baron de breteuil's hatred for the cardinal was the cause of the scandal and the unfortunate result of this affair contributed to the disgrace of the former still more than his refusal to give his granddaughter in marriage to the son of the duc de polignac. the abbe de vermond threw the whole blame of the imprudence and impolicy of the affair of the cardinal de rohan upon the minister, and ceased to be the friend and supporter of the baron de breteuil with the queen. in the early part of the year , the cardinal, as has been said, was fully acquitted, and came out of the bastille, while madame de lamotte was condemned to be whipped, branded, and imprisoned. the court, persisting in the erroneous views which had hitherto guided its measures, conceived that the cardinal and the woman de lamotte were equally culpable and unequally punished, and sought to restore the balance of justice by exiling the cardinal to la chaise-dieu, and suffering madame de lamotte to escape a few days after she entered l'hopital. this new error confirmed the parisians in the idea that the wretch de lamotte, who had never been able to make her way so far as to the room appropriated to the queen's women, had really interested the queen herself. [further particulars will be found in the "memoirs of the comte de beugnot" (london: hurst & blackett, ), as he knew madame de lamotte from the days of her early childhood (when the three children, the baron de valois, who died captain of a frigate, and the two mademoiselles de saint-remi, the last descendants of the baron de saint-remi, a natural son of henri ii., were almost starving) to the time of her temporary prosperity. in fact, he was with her when she burnt the correspondence of the cardinal, in the interval the court foolishly allowed between his arrest and her capture, and de beugnot believed he had met at her house, at the moment of their return from their successful trick, the whole party engaged in deluding the cardinal. it is worth noting that he was then struck by the face of mademoiselle d'oliva, who had just personated the queen in presenting a rose to the cardinal. it may also be cited as a pleasing quality of madame de lamotte that she, "in her ordinary conversation, used the words stupid and honest as synonymous."--see "beugnot," vol. i., p. .] chapter xiv. the abbe de vermond could not repress his exultation when he succeeded in getting the archbishop of sens appointed head of the council of finance. i have more than once heard him say that seventeen years of patience were not too long a term for success in a court; that he spent all that time in gaining the end he had in view; but that at length the archbishop was where he ought to be for the good of the state. the abbe, from this time, in the queen's private circle no longer concealed his credit and influence; nothing could equal the confidence with which he displayed the extent of his pretensions. he requested the queen to order that the apartments appropriated to him should be enlarged, telling her that, being obliged to give audiences to bishops, cardinals, and ministers, he required a residence suitable to his present circumstances. the queen continued to treat him as she did before the archbishop's arrival at court; but the household showed him increased consideration: the word "monsieur" preceded that of abbe; and from that moment not only the livery servants, but also the people of the antechambers rose when monsieur l'abbe was passing, though there never was, to my knowledge, any order given to that effect. the queen was obliged, on account of the king's disposition and the very limited confidence he placed in the archbishop of sens, to take a part in public affairs. while m. de maurepas lived she kept out of that danger, as may be seen by the censure which the baron de besenval passes on her in his memoirs for not availing herself of the conciliation he had promoted between the queen and that minister, who counteracted the ascendency which the queen and her intimate friends might otherwise have gained over the king's mind. the queen has often assured me that she never interfered respecting the interests of austria but once; and that was only to claim the execution of the treaty of alliance at the time when joseph ii. was at war with prussia and turkey; that, she then demanded that an army of twenty-four thousand men should be sent to him instead of fifteen millions, an alternative which had been left to option in the treaty, in case the emperor should have a just war to maintain; that she could not obtain her object, and m. de vergennes, in an interview which she had with him upon the subject, put an end to her importunities by observing that he was answering the mother of the dauphin and not the sister of the emperor. the fifteen millions were sent. there was no want of money at vienna, and the value of a french army was fully appreciated. "but how," said the queen, "could they be so wicked as to send off those fifteen millions from the general post-office, diligently publishing, even to the street porters, that they were loading carriages with money that i was sending to my brother!--whereas it is certain that the money would equally have been sent if i had belonged to another house; and, besides, it was sent contrary to my inclination." [this was not the first time the queen had become unpopular in consequence of financial support afforded by france to her brother. the emperor joseph ii, made, in november, , and in may, , startling claims on the republic of the united provinces; he demanded the opening of the scheldt, the cession of maeatricht with its dependencies, of the country beyond the meuse, the county of vroenhoven, and a sum of seventy millions of florins. the first gun was fired by the emperor on the scheldt th november, . peace was concluded th november, , through the mediation of france. the singular part was the indemnification granted to the emperor: this was a sum of ten millions of dutch florins; the articles , , and of the treaty stipulated the quotas of it. holland paid five millions and a half, and france, under the direction of m. de vergennes, four millions and a half of florins, that is to say, nine millions and forty-five thousand francs, according to m. soulavie. m. de augur, in his "policy of cabinets" (vol. iii.), says relative to this affair: "m. de vergennes has been much blamed for having terminated, by a sacrifice of seven millions, the contest that existed between the united provinces and the emperor. in that age of philosophy men were still very uncivilised; in that age of commerce they made very erroneous calculations; and those who accused the queen of sending the gold of france to her brother would have been better pleased if, to support a republic devoid of energy, the blood of two hundred thousand men, and three or four hundred millions of francs, had been sacrificed, and at the same time the risk run of losing the advantage of peace dictated to england." madame campan.] when the comte de moustier set out on his mission to the united states, after having had his public audience of leave he came and asked me to procure him a private one. i could not succeed even with the strongest solicitations; the queen desired me to wish him a good voyage, but added that none but ministers could have anything to say to him in private, since he was going to a country where the names of king and queen must be detested. marie antoinette had then no direct influence over state affairs until after the deaths of m. de maurepas and m. de vergennes, and the retirement of m. de calonne. she frequently regretted her new situation, and looked upon it as a misfortune which she could not avoid. one day, while i was assisting her to tie up a number of memorials and reports, which some of the ministers had handed to her to be given to the king, "ah!" said she, sighing, "there is an end of all happiness for me, since they have made an intriguer of me." i exclaimed at the word. "yes," resumed, the queen, "that is the right term; every woman who meddles with affairs above her understanding or out of her line of duty is an intriguer and nothing else; you will remember, however, that it is not my own fault, and that it is with regret i give myself such a title; queens of france are happy only so long as they meddle with nothing, and merely preserve influence sufficient to advance their friends and reward a few zealous servants. do you know what happened to me lately? one day since i began to attend private committees at the king's, while crossing the oiel-de-boeuf, i heard one of the musicians of the chapel say so loud that i lost not a single word, 'a queen who does her duty will remain in her apartment to knit.' i said within myself, 'poor wretch, thou art right; but thou knowest not my situation; i yield to necessity and my evil destiny.'" this situation was the more painful to the queen inasmuch as louis xvi. had long accustomed himself to say nothing to her respecting state affairs; and when, towards the close of his reign, she was obliged to interfere in the most important matters, the same habit in the king frequently kept from her particulars which it was necessary she should have known. obtaining, therefore, only insufficient information, and guided by persons more ambitious than skilful, the queen could not be useful in important affairs; yet, at the same time, her ostensible interference drew upon her, from all parties and all classes of society, an unpopularity the rapid progress of which alarmed all those who were sincerely attached to her. carried away by the eloquence of the archbishop of sens, and encouraged in the confidence she placed in that minister by the incessant eulogies of the abbe de vermond on his abilities, the queen unfortunately followed up her first mistake of bringing him into office in by supporting him at the time of his disgrace, which was obtained by the despair of a whole nation. she thought it was due to her dignity to give him some marked proof of her regard at the moment of his departure; misled by her feelings, she sent him her portrait enriched with jewelry, and a brevet for the situation of lady of the palace for madame de canisy, his niece, observing that it was necessary to indemnify a minister sacrificed to the intrigues of the court and a factious spirit of the nation; that otherwise none would be found willing to devote themselves to the interests of the sovereign. on the day of the archbishop's departure the public joy was universal, both at court and at paris there were bonfires; the attorneys' clerks burnt the archbishop in effigy, and on the evening of his disgrace more than a hundred couriers were sent out from versailles to spread the happy tidings among the country seats. i have seen the queen shed bitter tears at the recollection of the errors she committed at this period, when subsequently, a short time before her death, the archbishop had the audacity to say, in a speech which was printed, that the sole object of one part of his operations, during his administration, was the salutary crisis which the revolution had produced. the benevolence and generosity shown by the king and queen during the severe winter of , when the seine was frozen over and the cold was more intense than it had been for eighty years, procured them some fleeting popularity. the gratitude of the parisians for the succour their majesties poured forth was lively if not lasting. the snow was so abundant that since that period there has never been seen such a prodigious quantity in france. in different parts of paris pyramids and obelisks of snow were erected with inscriptions expressive of the gratitude of the people. the pyramid in the rue d'angiviller was supported on a base six feet high by twelve broad; it rose to the height of fifteen feet, and was terminated by a globe. four blocks of stone, placed at the angles, corresponded with the obelisk, and gave it an elegant appearance. several inscriptions, in honour of the king and queen, were affixed to it. i went to see this singular monument, and recollect the following inscription "to marie antoinette." "lovely and good, to tender pity true, queen of a virtuous king, this trophy view; cold ice and snow sustain its fragile form, but ev'ry grateful heart to thee is warm. oh, may this tribute in your hearts excite, illustrious pair, more pure and real delight, whilst thus your virtues are sincerely prais'd, than pompous domes by servile flatt'ry rais'd." the theatres generally rang with praises of the beneficence of the sovereigns: "la partie de chasse de henri iv." was represented for the benefit of the poor. the receipts were very considerable. when the fruitless measure of the assembly of the notables, and the rebellious spirit in the parliaments, [the assembly of the notables, as may be seen in "weber's memoirs," vol. i., overthrew the plans and caused the downfall of m. de calonne. a prince of the blood presided over each of the meetings of that assembly. monsieur, afterwards louis xviii., presided over the first meeting. "monsieur," says a contemporary, "gained great reputation at the assembly of the notables in . he did not miss attending his meeting a single day, and he displayed truly patriotic virtues. his care in discussing the weighty matters of administration, in throwing light upon them, and in defending the interests and the cause of the people, was such as even to inspire the king with some degree of jealousy. monsieur openly said that a respectful resistance to the orders of the monarch was not blamable, and that authority might be met by argument, and forced to receive information without any offence whatever."--note by the editor.] had created the necessity for states general, it was long discussed in council whether they should be assembled at versailles or at forty or sixty leagues from the capital; the queen was for the latter course, and insisted to the king that they ought to be far away from the immense population of paris. she feared that the people would influence the deliberations of the deputies; several memorials were presented to the king upon that question; but m. necker prevailed, and versailles was the place fixed upon. the day on which the king announced that he gave his consent to the convocation of the states general, the queen left the public dinner, and placed herself in the recess of the first window of her bedchamber, with her face towards the garden. her chief butler followed her, to present her coffee, which she usually took standing, as she was about to leave the table. she beckoned to me to come close to her. the king was engaged in conversation with some one in his room. when the attendant had served her he retired; and she addressed me, with the cup still in her hand: "great heavens! what fatal news goes forth this day! the king assents to the convocation of the states general." then she added, raising her eyes to heaven, "i dread it; this important event is a first fatal signal of discord in france." she cast her eyes down, they were filled with tears. she could not take the remainder of her coffee, but handed me the cup, and went to join the king. in the evening, when she was alone with me, she spoke only of this momentous decision. "it is the parliament," said she, "that has compelled the king to have recourse to a measure long considered fatal to the repose of the kingdom. these gentlemen wish to restrain the power of the king; but they give a great shock to the authority of which they make so bad a use, and they will bring on their own destruction." the double representation granted to the tiers etat was now the chief topic of conversation. the queen favoured this plan, to which the king had agreed; she thought the hope of obtaining ecclesiastical favours would secure the clergy of the second order, and that m. necker was sure to have the same degree of influence over the lawyers, and other people of that class comprised in the tiers dat. the comte d'artois, holding the contrary opinion, presented a memorial in the names of himself and several princes of the blood to the king against the double representation. the queen was displeased with him for this; her confidential advisers infused into her apprehensions that the prince was made the tool of a party; but his conduct was approved of by madame de polignac's circle, which the queen thenceforward only frequented to avoid the appearance of a change in her habits. she almost always returned unhappy; she was treated with the profound respect due to a queen, but the devotion of friendship had vanished, to make way for the coldness of etiquette, which wounded her deeply. the alienation between her and the comte artois was also very painful to her, for she had loved him almost as tenderly as if he had been her own brother. the opening of the states general took place on the th of may, . the queen on that occasion appeared for the last time in her life in regal magnificence. during the procession some low women, seeing the queen pass, cried out "vive le duc d' orleans!" in so threatening a manner that she nearly fainted. she was obliged to be supported, and those about her were afraid it would be necessary to stop the procession. the queen, however, recovered herself, and much regretted that she had not been able to command more presence of mind. the rapidly increasing distrust of the king and queen shown by the populace was greatly attributable to incessant corruption by english gold, and the projects, either of revenge or of ambition, of the duc d'orleans. let it not be thought that this accusation is founded on what has been so often repeated by the heads of the french government since the revolution. twice between the th of july and the th of october, , the day on which the court was dragged to paris, the queen prevented me from making little excursions thither of business or pleasure, saying to me, "do not go on such a day to paris; the english have been scattering gold, we shall have some disturbance." the repeated visits of the duc d'orleans to england had excited the anglomania to such a pitch that paris was no longer distinguishable from london. the french, formerly imitated by the whole of europe, became on a sudden a nation of imitators, without considering the evils that arts and manufactures must suffer in consequence of the change. since the treaty of commerce made with england at the peace of , not merely equipages, but everything, even to ribands and common earthenware, were of english make. if this predominance of english fashions had been confined to filling our drawing-rooms with young men in english frock-coats, instead of the french dress, good taste and commerce might alone have suffered; but the principles of english government had taken possession of these young heads. constitution, upper house, lower house, national guarantee, balance of power, magna charta, law of habeas corpus,--all these words were incessantly repeated, and seldom understood; but they were of fundamental importance to a party which was then forming. the first sitting of the states took place on the following day. the king delivered his speech with firmness and dignity; the queen told me that he had taken great pains about it, and had repeated it frequently. his majesty gave public marks of attachment and respect for the queen, who was applauded; but it was easy to see that this applause was in fact rendered to the king alone. it was evident, during the first sittings, that mirabeau would be very dangerous to the government. it affirmed that at this period he communicated to the king, and still more fully to the queen, part of his schemes for abandoning them. he brandished the weapons afforded him by his eloquence and audacity, in order to make terms with the party he meant to attack. this man played the game of revolution to make his own fortune. the queen told me that he asked for an embassy, and, if my memory does not deceive me, it was that of constantinople. he was refused with well-deserved contempt, though policy would doubtless have concealed it, could the future have been foreseen. the enthusiasm prevailing at the opening of this assembly, and the debates between the tiers etat, the nobility, and even the clergy, daily increased the alarm of their majesties, and all who were attached to the cause of monarchy. the queen went to bed late, or rather she began to be unable to rest. one evening, about the end of may, she was sitting in her room, relating several remarkable occurrences of the day; four wax candles were placed upon her toilet-table; the first went out of itself; i relighted it; shortly afterwards the second, and then the third went out also; upon which the queen, squeezing my hand in terror, said to me: "misfortune makes us superstitious; if the fourth taper should go out like the rest, nothing can prevent my looking upon it as a sinister omen." the fourth taper went out. it was remarked to the queen that the four tapers had probably been run in the same mould, and that a defect in the wick had naturally occurred at the same point in each, since the candles had all gone out in the order in which they had been lighted. the deputies of the tiers etat arrived at versailles full of the strongest prejudices against the court. they believed that the king indulged in the pleasures of the table to a shameful excess; and that the queen was draining the treasury of the state in order to satisfy the most unbridled luxury. they almost all determined to see petit trianon. the extreme plainness of the retreat in question not answering the ideas they had formed, some of them insisted upon seeing the very smallest closets, saying that the richly furnished apartments were concealed from them. they particularised one which, according to them, was ornamented with diamonds, and with wreathed columns studded with sapphires and rubies. the queen could not get these foolish ideas out of her mind, and spoke to the king on the subject. from the description given of this room by the deputies to the keepers of trianon, the king concluded that they were looking for the scene enriched with paste ornaments, made in the reign of louis xv. for the theatre of fontainebleau. the king supposed that his body guards, on their return to the country, after their quarterly duty at court, related what they had seen, and that their exaggerated accounts, being repeated, became at last totally perverted. this idea of the king, after the search for the diamond chamber, suggested to the queen that the report of the king's propensity for drinking also sprang from the guards who accompanied his carriage when he hunted at rambouillet. the king, who disliked sleeping out of his usual bed, was accustomed to leave that hunting-seat after supper; he generally slept soundly in his carriage, and awoke only on his arrival at the courtyard of his palace; he used to get down from his carriage in the midst of his body guards, staggering, as a man half awake will do, which was mistaken for intoxication. the majority of the deputies who came imbued with prejudices produced by error or malevolence, went to lodge with the most humble private individuals of versailles, whose inconsiderate conversation contributed not a little to nourish such mistakes. everything, in short, tended to render the deputies subservient to the schemes of the leaders of the rebellion. shortly after the opening of the states general the first dauphin died. that young prince suffered from the rickets, which in a few months curved his spine, and rendered his legs so weak that he could not walk without being supported like a feeble old man. [louis, dauphin of france, who died at versailles on the th of june, , gave promise of intellectual precocity. the following particulars, which convey some idea of his disposition, and of the assiduous attention bestowed upon him by the duchesse de polignac, will be found in a work of that time: "at two years old the dauphin was very pretty; he articulated well, and answered questions put to him intelligently. while he was at the chateau de la muette everybody was at liberty to see him. the dauphin was dressed plainly, like a sailor; there was nothing to distinguish him from other children in external appearance but the cross of saint louis, the blue ribbon, and the order of the fleece, decorations that are the distinctive signs of his rank. the duchesse jules de polignac, his governess, scarcely ever left him for a single instant: she gave up all the court excursions and amusements in order to devote her whole attention to him. the prince always manifested a great regard for m. de bourset, his valet de chambre. during the illness of which he died, he one day asked for a pair of scissors; that gentleman reminded him that they were forbidden. the child insisted mildly, and they were obliged to yield to him. having got the scissors, he cut off a lock of his hair, which he wrapped in a sheet of paper: 'there, monsieur,' said he to his valet de chambre,' there is the only present i can make you, having nothing at my command; but when i am dead you will present this pledge to my papa and mamma; and while they remember me, i hope they will not forget you.'"--note by the editor.] how many maternal tears did his condition draw from the queen, already overwhelmed with apprehensions respecting the state of the kingdom! her grief was enhanced by petty intrigues, which, when frequently renewed, became intolerable. an open quarrel between the families and friends of the duc harcourt, the dauphin's governor, and those of the duchesse de polignac, his governess, added greatly to the queen's affliction. the young prince showed a strong dislike to the duchesse de polignac, who attributed it either to the duc or the duchesse d'harcourt, and came to make her complaints respecting it to the queen. the dauphin twice sent her out of his room, saying to her, with that maturity of manner which long illness always gives to children: "go out, duchess; you are so fond of using perfumes, and they always make me ill;" and yet she never used any. the queen perceived, also, that his prejudices against her friend extended to herself; her son would no longer speak in her presence. she knew that he had become fond of sweetmeats, and offered him some marshmallow and jujube lozenges. the under-governors and the first valet de chambre requested her not to give the dauphin anything, as he was to receive no food of any kind without the consent of the faculty. i forbear to describe the wound this prohibition inflicted upon the queen; she felt it the more deeply because she was aware it was unjustly believed she gave a decided preference to the duc de normandie, whose ruddy health and amiability did, in truth, form a striking contrast to the languid look and melancholy disposition of his elder brother. she even suspected that a plot had for some time existed to deprive her of the affection of a child whom she loved as a good and tender mother ought. previous to the audience granted by the king on the th august, , to the envoy of the sultan tippoo saib, she had begged the duc d'harcourt to divert the dauphin, whose deformity was already apparent, from his, intention to be present at that ceremony, being unwilling to expose him to the gaze of the crowd of inquisitive parisians who would be in the gallery. notwithstanding this injunction, the dauphin was suffered to write to his mother, requesting her permission to be present at the audience. the queen was obliged to refuse him, and warmly reproached the governor, who merely answered that he could not oppose the wishes of a sick child. a year before the death of the dauphin the queen lost the princesse sophie; this was, as the queen said, the first of a series of misfortunes. note: as madame campan has stated in the foregoing pages that the money to foment sedition was furnished from english sources, the decree of the convention of august, , maybe quoted as illustrative of the entente cordiale alleged to exist between the insurrectionary government and its friends across the channel! the endeavours made by the english government to save the unfortunate king are well known. the motives prompting the conduct of the duc d'orleans are equally well known. art. i. the national convention denounces the british government to europe and the english nation. art. ii. every frenchman that shall place his money in the english funds shall be declared a traitor to his country. art. iii. every frenchman who has money in the english funds or those of any other power with whom france is at war shall be obliged to declare the same. art. iv. all foreigners, subjects of the powers now at war with france, particularly the english, shall be arrested, and seals put upon their papers. art. v. the barriers of paris shall be instantly shut. art. vi. all good citizens shall be required in the name of the country to search for the foreigners concerned in any plot denounced. art. vii. three millions shall be at the disposal of the minister at war to facilitate the march of the garrison of mentz to la vendee. art. viii. the minister at war shall send to the army on the coast of rochelle all the combustible materials necessary to set fire to the forests and underwood of la vendee. art. ix. the women, the children, and old men shall be conducted to the interior parts of the country. art. x. the property of the rebels shall be confiscated for the benefit of the republic. art. xi. a camp shall be formed without delay between paris and the northern army. art. xii. all the family of the capets shall be banished from the french territory, those excepted who are under the sword of the law, and the offspring of louis capet, who shall both remain in the temple. art. xiii. marie antoinette shall be delivered over to the revolutionary tribunal, and shall be immediately conducted to the prison of the conciergerie. louise elisabeth shall remain in the temple till after the judgment of marie antoinette. art. xiv. all the tombs of the kings which are at st. denis and in the departments shall be destroyed on august the th. art. xv. the present decree shall be despatched by extraordinary couriers to all the departments. etext editor's bookmarks: customs are nearly equal to laws displaying her acquirements with rather too much confidence i do not like these rhapsodies indulge in the pleasure of vice and assume the credit of virtue no accounting for the caprices of a woman none but little minds dreaded little books shun all kinds of confidence the author (beaumarchais) was sent to prison soon afterwards those muskets were immediately embarked and sold to the americans young prince suffered from the rickets memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen volume book . chapter i. the ever-memorable oath of the states general, taken at the tennis court of versailles, was followed by the royal sitting of the d of june. in this seance the king declared that the orders must vote separately, and threatened, if further obstacles were met with, to himself act for the good of the people. the queen looked on m. necker's not accompanying the king as treachery or criminal cowardice: she said that he had converted a remedy into poison; that being in full popularity, his audacity, in openly disavowing the step taken by his sovereign, had emboldened the factious, and led away the whole assembly; and that he was the more culpable inasmuch as he had the evening before given her his word to accompany the king. in vain did m. necker endeavour to excuse himself by saying that his advice had not been followed. soon afterwards the insurrections of the th, th, and th of july--[the bastille was taken on the th july, .]--opened the disastrous drama with which france was threatened. the massacre of m. de flesselles and m. de launay drew bitter tears from the queen, and the idea that the king had lost such devoted subjects wounded her to the heart. the character of the movement was no longer merely that of a popular insurrection; cries of "vive la nation! vive le roi! vive la liberte!" threw the strongest light upon the views of the reformers. still the people spoke of the king with affection, and appeared to think him favourable to the national desire for the reform of what were called abuses; but they imagined that he was restrained by the opinions and influence of the comte d'artois and the queen; and those two august personages were therefore objects of hatred to the malcontents. the dangers incurred by the comte d'artois determined the king's first step with the states general. he attended their meeting on the morning of the th of july with his brothers, without pomp or escort; he spoke standing and uncovered, and pronounced these memorable words: "i trust myself to you; i only wish to be at one with my nation, and, counting on the affection and fidelity of my subjects, i have given orders to the troops to remove from paris and versailles." the king returned on foot from the chamber of the states general to his palace; the deputies crowded after him, and formed his escort, and that of the princes who accompanied him. the rage of the populace was pointed against the comte d'artois, whose unfavourable opinion of the double representation was an odious crime in their eyes. they repeatedly cried out, "the king for ever, in spite of you and your opinions, monseigneur!" one woman had the impudence to come up to the king and ask him whether what he had been doing was done sincerely, and whether he would not be forced to retract it. the courtyards of the chateau were thronged with an immense concourse of people; they demanded that the king and queen, with their children, should make their appearance in the balcony. the queen gave me the key of the inner doors, which led to the dauphin's apartments, and desired me to go to the duchesse de polignac to tell her that she wanted her son, and had directed me to bring him myself into her room, where she waited to show him to the people. the duchess said this order indicated that she was not to accompany the prince. i did not answer; she squeezed my hand, saying, "ah! madame campan, what a blow i receive!" she embraced the child and me with tears. she knew how much i loved and valued the goodness and the noble simplicity of her disposition. i endeavoured to reassure her by saying that i should bring back the prince to her; but she persisted, and said she understood the order, and knew what it meant. she then retired to her private room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes. one of the under-governesses asked me whether she might go with the dauphin; i told her the queen had given no order to the contrary, and we hastened to her majesty, who was waiting to lead the prince to the balcony. having executed this sad commission, i went down into the courtyard, where i mingled with the crowd. i heard a thousand vociferations; it was easy to see, by the difference between the language and the dress of some persons among the mob, that they were in disguise. a woman, whose face was covered with a black lace veil, seized me by the arm with some violence, and said, calling me by my name, "i know you very well; tell your queen not to meddle with government any longer; let her leave her husband and our good states general to effect the happiness of the people." at the same moment a man, dressed much in the style of a marketman, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, seized me by the other arm, and said, "yes, yes; tell her over and over again that it will not be with these states as with the others, which produced no good to the people; that the nation is too enlightened in not to make something more of them; and that there will not now be seen a deputy of the 'tiers etat' making a speech with one knee on the ground; tell her this, do you hear?" i was struck with dread; the queen then appeared in the balcony. "ah!" said the woman in the veil, "the duchess is not with her."--"no," replied the man, "but she is still at versailles; she is working underground, molelike; but we shall know how to dig her out." the detestable pair moved away from me, and i reentered the palace, scarcely able to support myself. i thought it my duty to relate the dialogue of these two strangers to the queen; she made me repeat the particulars to the king. about four in the afternoon i went across the terrace to madame victoire's apartments; three men had stopped under the windows of the throne-chamber. "here is that throne," said one of them aloud, "the vestiges of which will soon be sought for." he added a thousand invectives against their majesties. i went in to the princess, who was at work alone in her closet, behind a canvass blind, which prevented her from being seen by those without. the three men were still walking upon the terrace; i showed them to her, and told her what they had said. she rose to take a nearer view of them, and informed me that one of them was named saint-huruge; that he was sold to the duc d'orleans, and was furious against the government, because he had been confined once under a 'lettre de cachet' as a bad character. the king was not ignorant of these popular threats; he also knew the days on which money was scattered about paris, and once or twice the queen prevented my going there, saying there would certainly be a riot the next day, because she knew that a quantity of crown pieces had been distributed in the faubourgs. [i have seen a six-franc crown piece, which certainly served to pay some wretch on the night of the th of july; the words "midnight, th july, three pistols," were rather deeply engraven on it. they were, no doubt, a password for the first insurrection. --madame compan] on the evening of the th of july the king came to the queen's apartments, where i was with her majesty alone; he conversed with her respecting the scandalous report disseminated by the factious, that he had had the chamber of the national assembly undermined, in order to blow it up; but he added that it became him to treat such absurd assertions with contempt, as usual; i ventured to tell him that i had the evening before supped with m. begouen, one of the deputies, who said that there were very respectable persons who thought that this horrible contrivance had been proposed without the king's knowledge. "then," said his majesty, "as the idea of such an atrocity was not revolting to so worthy a man as m. begouen, i will order the chamber to be examined early to-morrow morning." in fact, it will be seen by the king's, speech to the national assembly, on the th of july, that the suspicions excited obtained his attention. "i know," said he in the speech in question, "that unworthy insinuations have been made; i know there are those who have dared to assert that your persons are not safe; can it be necessary to give you assurances upon the subject of reports so culpable, denied beforehand by my known character?" the proceedings of the th of july produced no mitigation of the disturbances. successive deputations of poissardes came to request the king to visit paris, where his presence alone would put an end to the insurrection. on the th a committee was held in the king's apartments, at which a most important question was discussed: whether his majesty should quit versailles and set off with the troops whom he had recently ordered to withdraw, or go to paris to tranquillise the minds of the people. the queen was for the departure. on the evening of the th she made me take all her jewels out of their cases, to collect them in one small box, which she might carry off in her own carriage. with my assistance she burnt a large quantity of papers; for versailles was then threatened with an early visit of armed men from paris. the queen, on the morning of the th, before attending another committee at the king's, having got her jewels ready, and looked over all her papers, gave me one folded up but not sealed, and desired me not to read it until she should give me an order to do so from the king's room, and that then i was to execute its contents; but she returned herself about ten in the morning; the affair was decided; the army was to go away without the king; all those who were in imminent danger were to go at the same time. "the king will go to the hotel de ville to-morrow," said the queen to me; "he did not choose this course for himself; there were long debates on the question; at last the king put an end to them by rising and saying, 'well, gentlemen, we must decide; am i to go or to stay? i am ready to do either.' the majority were for the king staying; time will show whether the right choice has been made." i returned the queen the paper she had given me, which was now useless; she read it to me; it contained her orders for the departure; i was to go with her, as well on account of my office about her person as to serve as a teacher to madame. the queen tore the paper, and said, with tears in her eyes, "when i wrote this i thought it would be useful, but fate has ordered otherwise, to the misfortune of us all, as i much fear." after the departure of the troops the new administration received thanks; m. necker was recalled. the artillery soldiers were undoubtedly corrupted. "wherefore all these guns?" exclaimed the crowds of women who filled the streets. "will you kill your mothers, your wives, your children?"--"don't be afraid," answered the soldiers; "these guns shall rather be levelled against the tyrant's palace than against you!" the comte d'artois, the prince de conde, and their children set off at the same time with the troops. the duc and duchesse de polignac, their daughter, the duchesse de guiche, the comtesse diane de polignac, sister of the duke, and the abbe de baliviere, also emigrated on the same night. nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the queen and her friend; extreme misfortune had banished from their minds the recollection of differences to which political opinions alone had given rise. the queen several times wished to go and embrace her once more after their sorrowful adieu, but she was too closely watched. she desired m. campan to be present at the departure of the duchess, and gave him a purse of five hundred louis, desiring him to insist upon her allowing the queen to lend her that sum to defray her expenses on the road. the queen added that she knew her situation; that she had often calculated her income, and the expenses occasioned by her place at court; that both husband and wife having no other fortune than their official salaries, could not possibly have saved anything, however differently people might think at paris. m. campan remained till midnight with the duchess to see her enter her carriage. she was disguised as a femme de chambre, and got up in front of the berlin; she requested m. campan to remember her frequently to the queen, and then quitted for ever that palace, that favour, and that influence which had raised her up such cruel enemies. on their arrival at sens the travellers found the people in a state of insurrection; they asked all those who came from paris whether the polignacs were still with the queen. a group of inquisitive persons put that question to the abbe de baliviere, who answered them in the firmest tone, and with the most cavalier air, that they were far enough from versailles, and that we had got rid of all such bad people. at the following stage the postilion got on the doorstep and said to the duchess, "madame, there are some good people left in the world: i recognised you all at sens." they gave the worthy fellow a handful of gold. on the breaking out of these disturbances an old man above seventy years of age gave the queen an extraordinary proof of attachment and fidelity. m. peraque, a rich inhabitant of the colonies, father of m. d'oudenarde, was coming from brussels to paris; while changing horses he was met by a young man who was leaving france, and who recommended him if he carried any letters from foreign countries to burn them immediately, especially if he had any for the queen. m. peraque had one from the archduchess, the gouvernante of the low countries, for her majesty. he thanked the stranger, and carefully concealed his packet; but as he approached paris the insurrection appeared to him so general and so violent, that he thought no means could be relied on for securing this letter from seizure. he took upon him to unseal it, and learned it by heart, which was a wonderful effort for a man at his time of life, as it contained four pages of writing. on his arrival at paris he wrote it down, and then presented it to the queen, telling her that the heart of an old and faithful subject had given him courage to form and execute such a resolution. the queen received m. peraque in her closet, and expressed her gratitude in an affecting manner most honourable to the worthy old man. her majesty thought the young stranger who had apprised him of the state of paris was prince george of hesse-darmstadt, who was very devoted to her, and who left paris at that time. the marquise de tourzel replaced the duchess de polignac. she was selected by the queen as being the mother of a family and a woman of irreproachable conduct, who had superintended the education of her own daughters with the greatest success. the king went to paris on the th of july, accompanied by the marechal de beauvau, the duc de villeroi, and the duc de villequier; he also took the comte d'estaing, and the marquis de nesle, who were then very popular, in his carriage. twelve body guards, and the town guard of versailles, escorted him to the pont du jour, near sevres, where the parisian guard was waiting for him. his departure caused equal grief and alarm to his friends, notwithstanding the calmness he exhibited. the queen restrained her tears, and shut herself up in her private rooms with her family. she sent for several persons belonging to her court; their doors were locked. terror had driven them away. the silence of death reigned throughout the palace; they hardly dared hope that the king would return? the queen had a robe prepared for her, and sent orders to her stables to have all her equipages ready. she wrote an address of a few lines for the assembly, determining to go there with her family, the officers of her palace, and her servants, if the king should be detained prisoner at paris. she got this address by heart; it began with these words: "gentlemen, i come to place in your hands the wife and family of your sovereign; do not suffer those who have been united in heaven to be put asunder on earth." while she was repeating this address she was often interrupted by tears, and sorrowfully exclaimed: "they will not let him return!" it was past four when the king, who had left versailles at ten in the morning, entered the hotel de ville. at length, at six in the evening, m. de lastours, the king's first page, arrived; he was not half an hour in coming from the barriere de la conference to versailles. everybody knows that the moment of calm in paris was that in which the unfortunate sovereign received the tricoloured cockade from m. bailly, and placed it in his hat. a shout of "vive le roi!" arose on all sides; it had not been once uttered before. the king breathed again, and with tears in his eyes exclaimed that his heart stood in need of such greetings from the people. one of his equerries (m. de cubieres) told him the people loved him, and that he could never have doubted it. the king replied in accents of profound sensibility: "cubieres, the french loved henri iv., and what king ever better deserved to be beloved?" [louis xvi. cherished the memory of henri iv.: at that moment he thought of his deplorable end; but he long before regarded him as a model. soulavie says on the subject: "a tablet with the inscription 'resurrexit' placed upon the pedestal of henri iv.'s statue on the accession of louis xvi. flattered him exceedingly. 'what a fine compliment,' said he, 'if it were true! tacitus himself never wrote anything so concise or so happy.' louis xvi. wished to take the reign of that prince for a model. in the following year the party that raised a commotion among the people on account of the dearness of corn removed the tablet inscribed resurrexit from the statue of henri iv., and placed it under that of louis xv., whose memory was then detested, as he was believed to have traded on the scarcity of food. louis xvi., who was informed of it, withdrew into his private apartments, where he was found in a fever shedding tears; and during the whole of that day he could not be prevailed upon either to dine, walk out, or sup. from this circumstance we may judge what he endured at the commencement of the revolution, when he was accused of not loving the french people."--note by the editor.] his return to versailles filled his family with inexpressible joy; in the arms of the queen, his sister, and his children, he congratulated himself that no accident had happened; and he repeated several times, "happily no blood has been shed, and i swear that never shall a drop of french blood be shed by my order,"--a determination full of humanity, but too openly avowed in such factious times! the king's last measure raised a hope in many that general tranquillity would soon enable the assembly to resume its, labours, and promptly bring its session to a close. the queen never flattered herself so far; m. bailly's speech to the king had equally wounded her pride and hurt her feelings. "henri iv. conquered his people, and here are the people conquering their king." the word "conquest" offended her; she never forgave m. bailly for this fine academical phrase. five days after the king's visit to paris, the departure of the troops, and the removal of the princes and some of the nobility whose influence seemed to alarm the people, a horrible deed committed by hired assassins proved that the king had descended the steps of his throne without having effected a reconciliation with his people. m. foulon, adjoint to the administration while m. de broglie was commanding the army assembled at versailles, had concealed himself at viry. he was there recognised, and the peasants seized him, and dragged him to the hotel de ville. the cry for death was heard; the electors, the members of committee, and m. de la fayette, at that time the idol of paris, in vain endeavoured to save the unfortunate man. after tormenting him in a manner which makes humanity shudder, his body was dragged about the streets, and to the palais royal, and his heart was carried by women in the midst of a bunch of white carnations! m. berthier, m. foulon's son-in-law, intendant of paris, was seized at compiegne, at the same time that his father-in-law was seized at viry, and treated with still more relentless cruelty. the queen was always persuaded that this horrible deed was occasioned by some indiscretion; and she informed me that m. foulon had drawn up two memorials for the direction of the king's conduct at the time of his being called to court on the removal of m. necker; and that these memorials contained two schemes of totally different nature for extricating the king from the dreadful situation in which he was placed. in the first of these projects m. foulon expressed himself without reserve respecting the criminal views of the duc d'orleans; said that he ought to be put under arrest, and that no time should be lost in commencing a prosecution against him, while the criminal tribunals were still in existence; he likewise pointed out such deputies as should be apprehended, and advised the king not to separate himself from his army until order was restored. his other plan was that the king should make himself master of the revolution before its complete explosion; he advised his majesty to go to the assembly, and there, in person, to demand the cahiers, [cahiers, the memorials or lists of complaints, grievances, and requirements of the electors drawn up by the primary assemblies and sent with the deputies.] and to make the greatest sacrifices to satisfy the legitimate wishes of the people, and not to give the factious time to enlist them in aid of their criminal designs. madame adelaide had m. foulon's two memorials read to her in the presence of four or five persons. one of them, comte louis de narbonne, was very intimate with madame de stael, and that intimacy gave the queen reason to believe that the opposite party had gained information of m. foulon's schemes. it is known that young barnave, during an aberration of mind, since expiated by sincere repentance, and even by death, uttered these atrocious words: "is then the blood now, flowing so pure?" when m. berthier's son came to the assembly to implore the eloquence of m. de lally to entreat that body to save his father's life. i have since been informed that a son of m. foulon, having returned to france after these first ebullitions of the revolution, saw barnave, and gave him one of those memorials in which m. foulon advised louis xvi. to prevent the revolutionary explosion by voluntarily granting all that the assembly required before the th of july. "read this memorial," said he; "i have brought it to increase your remorse: it is the only revenge i wish to inflict on you." barnave burst into tears, and said to him all that the profoundest grief could dictate. chapter ii. after the th of july, by a manoeuvre for which the most skilful factions of any age might have envied the assembly, the whole population of france was armed and organised into a national guard. a report was spread throughout france on the same day, and almost at the same hour, that four thousand brigands were marching towards such towns or villages as it was wished to induce to take arms. never was any plan better laid; terror spread at the same moment all over the kingdom. in a peasant showed me a steep rock in the mountains of the mont d'or on which his wife concealed herself on the day when the four thousand brigands were to attack their village, and told me they had been obliged to make use of ropes to let her down from the height which fear alone had enabled her to climb. versailles was certainly the place where the national military uniform appeared most offensive. all the king's valets, even of the lowest class, were metamorphosed into lieutenants or captains; almost all the musicians of the chapel ventured one day to make their appearance at the king's mass in a military costume; and an italian soprano adopted the uniform of a grenadier captain. the king was very much offended at this conduct, and forbade his servants to appear in his presence in so unsuitable a dress. the departure of the duchesse de polignac naturally left the abbe de vermond exposed to all the dangers of favouritism. he was already talked of as an adviser dangerous to the nation. the queen was alarmed at it, and recommended him to remove to valenciennes, where count esterhazy was in command. he was obliged to leave that place in a few days and set off for vienna, where he remained. on the night of the th of july the queen, being unable to sleep, made me watch by her until three in the morning. i was extremely surprised to hear her say that it would be a very long time before the abbe de vermond would make his appearance at court again, even if the existing ferment should subside, because he would not readily be forgiven for his attachment to the archbishop of sens; and that she had lost in him a very devoted servant. then she suddenly remarked to me, that although he was not much prejudiced against me i could not have much regard for him, because he could not bear my father-in-law to hold the place of secretary of the closet. she went on to say that i must have studied the abbe's character, and, as i had sometimes drawn her portraits of living characters, in imitation of those which were fashionable in the time of louis xiv., she desired me to sketch that of the abbe, without any reserve. my astonishment was extreme; the queen spoke of the man who, the day before, had been in the greatest intimacy with her with the utmost coolness, and as a person whom, perhaps, she might never see again! i remained petrified; the queen persisted, and told me that he had been the enemy of my family for more than twelve years, without having been able to injure it in her opinion; so that i had no occasion to dread his return, however severely i might depict him. i promptly summarised my ideas about the favourite; but i only remember that the portrait was drawn with sincerity, except that everything which could denote antipathy was kept out of it. i shall make but one extract from it: i said that he had been born talkative and indiscreet, and had assumed a character of singularity and abruptness in order to conceal those two failings. the queen interrupted me by saying, "ah! how true that is!" i have since discovered that, notwithstanding the high favour which the abbe de vermond enjoyed, the queen took precautions to guard herself against an ascendency the consequences of which she could not calculate. on the death of my father-in-law his executors placed in my hands a box containing a few jewels deposited by the queen with m. campan on the departure from versailles of the th of october, and two sealed packets, each inscribed, "campan will take care of these papers for me." i took the two packets to her majesty, who kept the jewels and the larger packet, and, returning me the smaller, said, "take care of that for me as your father-in-law did." after the fatal th of august, ,--[the day of the attack on the tuileries, slaughter of the swiss guard, and suspension of the king from his functions.]--when my house was about to be surrounded, i determined to burn the most interesting papers of which i was the depositary; i thought it my duty, however, to open this packet, which it might perhaps be necessary for me to preserve at all hazards. i saw that it contained a letter from the abbe de vermond to the queen. i have already related that in the earlier days of madame de polignac's favour he determined to remove from versailles, and that the queen recalled him by means of the comte de mercy. this letter contained nothing but certain conditions for his return; it was the most whimsical of treaties; i confess i greatly regretted being under the necessity of destroying it. he reproached the queen for her infatuation for the comtesse jules, her family, and society; and told her several truths about the possible consequences of a friendship which ranked that lady among the favourites of the queens of france, a title always disliked by the nation. he complained that his advice was neglected, and then came to the conditions of his return to versailles; after strong assurances that he would never, in all his life, aim at the higher church dignities, he said that he delighted in an unbounded confidence; and that he asked but two things of her majesty as essential: the first was, not to give him her orders through any third person, and to write to him herself; he complained much that he had had no letter in her own hand since he had left vienna; then he demanded of her an income of eighty thousand livres, in ecclesiastical benefices; and concluded by saying that, if she condescended to assure him herself that she would set about procuring him what he wished, her letter would be sufficient in itself to show him that her majesty had accepted the two conditions he ventured to make respecting his return. no doubt the letter was written; at least it is very certain that the benefices were granted, and that his absence from versailles lasted only a single week. in the course of july, , the regiment of french guards, which had been in a state of insurrection from the latter end of june, abandoned its colours. one single company of grenadiers remained faithful, to its post at versailles. m. le baron de leval was the captain of this company. he came every evening to request me to give the queen an account of the disposition of his soldiers; but m. de la fayette having sent them a note, they all deserted during the night and joined their comrades, who were enrolled in the paris guard; so that louis xvi. on rising saw no guard whatever at the various posts entrusted to them. the decrees of the th of august, by which all privileges were abolished, are well known. ["it was during the night of the th of august," says rivarol, "that the demagogues of the nobility, wearied with a protracted discussion upon the rights of man, and burning to signalise their zeal, rose all at once, and with loud exclamations called for the last sighs of the feudal system. this demand electrified the assembly. all heads were frenzied. the younger sons of good families, having nothing, were delighted to sacrifice their too fortunate elders upon the altar of the country; a few country cures felt no less pleasure in renouncing the benefices of others; but what posterity will hardly believe is that the same enthusiasm infected the whole nobility; zeal walked hand in hand with malevolence; they made sacrifice upon sacrifice. and as in japan the point of honour lies in a man's killing himself in the presence of the person who has offended him, so did the deputies of the nobility vie in striking at themselves and their constituents. the people who were present at this noble contest increased the intoxication of their new allies by their shouts; and the deputies of the commons, seeing that this memorable night would only afford them profit without honour, consoled their self-love by wondering at what nobility, grafted upon the third estate, could do. they named that night the 'night of dupes'; the nobles called it the 'night of sacrifices'."--note by the editor.] the king sanctioned all that tended to the diminution of his own personal gratifications, but refused his consent to the other decrees of that tumultuous night; this refusal was one of the chief causes of the ferments of the month of october. in the early part of september meetings were held at the palais royal, and propositions made to go to versailles; it was said to be necessary to separate the king from his evil counsellors, and keep him, as well as the dauphin, at the louvre. the proclamations by the officers of the commune for the restoration of tranquillity were ineffectual; but m. de la fayette succeeded this time in dispersing the populace. the assembly declared itself permanent; and during the whole of september, in which no doubt the preparations were made for the great insurrections of the following month, the court was not disturbed. the king had the flanders regiment removed to versailles; unfortunately the idea of the officers of that regiment fraternising with the body guards was conceived, and the latter invited the former to a dinner, which was given in the great theatre of versailles, and not in the salon of hercules, as some chroniclers say. boxes were appropriated to various persons who wished to be present at this entertainment. the queen told me she had been advised to make her appearance on the occasion, but that under existing circumstances she thought such a step might do more harm than good; and that, moreover, neither she nor the king ought directly to have anything to do with such a festival. she ordered me to go, and desired me to observe everything closely, in order to give a faithful account of the whole affair. the tables were set out upon the stage; at them were placed one of the body guard and an officer of the flanders regiment alternately. there was a numerous orchestra in the room, and the boxes were filled with spectators. the air, "o richard, o mon roi!" was played, and shouts of "vive de roi!" shook the roof for several minutes. i had with me one of my nieces, and a young person brought up with madame by her majesty. they were crying "vive le roi!" with all their might when a deputy of the third estate, who was in the next box to mine, and whom i had never seen, called to them, and reproached them for their exclamations; it hurt him, he said, to see young and handsome frenchwomen brought up in such servile habits, screaming so outrageously for the life of one man, and with true fanaticism exalting him in their hearts above even their dearest relations; he told them what contempt worthy american women would feel on seeing frenchwomen thus corrupted from their earliest infancy. my niece replied with tolerable spirit, and i requested the deputy to put an end to the subject, which could by no means afford him any satisfaction, inasmuch as the young persons who were with me lived, as well as myself, for the sole purpose of serving and loving the king. while i was speaking what was my astonishment at seeing the king, the queen, and the dauphin enter the chamber! it was m. de luxembourg who had effected this change in the queen's determination. the enthusiasm became general; the moment their majesties arrived the orchestra repeated the air i have just mentioned, and afterwards played a song in the "deserter," "can we grieve those whom we love?" which also made a powerful impression upon those present: on all sides were heard praises of their majesties, exclamations of affection, expressions of regret for what they had suffered, clapping of hands, and shouts of "vive le roi! vive la reine! vive le dauphin!" it has been said that white cockades were worn on this occasion; that was not the case; the fact is, that a few young men belonging to the national guard of versailles, who were invited to the entertainment, turned the white lining of their national cockades outwards. all the military men quitted the hall, and reconducted the king and his family to their apartments. there was intoxication in these ebullitions of joy: a thousand extravagances were committed by the military, and many of them danced under the king's windows; a soldier belonging to the flanders regiment climbed up to the balcony of the king's chamber in order to shout "vive le roi!" nearer his majesty; this very soldier, as i have been told by several officers of the corps, was one of the first and most dangerous of their insurgents in the riots of the th and th of october. on the same evening another soldier of that regiment killed himself with a sword. one of my relations, chaplain to the queen, who supped with me, saw him stretched out in a corner of the place d'armes; he went to him to give him spiritual assistance, and received his confession and his last sighs. he destroyed himself out of regret at having suffered himself to be corrupted by the enemies of his king, and said that, since he had seen him and the queen and the dauphin, remorse had turned his brain. i returned home, delighted with all that i had seen. i found a great many people there. m. de beaumetz, deputy for arras, listened to my description with a chilling air, and, when i had finished, told me that all that had passed was terrific; that he knew the disposition of the assembly, and that the greatest misfortunes would follow the drama of that night; and he begged my leave to withdraw that he might take time for deliberate reflection whether he should on the very next day emigrate, or pass over to the left side of the assembly. he adopted the latter course, and never appeared again among my associates. on the d of october the military entertainment was followed up by a breakfast given at the hotel of the body guards. it is said that a discussion took place whether they should not march against the assembly; but i am utterly ignorant of what passed at that breakfast. from that moment paris was constantly in commotion; there were continual mobs, and the most virulent proposals were heard in all public places; the conversation was invariably about proceeding to versailles. the king and queen did not seem apprehensive of such a measure, and took no precaution against it; even when the army had actually left paris, on the evening of the th of october, the king was shooting at meudon, and the queen was alone in her gardens at trianon, which she then beheld for the last time in her life. she was sitting in her grotto absorbed in painful reflection, when she received a note from the comte de saint-priest, entreating her to return to versailles. m. de cubieres at the same time went off to request the king to leave his sport and return to the palace; the king did so on horseback, and very leisurely. a few minutes afterwards he was informed that a numerous body of women, which preceded the parisian army, was at chaville, at the entrance of the avenue from paris. the scarcity of bread and the entertainment of the body guards were the pretexts for the insurrection of the th and th of october, ; but it is clear to demonstration that this new movement of the people was a part of the original plan of the factious, insomuch as, ever since the beginning of september, a report had been industriously circulated that the king intended to withdraw, with his family and ministers, to some stronghold; and at all the popular assemblies there had been always a great deal said about going to versailles to seize the king. at first only women showed themselves; the latticed doors of the chateau were closed, and the body guard and flanders regiment were drawn up in the place d'armes. as the details of that dreadful day are given with precision in several works, i will only observe that general consternation and disorder reigned throughout the interior of the palace. i was not in attendance on the queen at this time. m. campan remained with her till two in the morning. as he was leaving her she condescendingly, and with infinite kindness, desired him to make me easy as to the dangers of the moment, and to repeat to me m. de la fayette's own words, which he had just used on soliciting the royal family to retire to bed, undertaking to answer for his army. the queen was far from relying upon m. de la fayette's loyalty; but she has often told me that she believed on that day, that la fayette, having affirmed to the king, in the presence of a crowd of witnesses, that he would answer for the army of paris, would not risk his honour as a commander, and was sure of being able to redeem his pledge. she also thought the parisian army was devoted to him, and that all he said about his being forced to march upon versailles was mere pretence. on the first intimation of the march of the parisians, the comte de saint-priest prepared rambouillet for the reception of the king, his family, and suite, and the carriages were even drawn out; but a few cries of "vive le roi!" when the women reported his majesty's favourable answer, occasioned the intention of going away to be given up, and orders were given to the troops to withdraw. [compare this account with the particulars given in the "memoirs" of ferribres, weber, bailly, and saint-priest, from the latter of which the following sentence is taken: "m. d'estaing knew not what to do with the body guards beyond bringing them into the courtyard of the ministers, and shutting the grilles. thence they proceeded to the terrace of the chateau, then to trianon, and lastly to rambouillet. "i could not refrain from expressing to m. d'estaing, when he came to the king, my astonishment at not seeing him make any military disposition. 'monsieur,' replied he, 'i await the orders of the king' (who did not open his mouth). 'when the king gives no orders,' pursued i, 'a general should decide for himself in a soldierly manner.' this observation remained unanswered."] the body guards were, however, assailed with stones and musketry while they were passing from the place d'armes to, their hotel. alarm revived; again it was thought necessary that the royal family should go away; some carriages still remained ready for travelling; they were called for; they were stopped by a wretched player belonging to the theatre of the town, seconded by the mob: the opportunity for flight had been lost. the insurrection was directed against the queen in particular; i shudder even now at the recollection of the poissardes, or rather furies, who wore white aprons, which they screamed out were intended to receive the bowels of marie antoinette, and that they would make cockades of them, mixing the most obscene expressions with these horrible threats. the queen went to bed at two in the morning, and even slept, tired out with the events of so distressing a day. she had ordered her two women to bed, imagining there was nothing to dread, at least for that night; but the unfortunate princess was indebted for her life to that feeling of attachment which prevented their obeying her. my sister, who was one of the ladies in question, informed me next day of all that i am about to relate. on leaving the queen's bedchamber, these ladies called their femmes de chambre, and all four remained sitting together against her majesty's bedroom door. about half-past four in the morning they heard horrible yells and discharges of firearms; one ran to the queen to awaken her and get her out of bed; my sister flew to the place from which the tumult seemed to proceed; she opened the door of the antechamber which leads to the great guard-room, and beheld one of the body guard holding his musket across the door, and attacked by a mob, who were striking at him; his face was covered with blood; he turned round and exclaimed: "save the queen, madame; they are come to assassinate her!" she hastily shut the door upon the unfortunate victim of duty, fastened it with the great bolt, and took the same precaution on leaving the next room. on reaching the queen's chamber she cried out to her, "get up, madame! don't stay to dress yourself; fly to the king's apartment!" the terrified queen threw herself out of bed; they put a petticoat upon her without tying it, and the two ladies conducted her towards the oile-de-boeuf. a door, which led from the queen's dressing-room to that apartment, had never before been fastened but on her side. what a dreadful moment! it was found to be secured on the other side. they knocked repeatedly with all their strength; a servant of one of the king's valets de chambre came and opened it; the queen entered the king's chamber, but he was not there. alarmed for the queen's life, he had gone down the staircases and through the corridors under the oeil-de-boeuf, by means of which he was accustomed to go to the queen's apartments without being under the necessity of crossing that room. he entered her majesty's room and found no one there but some body guards, who had taken refuge in it. the king, unwilling to expose their lives, told them to wait a few minutes, and afterwards sent to desire them to go to the oeil-de-boeuf. madame de tourzel, at that time governess of the children of france, had just taken madame and the dauphin to the king's apartments. the queen saw her children again. the reader must imagine this scene of tenderness and despair. it is not true that the assassins penetrated to the queen's chamber and pierced the bed with their swords. the fugitive body guards were the only persons who entered it; and if the crowd had reached so far they would all have been massacred. besides, when the rebels had forced the doors of the antechamber, the footmen and officers on duty, knowing that the queen was no longer in her apartments, told them so with that air of truth which always carries conviction. the ferocious horde instantly rushed towards the oeil-de-boeuf, hoping, no doubt, to intercept her on her way. many have asserted that they recognised the duc d'orleans in a greatcoat and slouched hat, at half-past four in the morning, at the top of the marble staircase, pointing out with his hand the guard-room, which led to the queen's apartments. this fact was deposed to at the chatelet by several individuals in the course of the inquiry instituted respecting the transactions of the th and th of october. [the national assembly was sitting when information of the march of the parisians was given to it by one of the deputies who came from paris. a certain number of the members were no strangers, to this movement. it appears that mirabeau wished to avail himself of it to raise the duc d'orleans to the throne. mounier, who presided over the national assembly, rejected the idea with horror. "my good man," said mirabeau to him, "what difference will it make to you to have louis xvii. for your king instead of louis xvi.?" (the duc d'orleans was baptised louis.)] the prudence and honourable feeling of several officers of the parisian guards, and the judicious conduct of m. de vaudreuil, lieutenant-general of marine, and of m. de chevanne, one of the king's guards, brought about an understanding between the grenadiers of the national guard of paris and the king's guard. the doors of the oeil-de-boeuf were closed, and the antechamber which precedes that room was filled with grenadiers who wanted to get in to massacre the guards. m. de chevanne offered himself to them as a victim if they wished for one, and demanded what they would have. a report had been spread through their ranks that the body guards set them at defiance, and that they all wore black cockades. m. de chevanne showed them that he wore, as did the corps, the cockade of their uniform; and promised that the guards should exchange it for that of the nation. this was done; they even went so far as to exchange their grenadiers' caps for the hats of the body guards; those who were on guard took off their shoulder-belts; embraces and transports of fraternisation instantly succeeded to the savage eagerness to murder the band which had shown so much fidelity to its sovereign. the cry was now "vivent le roi, la nation, et les gardes-du-corps!" the army occupied the place d'armes, all the courtyards of the chateau, and the entrance to the avenue. they called for the queen to appear in the balcony: she came forward with madame and the dauphin. there was a cry of "no children!" was this with a view to deprive her of the interest she inspired, accompanied as she was by her young family, or did the leaders of the democrats hope that some madman would venture to aim a mortal blow at her person? the unfortunate princess certainly was impressed with the latter idea, for she sent away her children, and with her hands and eyes raised towards heaven, advanced upon the balcony like a self-devoted victim. a few voices shouted "to paris!" the exclamation soon became general. before the king agreed to this removal he wished to consult the national assembly, and caused that body to be invited to sit at the chateau. mirabeau opposed this measure. while these discussions were going forward it became more and more difficult to restrain the immense disorderly multitude. the king, without consulting any one, now said to the people: "you wish, my children, that i should follow you to paris: i consent, but on condition that i shall not be separated from my wife and family." the king added that he required safety also for his guards; he was answered by shouts of "vivo le roi! vivent les gardes-du-corps!" the guards, with their hats in the air, turned so as to exhibit the. cockade, shouted "vive le roi! vive la nation!" shortly afterwards a general discharge of all the muskets took place, in token of joy. the king and queen set off from versailles at one o'clock. the dauphin, madame, the king's daughter, monsieur, madame,--[madame, here, the wife of monsieur le comte de provence.]--madame elisabeth, and madame de tourzel, were in the carriage; the princesse de chimay and the ladies of the bedchamber for the week, the king's suite and servants, followed in court carriages; a hundred deputies in carriages, and the bulk of the parisian army, closed the procession. the poissardes went before and around the carriage of their majesties, crying, "we shall no longer want bread! we have the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's boy with us!" in the midst of this troop of cannibals the heads of two murdered body guards were carried on poles. the monsters, who made trophies of them, conceived the horrid idea of forcing a wigmaker of sevres to dress them up and powder their bloody locks. the unfortunate man who was forced to perform this dreadful work died in consequence of the shock it gave him. [the king did not leave versailles till one o'clock. the queen, the dauphin, madame royale, monsieur, madame elisabeth, and madame de tourzel were in his majesty's carriage. the hundred deputies in their carriages came next. a detachment of brigands, bearing the heads of the two body guards in triumph, formed the advance guard, and set out two hours earlier. these cannibals stopped a moment at sevres, and carried their cruelty to the length of forcing an unfortunate hairdresser to dress the gory heads; the bulk of the parisian army followed them closely. the king's carriage was preceded by the 'poissardes', who had arrived the day before from paris, and a rabble of prostitutes, the vile refuse of their sex, still drunk with fury and wine. several of them rode astride upon cannons, boasting, in the most horrible songs, of the crimes they had committed themselves, or seen others commit. those who were nearest the king's carriage sang ballads, the allusions in which by means of their vulgar gestures they applied to the queen. wagons, full of corn and flour,--which had been brought into versailles, formed a train escorted by grenadiers, and surrounded by women and bullies, some armed with pikes, and some carrying long branches of poplar. at some distance this part of the procession had a most singular effect: it looked like a moving forest, amidst which shone pike-heads and gun-barrels. in the paroxysms of their brutal joy the women stopped passengers, and, pointing to the king's carriage, howled in their ears: "cheer up, friends; we shall no longer be in want of bread! we bring you the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's little boy!" behind his majesty's carriage were several of his faithful guards, some on foot, and some on horseback, most of them uncovered, all unarmed, and worn out with hunger and fatigue; the dragoons, the flanders regiment, the hundred swiss, and the national guards preceded, accompanied, or followed the file of carriages. i witnessed this heartrending spectacle; i saw the ominous procession. in the midst of all the tumult, clamour, and singing, interrupted by frequent discharges of musketry, which the hand of a monster or a bungler might so easily render fatal, i saw the queen preserving most courageous tranquillity of soul, and an air of nobleness and inexpressible dignity, and my eyes were suffused with tears of admiration and grief.--"memoirs of bertrand de molleville."] the progress of the procession was so slow that it was near six in the evening when this august family, made prisoners by their own people, arrived at the hotel de ville. bailly received them there; they were placed upon a throne, just when that of their ancestors had been overthrown. the king spoke in a firm yet gracious manner; he said that he always came with pleasure and confidence among the inhabitants of his good city of paris. m. bailly repeated this observation to the representatives of the commune, who came to address the king; but he forgot the word confidence. the queen instantly and loudly reminded him of the omission. the king and queen, their children, and madame elisabeth, retired to the tuileries. nothing was ready for their reception there. all the living-rooms had been long given up to persons belonging to the court; they hastily quitted them on that day, leaving their furniture, which was purchased by the court. the comtesse de la marck, sister to the marechaux de noailles and de mouchy, had occupied the apartments now appropriated to the queen. monsieur and madame retired to the luxembourg. the queen had sent for me on the morning of the th of october, to leave me and my father-in-law in charge of her most valuable property. she took away only her casket of diamonds. comte gouvernet de la tour-du-pin, to whom the military government of versailles was entrusted 'pro tempore', came and gave orders to the national guard, which had taken possession of the apartments, to allow us to remove everything that we should deem necessary for the queen's accommodation. i saw her majesty alone in her private apartments a moment before her departure for paris; she could hardly speak; tears bedewed her face, to which all the blood in her body seemed to have rushed; she condescended to embrace me, gave her hand to m. campan to kiss, and said to us, "come immediately and settle at paris; i will lodge you at the tuileries; come, and do not leave me henceforward; faithful servants at moments like these become useful friends; we are lost, dragged away, perhaps to death; when kings become prisoners they are very near it." i had frequent opportunities during the course of our misfortunes of observing that the people never entirely give their allegiance to factious leaders, but easily escape their control when some cause reminds them of their duty. as soon as the most violent jacobins had an opportunity of seeing the queen near at hand, of speaking to her, and of hearing her voice, they became her most zealous partisans; and even when she was in the prison of the temple several of those who had contributed to place her there perished for having attempted to get her out again. on the morning of the th of october the same women who the day before surrounded the carriage of the august prisoners, riding on cannons and uttering the most abusive language, assembled under the queen's windows, upon the terrace of the chateau, and desired to see her. her majesty appeared. there are always among mobs of this description orators, that is to say, beings who have more assurance than the rest; a woman of this description told the queen that she must now remove far from her all such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her good city. the queen answered that she had loved them at versailles, and would likewise love them at paris. "yes, yes," said another; "but on the th of july you wanted to besiege the city and have it bombarded; and on the th of october you wanted to fly to the frontiers." the queen replied, affably, that they had been told so, and had believed it; that there lay the cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of kings. a third addressed a few words to her in german: the queen told her she did not understand it; that she had become so entirely french as even to have forgotten her mother tongue. this declaration was answered with "bravo!" and clapping of hands; they then desired her to make a compact with them. "ah," said she, "how can i make a compact with you, since you have no faith in that which my duty points out to me, and which i ought for my own happiness to respect?" they asked her for the ribbons and flowers out of her hat; her majesty herself unfastened them and gave them; they were divided among the party, which for above half an hour cried out, without ceasing, "marie antoinette for ever! our good queen for ever!" two days after the king's arrival at paris, the city and the national guard sent to request the queen to appear at the theatre, and prove by her presence and the king's that it was with pleasure they resided in their capital. i introduced the deputation which came to make this request. her majesty replied that she should have infinite pleasure in acceding to the invitation of the city of paris; but that time must be allowed her to soften the recollection of the distressing events which had just occurred, and from which she had suffered too much. she added, that having come into paris preceded by the heads of the faithful guards who had perished before the door of their sovereign, she could not think that such an entry into the capital ought to be followed by rejoicings; but that the happiness she had always felt in appearing in the midst of the inhabitants of paris was not effaced from her memory, and that she should enjoy it again as soon as she found herself able to do so. their majesties found some consolation in their private life: from madame's--[madame, here, the princesse marie therese, daughter of marie antoinette.]--gentle manners and filial affection, from the accomplishments and vivacity of the little dauphin, and the attention and tenderness of the pious princess elisabeth, they still derived moments of happiness. the young prince daily gave proofs of sensibility and penetration; he was not yet beyond female care, but a private tutor, the abbe davout, gave him all the instruction suitable to his age; his memory was highly cultivated, and he recited verses with much grace and feeling. [on the th of october, that is to say, thirteen days after he had taken up his abode at paris, the king went, on foot and almost alone, to review some detachments of the national guard. after the review louis xvi. met with a child sweeping the street, who asked him for money. the child called the king "m. le chevalier." his majesty gave him six francs. the little sweeper, surprised at receiving so large a sum, cried out, "oh! i have no change; you will give me money another time." a person who accompanied the monarch said to the child, "keep it all, my friend; the gentleman is not chevalier, he is the eldest of the family."--note by the editor.] the day after the arrival of the court at paris, terrified at hearing some noise in the gardens of the tuileries, the young prince threw himself into the arms of the queen, crying out, "grand-dieu, mamma! will it be yesterday over again?" a few days after this affecting exclamation, he went up to the king, and looked at him with a pensive air. the king asked him what he wanted; he answered, that he had something very serious to say to him. the king having prevailed on him to explain himself, the young prince asked why his people, who formerly loved him so well, were all at once angry with him; and what he had done to irritate them so much. his father took him upon his knees, and spoke to him nearly as follows: "i wished, child, to render the people still happier than they were; i wanted money to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. i asked my people for money, as my predecessors have always done; magistrates, composing the parliament, opposed it, and said that my people alone had a right to consent to it. i assembled the principal inhabitants of every town, whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at versailles; that is what is called the states general. when they were assembled they required concessions of me which i could not make, either with due respect for myself or with justice to you, who will be my successor; wicked men inducing the people to rise have occasioned the excesses of the last few days; the people must not be blamed for them." the queen made the young prince clearly comprehend that he ought to treat the commanders of battalions, the officers of the national guard, and all the parisians who were about him, with affability; the child took great pains to please all those people, and when he had had an opportunity of replying obligingly to the mayor or members of the commune he came and whispered in his mother's ear, "was that right?" he requested m. bailly to show him the shield of scipio, which is in the royal library; and m. bailly asking him which he preferred, scipio or hannibal, the young prince replied, without hesitation, that he preferred him who had defended his own country. he gave frequent proofs of ready wit. one day, while the queen was hearing madame repeat her exercises in ancient history, the young princess could not at the moment recollect the name of the queen of carthage; the dauphin was vexed at his sister's want of memory, and though he never spoke to her in the second person singular, he bethought himself of the expedient of saying to her, "but 'dis donc' the name of the queen, to mamma; 'dis donc' what her name was." shortly after the arrival of the king and his family at paris the duchesse de luynes came, in pursuance of the advice of a committee of the constitutional assembly, to propose to the queen a temporary retirement from france, in order to leave the constitution to perfect itself, so that the patriots should not accuse her of influencing the king to oppose it. the duchess knew how far the schemes of the conspirers extended, and her attachment to the queen was the principal cause of the advice she gave her. the queen perfectly comprehended the duchesse de luynes's motive; but replied that she would never leave either the king or her son; that if she thought herself alone obnoxious to public hatred she would instantly offer her life as a sacrifice;--but that it was the throne which was aimed at, and that, in abandoning the king, she should be merely committing an act of cowardice, since she saw no other advantage in it than that of saving her own life. one evening, in the month of november, , i returned home rather late; i there found the prince de poix; he told me he came to request me to assist him in regaining his peace of mind; that at the commencement of the sittings of the national assembly he had suffered himself to be seduced into the hope of a better order of things; that he blushed for his error, and that he abhorred plans which had already produced such fatal results; that he broke with the reformers for the rest of his life; that he had given in his resignation as a deputy of the national assembly; and, finally, that he was anxious that the queen should not sleep in ignorance of his sentiments. i undertook his commission, and acquitted myself of it in the best way i could; but i was totally unsuccessful. the prince de poix remained at court; he there suffered many mortifications, never ceasing to serve the king in the most dangerous commissions with that zeal for which his house has always been distinguished. when the king, the queen, and the children were suitably established at the tuileries, as well as madame elisabeth and the princesse de lamballe, the queen resumed her usual habits; she employed her mornings in superintending the education of madame, who received all her lessons in her presence, and she herself began to work large pieces of tapestry. her mind was too much occupied with passing events and surrounding dangers to admit her of applying herself to reading; the needle was the only employment which could divert her. [there was long preserved at paris, in the house of mademoiselle dubuquois, a tapestry-worker, a carpet worked by the queen and madame elisabeth for the large room of her majesty's ground-floor apartments at the tuileries. the empress josephine saw and admired this carpet, and desired it might be taken care of, in the hope of one day sending it to madame--madame campan.] she received the court twice a week before going to mass, and on those days dined in public with the king; she spent the rest of the time with her family and children; she had no concert, and did not go to the play until , after the acceptation of the constitution. the princesse de lamballe, however, had some evening parties in her apartments at the tuileries, which were tolerably brilliant in consequence of the great number of persons who attended them. the queen was present at a few of these assemblies; but being soon convinced that her present situation forbade her appearing much in public, she remained at home, and conversed as she sat at work. the sole topic of her discourse was, as may well be supposed, the revolution. she sought to discover the real opinions of the parisians respecting her, and how she could have so completely lost the affections of the people, and even of many persons in the higher ranks. she well knew that she ought to impute the whole to the spirit of party, to the hatred of the duc d'orleans, and the folly of the french, who desired to have a total change in the constitution; but she was not the less desirous of ascertaining the private feelings of all the people in power. from the very commencement of the revolution general luckner indulged in violent sallies against her. her majesty, knowing that i was acquainted with a lady who had been long connected with the general, desired me to discover through that channel what was the private motive on which luckner's hatred against her was founded. on being questioned upon this point, he answered that marechal de segur had assured him he had proposed him for the command of a camp of observation, but that the queen had made a bar against his name; and that this 'par', as he called it, in his german accent, he could not forget. the queen ordered me to repeat this reply to the king myself, and said to him: "see, sire, whether i was not right in telling you that your ministers, in order to give themselves full scope in the distribution of favours, persuaded the french that i interfered in everything; there was not a single license given out in the country for the sale of salt or tobacco but the people believed it was given to one of my favourites." "that is very, true," replied the king; "but i find it very difficult to believe that marechal de segur ever said any such thing to luckner; he knew too well that you never interfered in the distribution of favours. "that luckner is a good-for-nothing fellow, and segur is a brave and honourable man who never uttered such a falsehood; however, you are right; and because you provided for a few dependents, you are most unjustly reported to have disposed of all offices, civil and military." all the nobility who had not left paris made a point of presenting themselves assiduously to the king, and there was a considerable influx to the tuileries. marks of attachment were exhibited even in external symbols; the women wore enormous bouquets of lilies in their bosoms and upon their heads, and sometimes even bunches of white ribbon. at the play there were often disputes between the pit and the boxes about removing these ornaments, which the people thought dangerous emblems. national cockades were sold in every corner of paris; the sentinels stopped all who did not wear them; the young men piqued themselves upon breaking through this regulation, which was in some degree sanctioned by the acquiescence of louis xvi. frays took place, which were to be regretted, because they excited a spirit of lawlessness. the king adopted conciliatory measures with the assembly in order to promote tranquillity; the revolutionists were but little disposed to think him sincere; unfortunately the royalists encouraged this incredulity by incessantly repeating that the king was not free, and that all that he did was completely null, and in no way bound him for the time to come. such was the heat and violence of party spirit that persons the most sincerely attached to the king were not even permitted to use the language of reason, and recommend greater reserve in conversation. people would talk and argue at table without considering that all the servants belonged to the hostile army; and it may truly be said there was as much imprudence and levity in the party assailed as there was cunning, boldness, and perseverance in that which made the attack. chapter iii. in february, , another matter gave the court much uneasiness; a zealous individual of the name of favras had conceived the scheme of carrying off the king, and affecting a counter-revolution. monsieur, probably out of mere benevolence, gave him some money, and thence arose a report that he thereby wished to favour the execution of the enterprise. the step taken by monsieur in going to the hotel de ville to explain himself on this matter was unknown to the queen; it is more than probable that the king was acquainted with it. when judgment was pronounced upon m. de favras the queen did not conceal from me her fears about the confessions of the unfortunate man in his last moments. i sent a confidential person to the hotel de ville; she came to inform the queen that the condemned had demanded to be taken from notre-dame to the hotel de ville to make a final declaration, and give some particulars verifying it. these particulars compromised nobody; favras corrected his last will after writing it, and went to the scaffold with heroic courage and coolness. the judge who read his condemnation to him told him that his life was a sacrifice which he owed to public tranquillity. it was asserted at the time that favras was given up as a victim in order to satisfy the people and save the baron de besenval, who was a prisoner in the abbaye. [thomas mahy, marquis de favras, was accused in the month of december, , of having conspired against the revolution. having been arrested by order of the committee of inquiry of the national assembly, he was transferred to the chatelet, where he defended himself with much coolness and presence of mind, repelling the accusations brought against him by morel, turcati, and marquis, with considerable force. these witnesses declared he had imparted his plan to them; it was to be carried into execution by , swiss and , germans, who were to be assembled at montargis, thence to march upon paris, carry off the king, and assassinate bailly, la fayette, and necker. the greater number of these charges he denied, and declared that the rest related only to the levy of a troop intended to favour the revolution preparing in brabant. the judge having refused to disclose who had denounced him, he complained to the assembly, which passed to the order of the day. his death was obviously inevitable. during the whole time of the proceedings the populace never ceased threatening the judges and shouting, "a la lanterne!" it was even necessary to keep numerous troops and artillery constantly ready to act in the courtyard of the chatelet. the judges, who had just acquitted m. de besenval in an affair nearly similar, doubtless dreaded the effects of this fury. when they refused to hear favras's witnesses in exculpation, he compared them to the tribunal of the inquisition. the principal charge against him was founded on a letter from m. de foucault, asking him, "where are your troops? in which direction will they enter paris? i should like to be employed among them." favras was condemned to make the 'amende honorable' in front of the cathedral, and to be hanged at the place de greve. he heard this sentence with wonderful calmness, and said to his judges, "i pity you much if the testimony of two men is sufficient to induce you to condemn." the judge having said to him, "i have no other consolation to hold out to you than that which religion affords," he replied, nobly, "my greatest consolation is that which i derive from my innocence."--"biographic universelle"] on the morning of the sunday following this execution m. de la villeurnoy came to my house to tell me that he was going that day to the public dinner of the king and queen to present madame de favras and her son, both of them in mourning for the brave frenchman who fell a sacrifice for his king; and that all the royalists expected to see the queen load the unfortunate family with favours. i did all that lay in my power to prevent this proceeding. i foresaw the effect it would have upon the queen's feeling heart, and the painful constraint she would experience, having the horrible santerre, the commandant of a battalion of the parisian guard, behind her chair during dinner-time. i could not make m. de la villeurnoy comprehend my argument; the queen was gone to mass, surrounded by her whole court, and i had not even means of apprising her of his intention. when dinner was over i heard a knocking at the door of my apartment, which opened into the corridor next that of the queen; it was herself. she asked me whether there was anybody with me; i was alone; she threw herself into an armchair, and told me she came to weep with me over the foolish conduct of the ultras of the king's party. "we must fall," said she, "attacked as we are by men who possess every talent and shrink from no crime, while we are defended only by those who are no doubt very estimable, but have no adequate idea of our situation. they have exposed me to the animosity of both parties by presenting the widow and son of favras to me. were i free to act as i wish, i should take the child of the man who has just sacrificed himself for us and place him at table between the king and myself; but surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his father, i did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. the royalists will blame me for not having appeared interested in this poor child; the revolutionists will be enraged at the idea that his presentation should have been thought agreeable to me." however, the queen added that she knew madame de favras was in want, and that she desired me to send her next day, through a person who could be relied on, a few rouleaus of fifty louis, and to direct that she should be assured her majesty would always watch over the fortunes of herself and her son. in the month of march following i had an opportunity of ascertaining the king's sentiments respecting the schemes which were continually proposed to him for making his escape. one night about ten o'clock comte d'inisdal, who was deputed by the nobility, came to request that i would see him in private, as he had an important matter to communicate to me. he told me that on that very night the king was to be carried off; that the section of the national guard, that day commanded by m. d'aumont, was gained over, and that sets of horses, furnished by some good royalists, were placed in relays at suitable distances; that he had just left a number of the nobility assembled for the execution of this scheme, and that he had been sent to me that i might, through the medium of the queen, obtain the king's positive consent to it before midnight; that the king was aware of their plan, but that his majesty never would speak decidedly, and that it was necessary he should consent to the undertaking. i greatly displeased comte d'inisdal by expressing my astonishment that the nobility at the moment of the execution of so important a project should send to me, the queen's first woman, to obtain a consent which ought to have been the basis of any well-concerted scheme. i told him, also, that it would be impossible for me to go at that time to the queen's apartments without exciting the attention of the people in the antechambers; that the king was at cards with the queen and his family, and that i never broke in upon their privacy unless i was called for. i added, however, that m. campan could enter without being called; and if the count chose to give him his confidence he might rely upon him. my father-in-law, to whom comte d'inisdal repeated what he had said to me, took the commission upon himself, and went to the queen's apartments. the king was playing at whist with the queen, monsieur, and madame; madame elisabeth was kneeling on a stool near the table. m. campan informed the queen of what had been communicated to me; nobody uttered a word. the queen broke silence and said to the king, "do you hear, sire, what campan says to us?"--"yes, i hear," said the king, and continued his game. monsieur, who was in the habit of introducing passages from plays into his conversation, said to my father-in-law, "m. campan, that pretty little couplet again, if you please;" and pressed the king to reply. at length the queen said, "but something must be said to campan." the king then spoke to my father-in-law in these words: "tell m. d'inisdal that i cannot consent to be carried off!" the queen enjoined m. campan to take care and, report this answer faithfully. "you understand," added she, "the king cannot consent to be carried off." comte d'inisdal was very much dissatisfied with the king's answer, and went out, saying, "i understand; he wishes to throw all the blame, beforehand, upon those who are to devote themselves for him." he went away, and i thought the enterprise would be abandoned. however, the queen remained alone with me till midnight, preparing her cases of valuables, and ordered me not to go to bed. she imagined the king's answer would be understood as a tacit consent, and merely a refusal to participate in the design. i do not know what passed in the king's apartments during the night; but i occasionally looked out at the windows: i saw the garden clear; i heard no noise in the palace, and day at length confirmed my opinion that the project had been given up. "we must, however, fly," said the queen to me, shortly afterwards; "who knows how far the factious may go? the danger increases every day." [the disturbances of the th of april, , occasioned by the warmth of the discussions upon dom gerle's imprudent motion in the national assembly, having afforded room for apprehension that the enemies of the country would endeavour to carry off the king from the capital, m. de la fayette promised to keep watch, and told louis xvi. that if he saw any alarming movement among the disaffected he would give him notice of it by the discharge of a cannon from henri iv.'s battery on the pont neuf. on the same night a few casual discharges of musketry were heard from the terrace of the tuileries. the king, deceived by the noise, flew to the queen's apartments; he did not find her; he ran to the dauphin's room, where he found the queen holding her son in her arms. "madame;" said the king to her, "i have been seeking you; and you have made me uneasy." the queen, showing her son, said to him, "i was at my post."--"anecdotes of the reign of louis xvi."] this princess received advice and memorials from all quarters. rivarol addressed several to her, which i read to her. they were full of ingenious observations; but the queen did not find that they, contained anything of essential service under the circumstances in which the royal family was placed. comte du moustier also sent memorials and plans of conduct. i remember that in one of his writings he said to the king, "read 'telemachus' again, sire; in that book which delighted your majesty in infancy you will find the first seeds of those principles which, erroneously followed up by men of ardent imaginations, are bringing on the explosion we expect every moment." i read so many of these memorials that i could hardly give a faithful account of them, and i am determined to note in this work no other events than such as i witnessed; no other words than such as (notwithstanding the lapse of time) still in some measure vibrate in my ears. comte de segur, on his return from russia, was employed some time by the queen, and had a certain degree of influence over her; but that did not last long. comte augustus de la marck likewise endeavoured to negotiate for the king's advantage with the leaders of the factious. m. de fontanges, archbishop of toulouse, possessed also the queen's confidence; but none of the endeavours which were made on the spot produced any, beneficial result. the empress catherine ii. also conveyed her opinion upon the situation of louis xvi. to the queen, and her majesty made me read a few lines in the empress's own handwriting, which concluded with these words: "kings ought to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of the people, even as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the baying of dogs." this maxim of the despotic sovereign of russia was very inapplicable to the situation of a captive king. meanwhile the revolutionary party followed up its audacious enterprise in a determined manner, without meeting any opposition. the advice from without, as well from coblentz as from vienna, made various impressions upon the members of the royal family, and those cabinets were not in accordance with each other. i often had reason to infer from what the queen said to me that she thought the king, by leaving all the honour of restoring order to the coblentz party,--[the princes and the chief of the emigrant nobility assembled at coblentz, and the name was used to designate the reactionary party.]--would, on the return of the emigrants, be put under a kind of guardianship which would increase his own misfortunes. she frequently said to me, "if the emigrants succeed, they will rule the roast for a long time; it will be impossible to refuse them anything; to owe the crown to them would be contracting too great an obligation." it always appeared to me that she wished her own family to counterbalance the claims of the emigrants by disinterested services. she was fearful of m. de calonne, and with good reason. she had proof that this minister was her bitterest enemy, and that he made use of the most criminal means in order to blacken her reputation. i can testify that i have seen in the hands of the queen a manuscript copy of the infamous memoirs of the woman de lamotte, which had been brought to her from london, and in which all those passages where a total ignorance of the customs of courts had occasioned that wretched woman to make blunders which would have been too palpable were corrected in m. de calonne's own handwriting. the two king's guards who were wounded at her majesty's door on the th of october were m. du repaire and m. de miomandre de sainte-marie; on the dreadful night of the th of october the latter took the post of the former the moment he became incapable of maintaining it. a considerable number of the body guards, who were wounded on the th of october, betook themselves to the infirmary at versailles. the brigands wanted to make their way into the infirmary in order to massacre them. m. viosin, head surgeon of that infirmary, ran to the entrance hall, invited the assailants to refresh themselves, ordered wine to be brought, and found means to direct the sister superior to remove the guards into a ward appropriated to the poor, and dress them in the caps and greatcoats furnished by the institution. the good sisters executed this order so promptly that the guards were removed, dressed as paupers, and their beds made, while the assassins were drinking. they searched all the wards, and fancied they saw no persons there but the sick poor; thus the guards were saved. m. de miomandre was at paris, living on terms of friendship with another of the guards, who, on the same day, received a gunshot wound from the brigands in another part of the chateau. these two officers, who were attended and cured together at the infirmary of versailles, were almost constant companions; they were recognised at the palais royal, and insulted. the queen thought it necessary for them to quit paris. she desired me to write to m. de miomandre de sainte-marie, and tell him to come to me at eight o'clock in the evening; and then to communicate to him her wish to hear of his being in safety; and ordered me, when he had made up his mind to go, to tell him in her name that gold could not repay such a service as he had rendered; that she hoped some day to be in sufficiently happy circumstances to recompense him as she ought; but that for the present her offer of money was only that of a sister to a brother situated as he then was, and that she requested he would take whatever might be necessary to discharge his debts at paris and defray the expenses of his journey. she told me also to desire he would bring his. friend bertrand with him, and to make him the same offer. the two guards came at the appointed hour, and accepted, i think, each one or two hundred louis. a moment afterwards the queen opened my door; she was accompanied by the king and madame elisabeth; the king stood with his back against the fireplace; the queen sat down upon a sofa and madame elisabeth sat near her; i placed myself behind the queen, and the two guards stood facing the king. the queen told them that the king wished to see before they went away two of the brave men who had afforded him the strongest proofs of courage and attachment. miomandre said all that the queen's affecting observations were calculated to inspire. madame elisabeth spoke of the king's gratitude; the queen resumed the subject of their speedy departure, urging the necessity of it; the king was silent; but his emotion was evident, and his eyes were suffused with tears. the queen rose, the king went out, and madame elisabeth followed him; the queen stopped and said to me, in the recess of a window, "i am sorry i brought the king here! i am sure elisabeth thinks with me; if the king had but given utterance to a fourth part of what he thinks of those brave men they would have been in ecstacies; but he cannot overcome his diffidence." the emperor joseph died about this time. the queen's grief was not excessive; that brother of whom she had been so proud, and whom she had loved so tenderly, had probably suffered greatly in her opinion; she reproached him sometimes, though with moderation, for having adopted several of the principles of the new philosophy, and perhaps she knew that he looked upon our troubles with the eye of the sovereign of germany rather than that of the brother of the queen of france. the emperor on one occasion sent the queen an engraving which represented unfrocked nuns and monks. the first were trying on fashionable dresses, the latter were having their hair arranged; the picture was always left in the closet, and never hung up. the queen told me to have it taken away; for she was hurt to see how much influence the philosophers had over her brother's mind and actions. mirabeau had not lost the hope of becoming the last resource of the oppressed court; and at this time some communications passed between the queen and him. the question was about an office to be conferred upon him. this transpired, and it must have been about this period that the assembly decreed that no deputy could hold an office as a minister of the king until the expiration of two years after the cessation of his legislative functions. i know that the queen was much hurt at this decision, and considered that the court had lost a promising opening. the palace of the tuileries was a very disagreeable residence during the summer, which made the queen wish to go to st. cloud. the removal was decided on without any opposition; the national guard of paris followed the court thither. at this period new opportunities of escape were presented; nothing would have been more easy than to execute them. the king had obtained leave (!) to go out without guards, and to be accompanied only by an aide-de-camp of m. de la fayette. the queen also had one on duty with her, and so had the dauphin. the king and queen often went out at four in the afternoon, and did not return until eight or nine. i will relate one of the plans of emigration which the queen communicated to me, the success of which seemed infallible. the royal family were to meet in a wood four leagues from st. cloud; some persons who could be fully relied on were to accompany the king, who was always followed by his equerries and pages; the queen was to join him with her daughter and madame elisabeth. these princesses, as well as the queen, had equerries and pages, of whose fidelity no doubt could be entertained. the dauphin likewise was to be at the place of rendezvous with madame de tourzel; a large berlin and a chaise for the attendants were sufficient for the whole family; the aides-de-camp were to have been gained over or mastered. the king was to leave a letter for the president of the national assembly on his bureau at st. cloud. the people in the service of the king and queen would have waited until nine in the evening without anxiety, because the family sometimes did not return until that hour. the letter could not be forwarded to paris until ten o'clock at the earliest. the assembly would not then be sitting; the president must have been sought for at his own house or elsewhere; it would have been midnight before the assembly could have been summoned and couriers sent off to have the royal family stopped; but the latter would have been six or seven hours in advance, as they would have started at six leagues' distance from paris; and at this period travelling was not yet impeded in france. the queen approved of this plan; but i did not venture to interrogate her, and i even thought if it were put in execution she would leave me in ignorance of it. one evening in the month of june the people of the chateau, finding the king did not return by nine o'clock, were walking about the courtyards in a state of great anxiety. i thought the family, was gone, and i could scarcely breathe amidst the confusion of my good wishes, when i heard the sound of the carriages. i confessed to the queen that i thought she had set off; she told me she must wait until mesdames the king's aunts had quitted france, and afterwards see whether the plan agreed with those formed abroad. chapter iv. there was a meeting at paris for the first federation on the th of july, , the anniversary of the taking of the bastille. what an astonishing assemblage of four hundred thousand men, of whom there were not perhaps two hundred who did not believe that the king found happiness and glory in the order of things then being established. the love which was borne him by all, with the exception of those who meditated his ruin, still reigned in the hearts of the french in the departments; but if i may judge from those whom i had an opportunity of seeing, it was totally impossible to enlighten them; they were as much attached to the king as to the constitution, and to the constitution as to the king; and it was impossible to separate the one from the other in their hearts and minds. the court returned to st. cloud after the federation. a wretch, named rotondo, made his way into the palace with the intention of assassinating the queen. it is known that he penetrated to the inner gardens: the rain prevented her majesty from going out that day. m. de la fayette, who was aware of this plot, gave all the sentinels the strictest orders, and a description of the monster was distributed throughout the palace by order of the general. i do not know how he was saved from punishment. the police belonging to the king discovered that there was likewise a scheme on foot for poisoning the queen. she spoke to me, as well as to her head physician, m. vicq-d'azyr, about it, without the slightest emotion, but both he and i consulted what precautions it would be proper to take. he relied much upon the queen's temperance; yet he recommended me always to have a bottle of oil of sweet almonds within reach, and to renew it occasionally, that oil and milk being, as is known, the most certain antidotes to the divellication of corrosive poisons. the queen had a habit which rendered m. vicq-d'azyr particularly uneasy: there was always some pounded sugar upon the table in her majesty's bedchamber; and she frequently, without calling anybody, put spoonfuls of it into a glass of water when she wished to drink. it was agreed that i should get a considerable quantity of sugar powdered; that i should always have some papers of it in my bag, and that three or four times a day, when alone in the queen's room, i should substitute it for that in her sugar-basin. we knew that the queen would have prevented all such precautions, but we were not aware of her reason. one day she caught me alone making this exchange, and told me, she supposed it was agreed on between myself and m. vicq-d'azyr, but that i gave myself very unnecessary trouble. "remember," added she, "that not a grain of poison will be put in use against me. the brinvilliers do not belong to this century: this age possesses calumny, which is a much more convenient instrument of death; and it is by that i shall perish." even while melancholy presentiments afflicted this unfortunate princess, manifestations of attachment to her person, and to the king's cause, would frequently raise agreeable illusions in her mind, or present to her the affecting spectacle of tears shed for her sorrows. i was one day, during this same visit to st. cloud, witness of a very touching scene, which we took great care to keep secret. it was four in the afternoon; the guard was not set; there was scarcely anybody at st. cloud that day, and i was reading to the queen, who was at work in a room the balcony of which hung over the courtyard. the windows were closed, yet we heard a sort of inarticulate murmur from a great number of voices. the queen desired me to go and see what it was; i raised the muslin curtain, and perceived more than fifty persons beneath the balcony: this group consisted of women, young and old, perfectly well dressed in the country costume, old chevaliers of st. louis, young knights of malta, and a few ecclesiastics. i told the queen it was probably an assemblage of persons residing in the neighbourhood who wished to see her. she rose, opened the window, and appeared in the balcony; immediately all these worthy people said to her, in an undertone: "courage, madame; good frenchmen suffer for you, and with you; they pray for you. heaven will hear their prayers; we love you, we respect you, we will continue to venerate our virtuous king." the queen burst into tears, and held her handkerchief to her eyes. "poor queen! she weeps!" said the women and young girls; but the dread of exposing her majesty, and even the persons who showed so much affection for her, to observation, prompted me to take her hand, and prevail upon her to retire into her room; and, raising my eyes, i gave the excellent people to understand that my conduct was dictated by prudence. they comprehended me, for i heard, "that lady is right;" and afterwards, "farewell, madame!" from several of them; and all this in accents of feeling so true and so mournful, that i am affected at the recollection of them even after a lapse of twenty years. a few days afterwards the insurrection of nancy took place. [the insurrection of the troops at nancy broke out in august , and was put down by marechal de bouille on the last day of that month. see "bouille," p. .] only the ostensible cause is known; there was another, of which i might have been in full possession, if the great confusion i was in upon the subject had not deprived me of the power of paying attention to it. i will endeavour to make myself understood. in the early part of september the queen, as she was going to bed, desired me to let all her people go, and to remain with her myself; when we were alone she said to me, "the king will come here at midnight. you know that he has always shown you marks of distinction; he now proves his confidence in you by selecting you to write down the whole affair of nancy from his dictation. he must have several copies of it." at midnight the king came to the queen's apartments, and said to me, smiling, "you did not expect to become my secretary, and that, too, during the night." i followed the king into the council chamber. i found there sheets of paper, an inkstand, and pens all ready prepared. he sat down by my side and dictated to me the report of the marquis de bouille, which he himself copied at the same time. my hand trembled; i wrote with difficulty; my reflections scarcely left me sufficient power of attention to listen to the king. the large table, the velvet cloth, seats which ought to have been filled by none but the king's chief councillors; what that chamber had been, and what it was at that moment, when the king was employing a woman in an office which had so little affinity with her ordinary functions; the misfortunes which had brought him to the necessity of doing so,--all these ideas made such an impression upon me that when i had returned to the queen's apartments i could not sleep for the remainder of the night, nor could i remember what i had written. the more i saw that i had the happiness to be of some use to my employers, the more scrupulously careful was i to live entirely with my family; and i never indulged in any conversation which could betray the intimacy to which i was admitted; but nothing at court remains long concealed, and i soon saw i had many enemies. the means of injuring others in the minds of sovereigns are but too easily obtained, and they had become still more so, since the mere suspicion of communication with partisans of the revolution was sufficient to forfeit the esteem and confidence of the king and queen; happily, my conduct protected me, with them, against calumny. i had left st. cloud two days, when i received at paris a note from the queen, containing these words: "come to st. cloud immediately; i have something concerning you to communicate." i set off without loss of time. her majesty told me she had a sacrifice to request of me; i answered that it was made. she said it went so far as the renunciation of a friend's society; that such a renunciation was always painful, but that it must be particularly so to me; that, for her own part, it might have been very useful that a deputy, a man of talent, should be constantly received at my house; but at this moment she thought only of my welfare. the queen then informed me that the ladies of the bedchamber had, the preceding evening, assured her that m. de beaumetz, deputy from the nobility of artois, who had taken his seat on the left of the assembly, spent his whole time at my house. perceiving on what false grounds the attempt to injure, me was based, i replied respectfully, but at the same time smiling, that it was impossible for me to make the sacrifice exacted by her majesty; that m. de beaumetz, a man of great judgment, had not determined to cross over to the left of the assembly with the intention of afterwards making himself unpopular by spending his time with the queen's first woman; and that, ever since the st of october, , i had seen him nowhere but at the play, or in the public walks, and even then without his ever coming to speak to me; that this line of conduct had appeared to me perfectly consistent: for whether he was desirous to please the popular party, or to be sought after by the court, he could not act in any other way towards me. the queen closed this explanation by saying, "oh! it is clear, as clear as the day! this opportunity for trying to do you an injury is very ill chosen; but be cautious in your slightest actions; you perceive that the confidence placed in you by the king and myself raises you up powerful enemies." the private communications which were still kept up between the court and mirabeau at length procured him an interview with the queen, in the gardens of st. cloud. he left paris on horseback, on pretence of going into the country, to m. de clavieres, one of his friends; but he stopped at one of the gates of the gardens of st. cloud, and was led to a spot situated in the highest part of the private garden, where the queen was waiting for him. she told me she accosted him by saying, "with a common enemy, with a man who had sworn to destroy monarchy without appreciating its utility among a great people, i should at this moment be guilty of a most ill-advised step; but in speaking to a mirabeau," etc. the poor queen was delighted at having discovered this method of exalting him above all others of his principles; and in imparting the particulars of this interview to me she said, "do you know that those words, 'a mirabeau,' appeared to flatter him exceedingly." on leaving the queen he said to her with warmth, "madame, the monarchy is saved!" it must have been soon afterwards that mirabeau received considerable sums of money. he showed it too plainly by the increase of his expenditure. already did some of his remarks upon the necessity of arresting the progress of the democrats circulate in society. being once invited to meet a person at dinner who was very much attached to the queen, he learned that that person withdrew on hearing that he was one of the guests; the party who invited him told him this with some degree of satisfaction; but all were very much astonished when they heard mirabeau eulogise the absent guest, and declare that in his place he would have done the same; but, he added, they had only to invite that person again in a few months, and he would then dine with the restorer of the monarchy. mirabeau forgot that it was more easy to do harm than good, and thought himself the political atlas of the whole world. outrages and mockery were incessantly mingled with the audacious proceedings of the revolutionists. it was customary to give serenades under the king's windows on new year's day. the band of the national guard repaired thither on that festival in ; in allusion to the liquidation of the debts of the state, decreed by the assembly, they played solely, and repeatedly, that air from the comic opera of the "debts," the burden of which is, "but our creditors are paid, and that makes us easy." on the same day some "conquerors of the bastille," grenadiers of the parisian guard, preceded by military music, came to present to the young dauphin, as a new year's gift, a box of dominoes, made of some of the stone and marble of which that state prison was built. the queen gave me this inauspicious curiosity, desiring me to preserve it, as it would be a curious illustration of the history of the revolution. upon the lid were engraved some bad verses, the purport of which was as follows: "stones from those walls, which enclosed the innocent victims of arbitrary power, have been converted into a toy, to be presented to you, monseigneur, as a mark of the people's love; and to teach you their power." the queen said that m. de la fayette's thirst for popularity induced him to lend himself, without discrimination, to all popular follies. her distrust of the general increased daily, and grew so powerful that when, towards the end of the revolution, he seemed willing to support the tottering throne, she could never bring herself to incur so great an obligation to him. m. de j-----, a colonel attached to the staff of the army, was fortunate enough to render several services to the queen, and acquitted himself with discretion and dignity of various important missions. [during the queen's detention in the temple he introduced himself into that prison in the dress of a lamplighter, and there discharged his duty unrecognised.--madame campan.] their majesties had the highest confidence in him, although it frequently happened that his prudence, when inconsiderate projects were under discussion, brought upon him the charge of adopting the principles of the constitutionals. being sent to turin, he had some difficulty in dissuading the princes from a scheme they had formed at that period of reentering france, with a very weak army, by way of lyons; and when, in a council which lasted till three o'clock in the morning, he showed his instructions, and demonstrated that the measure would endanger the king, the comte d'artois alone declared against the plan, which emanated from the prince de conde. among the persons employed in subordinate situations, whom the critical circumstances of the times involved in affairs of importance, was m. de goguelat, a geographical engineer at versailles, and an excellent draughtsman. he made plans of st. cloud and trianon for the queen; she was very much pleased with them, and had the engineer admitted into the staff of the army. at the commencement of the revolution he was sent to count esterhazy, at valenciennes, in the capacity of aide-de-camp. the latter rank was given him solely to get him away from versailles, where his rashness endangered the queen during the earlier months of the assembly of the states general. making a parade of his devotion to the king's interests, he went repeatedly to the tribunes of the assembly, and there openly railed at all the motions of the deputies, and then returned to the queen's antechamber, where he repeated all that he had just heard, or had had the imprudence to say. unfortunately, at the same time that the queen sent away m. de goguelat, she still believed that, in a dangerous predicament, requiring great self-devotion, the man might be employed advantageously. in he was commissioned to act in concert with the marquis de bouille in furtherance of the king's intended escape. [see the "memoirs" of m. de bouille, those of the duc de choiseul, and the account of the journey to varennes, by m. de fontanges, in "weber's memoirs."--note by the editor.] projectors in great numbers endeavoured to introduce themselves not only to the queen, but to madame elisabeth, who had communications with many individuals who took upon themselves to make plans for the conduct of the court. the baron de gilliers and m. de vanoise were of this description; they went to the baronne de mackau's, where the princess spent almost all her evenings. the queen did not like these meetings, where madame elisabeth might adopt views in opposition to the king's intentions or her own. the queen gave frequent audiences to m. de la fayette. one day, when he was in her inner closet, his aides-de-camp, who waited for him, were walking up and down the great room where the persons in attendance remained. some imprudent young women were thoughtless enough to say, with the intention of being overheard by those officers, that it was very alarming to see the queen alone with a rebel and a brigand. i was annoyed at their indiscretion, and imposed silence on them. one of them persisted in the appellation "brigand." i told her that m. de la fayette well deserved the name of rebel, but that the title of leader of a party was given by history to every man commanding forty thousand men, a capital, and forty leagues of country; that kings had frequently treated with such leaders, and if it was convenient to the queen to do the same, it remained for us only to be silent and respect her actions. on the morrow the queen, with a serious air; but with the greatest kindness, asked what i had said respecting m. de la fayette on the preceding day; adding that she had been assured i had enjoined her women silence, because they did not like him, and that i had taken his part. i repeated what had passed to the queen, word for word. she condescended to tell me that i had done perfectly right. whenever any false reports respecting me were conveyed to her she was kind enough to inform me of them; and they had no effect on the confidence with which she continued to honour me, and which i am happy to think i have justified even at the risk of my life. mesdames, the king's aunts, set out from bellevue in the beginning of the year . alexandre berthier, afterwards prince de neufchatel, then a colonel on the staff of the army, and commandant of the national guard of versailles, facilitated the departure of mesdames. the jacobins of that town procured his dismissal, and he ran the greatest risk, on account of having rendered this service to these princesses. i went to take leave of madame victoire. i little thought that i was then seeing her for the last time. she received me alone in her closet, and assured [general berthier justified the monarch's confidence by a firm and prudent line of conduct which entitled him to the highest military honours, and to the esteem of the great warrior whose fortune, dangers, and glory he afterwards shared. this officer, full of honour, and gifted with the highest courage, was shut into the courtyard of bellevue by his own troop, and ran great risk of being murdered. it was not until the th of march that he succeeded in executing his instructions ("memoirs of mesdames," by montigny, vol. i.)] me that she hoped, as well as wished, soon to return to france; that the french would be much to be pitied if the excesses of the revolution should arrive at such a pitch as to force her to prolong her absence. i knew from the queen that the departure of mesdames was deemed necessary, in order to leave the king free to act when he should be compelled to go away with his family. it being impossible that the constitution of the clergy should be otherwise than in direct opposition to the religious principles of mesdames, they thought their journey to rome would be attributed to piety alone. it was, however, difficult to deceive an assembly which weighed the slightest actions of the royal family, and from that moment they were more than ever alive to what was passing at the tuileries. mesdames were desirous of taking madame elisabeth to rome. the free exercise of religion, the happiness of taking refuge with the head of the church, and the prospect of living in safety with her aunts, whom she tenderly loved, were sacrificed by that virtuous princess to her attachment to the king. the oath required of priests by the civil constitution of the clergy introduced into france a division which added to the dangers by which the king was already surrounded. [the priests were required to swear to the civil constitution of the clergy of , by which all the former bishoprics and parishes were remodelled, and the priests and bishops elected by the people. most refused, and under the name of 'pretres insermentes' (as opposed to the few who took the oath, 'pretres assermentes') were bitterly persecuted. a simple promise to obey the constitution of the state was substituted by napoleon as soon as he came to power.] mirabeau spent a whole night with the cure of st. eustache, confessor of the king and queen, to persuade him to take the oath required by that constitution. their majesties chose another confessor, who remained unknown. a few months afterwards ( d april, ), the too celebrated mirabeau, the mercenary democrat and venal royalist, terminated his career. the queen regretted him, and was astonished at her own regret; but she had hoped that he who had possessed adroitness and weight enough to throw everything into confusion would have been able by the same means to repair the mischief he had caused. much has been said respecting the cause of mirabeau's death. m. cabanis, his friend and physician, denied that he was poisoned. m. vicq-d'azyr assured the queen that the 'proces-verbal' drawn up on the state of the intestines would apply just as well to a case of death produced by violent remedies as to one produced by poison. he said, also, that the report had been faithful; but that it was prudent to conclude it by a declaration of natural death, since, in the critical state in which france then was, if a suspicion of foul play were admitted, a person innocent of any such crime might be sacrificed to public vengeance. etext editor's bookmarks: advised the king not to separate himself from his army grand-dieu, mamma! will it be yesterday over again? mirabeau forgot that it was more easy to do harm than good never shall a drop of french blood be shed by my order saw no other advantage in it than that of saving her own life that air of truth which always carries conviction when kings become prisoners they are very near death whispered in his mother's ear, "was that right?" memoirs of the court of marie antoinette, queen of france being the historic memoirs of madam campan, first lady in waiting to the queen list of illustrations duchesse du barry princesse de lamballe the parisian bonne louis xvi. and marie antoinette beaumarchais the reveille madame adelaide as diana the bastille opening of the states general louis xvi. marie antoinette on the way to the guillotine madame campan preface by the author. louis xvi. possessed an immense crowd of confidants, advisers, and guides; he selected them even from among the factions which attacked him. never, perhaps, did he make a full disclosure to any one of them, and certainly he spoke with sincerity, to but very few. he invariably kept the reins of all secret intrigues in his own hand; and thence, doubtless, arose the want of cooperation and the weakness which were so conspicuous in his measures. from these causes considerable chasms will be found in the detailed history of the revolution. in order to become thoroughly acquainted with the latter years of the reign of louis xv., memoirs written by the duc de choiseul, the duc d'aiguillon, the marechal de richelieu, [i heard le marechal de richelieu desire m. campan, who was librarian to the queen, not to buy the memoirs which would certainly be attributed to him after his death, declaring them false by anticipation; and adding that he was ignorant of orthography, and had never amused himself with writing. shortly after the death of the marshal, one soulavie put forth memoirs of the marechal de richelieu.] and the duc de la vauguyon, should be before us. to give us a faithful portrait of the unfortunate reign of louis xvi., the marechal du muy, m. de maurepas, m. de vergennes, m. de malesherbes, the duc d'orleans, m. de la fayette, the abby de vermond, the abbe montesquiou, mirabeau, the duchesse de polignac, and the duchesse de luynes should have noted faithfully in writing all the transactions in which they took decided parts. the secret political history of a later period has been disseminated among a much greater number of persons; there are ministers who have published memoirs, but only when they had their own measures to justify, and then they confined themselves to the vindication of their own characters, without which powerful motive they probably would have written nothing. in general, those nearest to the sovereign, either by birth or by office, have left no memoirs; and in absolute monarchies the mainsprings of great events will be found in particulars which the most exalted persons alone could know. those who have had but little under their charge find no subject in it for a book; and those who have long borne the burden of public business conceive themselves to be forbidden by duty, or by respect for authority, to disclose all they know. others, again, preserve notes, with the intention of reducing them to order when they shall have reached the period of a happy leisure; vain illusion of the ambitious, which they cherish, for the most part, but as a veil to conceal from their sight the hateful image of their inevitable downfall! and when it does at length take place, despair or chagrin deprives them of fortitude to dwell upon the dazzling period which they never cease to regret. louis xvi. meant to write his own memoirs; the manner in which his private papers were arranged indicated this design. the queen also had the same intention; she long preserved a large correspondence, and a great number of minute reports, made in the spirit and upon the event of the moment. but after the th of june, , she was obliged to burn the larger portion of what she had so collected, and the remainder were conveyed out of france. considering the rank and situations of the persons i have named as capable of elucidating by their writings the history of our political storms, it will not be imagined that i aim at placing myself on a level with them; but i have spent half my life either with the daughters of louis xv. or with marie antoinette. i knew the characters of those princesses; i became privy to some extraordinary facts, the publication of which may be interesting, and the truth of the details will form the merit of my work. i was very young when i was placed about the princesses, the daughters of louis xv., in the capacity of reader. i was acquainted with the court of versailles before the time of the marriage of louis xvi. with the archduchess marie antoinette. madame campan my father, who was employed in the department of foreign affairs, enjoyed the reputation due to his talents and to his useful labours. he had travelled much. frenchmen, on their return home from foreign countries, bring with them a love for their own, increased in warmth; and no man was more penetrated with this feeling, which ought to be the first virtue of every placeman, than my father. men of high title, academicians, and learned men, both natives and foreigners, sought my father's acquaintance, and were gratified by being admitted into his house. twenty years before the revolution i often heard it remarked that the imposing character of the power of louis xiv. was no longer to be found in the palace of versailles; that the institutions of the ancient monarchy were rapidly sinking; and that the people, crushed beneath the weight of taxes, were miserable, though silent; but that they began to give ear to the bold speeches of the philosophers, who loudly proclaimed their sufferings and their rights; and, in short, that the age would not pass away without the occurrence of some great outburst, which would unsettle france, and change the course of its progress. those who thus spoke were almost all partisans of m. turgot's system of administration: they were mirabeau the father, doctor quesnay, abbe bandeau, and abbe nicoli, charge d'affaires to leopold, grand duke of tuscany, and as enthusiastic an admirer of the maxims of the innovators as his sovereign. my father sincerely respected the purity of intention of these politicians. with them he acknowledged many abuses in the government; but he did not give these political sectarians credit for the talent necessary for conducting a judicious reform. he told them frankly that in the art of moving the great machine of government, the wisest of them was inferior to a good magistrate; and that if ever the helm of affairs should be put into their hands, they would be speedily checked in the execution of their schemes by the immeasurable difference existing between the most brilliant theories and the simplest practice of administration. destiny having formerly placed me near crowned heads, i now amuse my solitude when in retirement with collecting a variety of facts which may prove interesting to my family when i shall be no more. the idea of collecting all the interesting materials which my memory affords occurred to me from reading the work entitled "paris, versailles, and the provinces in the eighteenth century." that work, composed by a man accustomed to the best society, is full of piquant anecdotes, nearly all of which have been recognised as true by the contemporaries of the author. i have put together all that concerned the domestic life of an unfortunate princess, whose reputation is not yet cleared of the stains it received from the attacks of calumny, and who justly merited a different lot in life, a different place in the opinion of mankind after her fall. these memoirs, which were finished ten years ago, have met with the approbation of some persons; and my son may, perhaps, think proper to print them after my decease. j. l. h. c. --when madame campan wrote these lines, she did not anticipate that the death of her son would precede her own. historic court memoirs. marie antoinette. memoir of madame campan. jeanne louise henriette genet was born in paris on the th of october, . m. genet, her father, had obtained, through his own merit and the influence of the duc de choiseul, the place of first clerk in the foreign office. literature, which he had cultivated in his youth, was often the solace of his leisure hours. surrounded by a numerous family, he made the instruction of his children his chief recreation, and omitted nothing which was necessary to render them highly accomplished. his clever and precocious daughter henriette was very early accustomed to enter society, and to take an intelligent interest in current topics and public events. accordingly, many of her relations being connected with the court or holding official positions, she amassed a fund of interesting recollections and characteristic anecdotes, some gathered from personal experience, others handed down by old friends of the family. "the first event which made any impression on me in my childhood," she says in her reminiscences, "was the attempt of damiens to assassinate louis xv. this occurrence struck me so forcibly that the most minute details relating to the confusion and grief which prevailed at versailles on that day seem as present to my imagination as the most recent events. i had dined with my father and mother, in company with one of their friends. the drawing-room was lighted up with a number of candles, and four card-tables were already occupied, when a friend of the gentleman of the house came in, with a pale and terrified countenance, and said, in a voice scarcely audible, 'i bring you terrible news. the king has been assassinated!' two ladies in the company fainted; a brigadier of the body guards threw down his cards and cried out, 'i do not wonder at it; it is those rascally jesuits.'--'what are you saying, brother?' cried a lady, flying to him; 'would you get yourself arrested?'--'arrested! for what? for unmasking those wretches who want a bigot for a king?' my father came in; he recommended circumspection, saying that the blow was not mortal, and that all meetings ought to be suspended at so critical a moment. he had brought the chaise for my mother, who placed me on her knees. we lived in the avenue de paris, and throughout our drive i heard incessant cries and sobs from the footpaths. "at last i saw a man arrested; he was an usher of the king's chamber, who had gone mad, and was crying out, 'yes, i know them; the wretches! the villains!' our chaise was stopped by this bustle. my mother recognised the unfortunate man who had been seized; she gave his name to the trooper who had stopped him. the poor usher was therefore merely conducted to the gens d'armes' guardroom, which was then in the avenue. "i have often heard m. de landsmath, equerry and master of the hounds, who used to come frequently to my father's, say that on the news of the attempt on the king's life he instantly repaired to his majesty. i cannot repeat the coarse expressions he made use of to encourage his majesty; but his account of the affair, long afterwards, amused the parties in which he was prevailed on to relate it, when all apprehensions respecting the consequences of the event had subsided. this m. de landsmath was an old soldier, who had given proofs of extraordinary valour; nothing had been able to soften his manners or subdue his excessive bluntness to the respectful customs of the court. the king was very fond of him. he possessed prodigious strength, and had often contended with marechal saxe, renowned for his great bodily power, in trying the strength of their respective wrists. [one day when the king was hunting in the forest of st. germain, landemath, riding before him, wanted a cart, filled with the slime of a pond that had just been cleansed, to draw up out of the way. the carter resisted, and even answered with impertinence. landsmath, without dismounting, seized him by the breast of his coat, lifted him up, and threw him into his cart.--madame campan.] "m. de landsmath had a thundering voice. when he came into the king's apartment he found the dauphin and mesdames, his majesty's daughters, there; the princesses, in tears, surrounded the king's bed. send out all these weeping women, sire,' said the old equerry; 'i want to speak to you alone: the king made a sign to the princesses to withdraw. 'come,' said landsmath, 'your wound is nothing; you had plenty of waistcoats and flannels on.' then uncovering his breast, 'look here,' said he, showing four or five great scars, 'these are something like wounds; i received them thirty years ago; now cough as loud as you can.' the king did so. ''tis nothing at all,' said landsmath; 'you must laugh at it; we shall hunt a stag together in four days.'--'but suppose the blade was poisoned,' said the king. 'old grandams' tales,' replied landsmath; 'if it had been so, the waistcoats and flannels would have rubbed the poison off.' the king was pacified, and passed a very good night. "his majesty one day asked m. de landsmath how old he was. he was aged, and by no means fond of thinking of his age; he evaded the question. a fortnight later, louis xv. took a paper out of his pocket and read aloud: 'on such a day in the month of one thousand six hundred and eighty, was baptised by me, rector of ------, the son of the high and mighty lord,' etc. 'what's that?' said landsmath, angrily; 'has your majesty been procuring the certificate of my baptism?'--'there it is, you see, landsmath,' said the king. 'well, sire, hide it as fast as you can; a prince entrusted with the happiness of twenty-five millions of people ought not wilfully to hurt the feelings of a single individual.' "the king learned that landsmath had lost his confessor, a missionary priest of the parish of notre-dame. it was the custom of the lazarists to expose their dead with the face uncovered. louis xv. wished to try his equerry's firmness. 'you have lost your confessor, i hear,' said the king. 'yes, sire.'--'he will be exposed with his face bare?'--'such is the custom.'--'i command you to go and see him.'--'sire, my confessor was my friend; it would be very painful to me.'--'no matter; i command you.'--'are you really in earnest, sire?'--'quite so.'--'it would be the first time in my life that i had disobeyed my sovereign's order. i will go.' the next day the king at his levee, as soon as he perceived landsmath, said, 'have you done as i desired you, landsmath?'--'undoubtedly, sire.'--'well, what did you see?'--'faith, i saw that your majesty and i are no great shakes!' "at the death of queen maria leczinska, m. campan,--[her father-in-law, afterwards secretary to marie antoinette.]--then an officer of the chamber, having performed several confidential duties, the king asked madame adelaide how he should reward him. she requested him to create an office in his household of master of the wardrobe, with a salary of a thousand crowns. 'i will do so,' said the king; 'it will be an honourable title; but tell campan not to add a single crown to his expenses, for you will see they will never pay him.' "louis xv., by his dignified carriage, and the amiable yet majestic expression of his features, was worthy to succeed to louis the great. but he too frequently indulged in secret pleasures, which at last were sure to become known. during several winters, he was passionately fond of 'candles' end balls', as he called those parties amongst the very lowest classes of society. he got intelligence of the picnics given by the tradesmen, milliners, and sempstresses of versailles, whither he repaired in a black domino, and masked, accompanied by the captain of his guards, masked like himself. his great delight was to go 'en brouette'--[in a kind of sedan-chair, running on two wheels, and drawn by a chairman.]--care was always taken to give notice to five or six officers of the king's or queen's chamber to be there, in order that his majesty might be surrounded by people on whom he could depend, without finding it troublesome. probably the captain of the guards also took other precautions of this description on his part. my father-in-law, when the king and he were both young, has often made one amongst the servants desired to attend masked at these parties, assembled in some garret, or parlour of a public-house. in those times, during the carnival, masked companies had a right to join the citizens' balls; it was sufficient that one of the party should unmask and name himself. "these secret excursions, and his too habitual intercourse with ladies more distinguished for their personal charms than for the advantages of education, were no doubt the means by which the king acquired many vulgar expressions which otherwise would never have reached his ears. "yet amidst the most shameful excesses the king sometimes suddenly resumed the dignity of his rank in a very noble manner. the familiar courtiers of louis xv. had one day abandoned themselves to the unrestrained gaiety, of a supper, after returning from the chase. each boasted of and described the beauty of his mistress. some of them amused themselves with giving a particular account of their wives' personal defects. an imprudent word, addressed to louis xv., and applicable only to the queen, instantly dispelled all the mirth of the entertainment. the king assumed his regal air, and knocking with his knife on the table twice or thrice, 'gentlemen; said he, 'here is the king!' "those men who are most completely abandoned to dissolute manners are not, on that account, insensible to virtue in women. the comtesse de perigord was as beautiful as virtuous. during some excursions she made to choisy, whither she had been invited, she perceived that the king took great notice of her. her demeanour of chilling respect, her cautious perseverance in shunning all serious conversation with the monarch, were insufficient to extinguish this rising flame, and he at length addressed a letter to her, worded in the most passionate terms. this excellent woman instantly formed her resolution: honour forbade her returning the king's passion, whilst her profound respect for the sovereign made her unwilling to disturb his tranquillity. she therefore voluntarily banished herself to an estate she possessed called chalais, near barbezieux, the mansion of which had been uninhabited nearly a century; the porter's lodge was the only place in a condition to receive her. from this seat she wrote to his majesty, explaining her motives for leaving court; and she remained there several years without visiting paris. louis xv. was speedily attracted by other objects, and regained the composure to which madame de perigord had thought it her duty to sacrifice so much. some years after, mesdames' lady of honour died. many great families solicited the place. the king, without answering any of their applications, wrote to the comtesse de perigord: 'my daughters have just lost their lady of honour; this place, madame, is your due, as much on account of your personal qualities as of the illustrious name of your family.' "three young men of the college of st. germain, who had just completed their course of studies, knowing no person about the court, and having heard that strangers were always well treated there, resolved to dress themselves completely in the armenian costume, and, thus clad, to present themselves to see the grand ceremony of the reception of several knights of the order of the holy ghost. their stratagem met with all the success with which they had flattered themselves. while the procession was passing through the long mirror gallery, the swiss of the apartments placed them in the first row of spectators, recommending every one to pay all possible attention to the strangers. the latter, however, were imprudent enough to enter the 'oeil-de-boeuf' chamber, where, were messieurs cardonne and ruffin, interpreters of oriental languages, and the first clerk of the consul's department, whose business it was to attend to everything which related to the natives of the east who were in france. the three scholars were immediately surrounded and questioned by these gentlemen, at first in modern greek. without being disconcerted, they made signs that they did not understand it. they were then addressed in turkish and arabic; at length one of the interpreters, losing all patience, exclaimed, 'gentlemen, you certainly must understand some of the languages in which you have been addressed. what country can you possibly come from then?'--'from st. germain-en-laye, sir,' replied the boldest among them; 'this is the first time you have put the question to us in french.' they then confessed the motive of their disguise; the eldest of them was not more than eighteen years of age. louis xv. was informed of the affair. he laughed heartily, ordered them a few hours' confinement and a good admonition, after which they were to be set at liberty. "louis xv. liked to talk about death, though he was extremely apprehensive of it; but his excellent health and his royal dignity probably made him imagine himself invulnerable. he often said to people who had very bad colds, 'you've a churchyard cough there.' hunting one day in the forest of senard, in a year in which bread was extremely dear, he met a man on horseback carrying a coffin. 'whither are you carrying that coffin?'--'to the village of ------,' answered the peasant. 'is it for a man or a woman?'--'for a man.'--'what did he die of?'--'of hunger,' bluntly replied the villager. the king spurred on his horse, and asked no more questions. "weak as louis xv. was, the parliaments would never have obtained his consent to the convocation of the states general. i heard an anecdote on this subject from two officers attached to that prince's household. it was at the period when the remonstrances of the parliaments, and the refusals to register the decrees for levying taxes, produced alarm with respect to the state of the finances. this became the subject of conversation one evening at the coucher of louis xv. 'you will see, sire,' said a courtier, whose office placed him in close communication with the king, 'that all this will make it absolutely necessary to assemble the states general!' "the king, roused by this speech from the habitual apathy of his character, seized the courtier by the arm, and said to him, in a passion, 'never repeat, these words. i am not sanguinary; but had i a brother, and were he to dare to give me such advice, i would sacrifice him, within twenty-four hours, to the duration of the monarchy and the tranquillity of the kingdom.' "several years prior to his death the dauphin, the father of louis xvi., had confluent smallpox, which endangered his life; and after his convalescence he was long troubled with a malignant ulcer under the nose. he was injudiciously advised to get rid of it by the use of extract of lead, which proved effectual; but from that time the dauphin, who was corpulent, insensibly grew thin, and a short, dry cough evinced that the humour, driven in, had fallen on the lungs. some persons also suspected him of having taken acids in too great a quantity for the purpose of reducing his bulk. the state of his health was not, however, such as to excite alarm. at the camp at compiegne, in july, , the dauphin reviewed the troops, and evinced much activity in the performance of his duties; it was even observed that he was seeking to gain the attachment of the army. he presented the dauphiness to the soldiers, saying, with a simplicity which at that time made a great sensation, 'mes enfans, here is my wife.' returning late on horseback to compiegne, he found he had taken a chill; the heat of the day had been excessive; the prince's clothes had been wet with perspiration. an illness followed, in which the prince began to spit blood. his principal physician wished to have him bled; the consulting physicians insisted on purgation, and their advice was followed. the pleurisy, being ill cured, assumed and retained all the symptoms of consumption; the dauphin languished from that period until december, , and died at fontainebleau, where the court, on account of his condition, had prolonged its stay, which usually ended on the d of november. "the dauphiness, his widow, was deeply afflicted; but the immoderate despair which characterised her grief induced many to suspect that the loss of the crown was an important part of the calamity she lamented. she long refused to eat enough to support life; she encouraged her tears to flow by placing portraits of the dauphin in every retired part of her apartments. she had him represented pale, and ready to expire, in a picture placed at the foot of her bed, under draperies of gray cloth, with which the chambers of the princesses were always hung in court mournings. their grand cabinet was hung with black cloth, with an alcove, a canopy, and a throne, on which they received compliments of condolence after the first period of the deep mourning. the dauphiness, some months before the end of her career, regretted her conduct in abridging it; but it was too late; the fatal blow had been struck. it may also be presumed that living with a consumptive, man had contributed to her complaint. this princess had no opportunity of displaying her qualities; living in a court in which she was eclipsed by the king and queen, the only characteristics that could be remarked in her were her extreme attachment to her husband, and her great piety. "the dauphin was little known, and his character has been much mistaken. he himself, as he confessed to his intimate friends, sought to disguise it. he one day asked one of his most familiar servants, 'what do they say in paris of that great fool of a dauphin?' the person interrogated seeming confused, the dauphin urged him to express himself sincerely, saying, 'speak freely; that is positively the idea which i wish people to form of me.' "as he died of a disease which allows the last moment to be anticipated long beforehand, he wrote much, and transmitted his affections and his prejudices to his son by secret notes. "madame de pompadour's brother received letters of nobility from his majesty, and was appointed superintendent of the buildings and gardens. he often presented to her majesty, through the medium of his sister, the rarest flowers, pineapples, and early vegetables from the gardens of trianon and choisy. one day, when the marquise came into the queen's apartments, carrying a large basket of flowers, which she held in her two beautiful arms, without gloves, as a mark of respect, the queen loudly declared her admiration of her beauty; and seemed as if she wished to defend the king's choice, by praising her various charms in detail, in a manner that would have been as suitable to a production of the fine arts as to a living being. after applauding the complexion, eyes, and fine arms of the favourite, with that haughty condescension which renders approbation more offensive than flattering, the queen at length requested her to sing, in the attitude in which she stood, being desirous of hearing the voice and musical talent by which the king's court had been charmed in the performances of the private apartments, and thus combining the gratification of the ears with that of the eyes. the marquise, who still held her enormous basket, was perfectly sensible of something offensive in this request, and tried to excuse herself from singing. the queen at last commanded her; she then exerted her fine voice in the solo of armida--'at length he is in my power.' the change in her majesty's countenance was so obvious that the ladies present at this scene had the greatest difficulty to keep theirs. "the queen was affable and modest; but the more she was thankful in her heart to heaven for having placed her on the first throne in europe, the more unwilling she was to be reminded of her elevation. this sentiment induced her to insist on the observation of all the forms of respect due to royal birth; whereas in other princes the consciousness of that birth often induces them to disdain the ceremonies of etiquette, and to prefer habits of ease and simplicity. there was a striking contrast in this respect between maria leczinska and marie antoinette, as has been justly and generally observed. the latter unfortunate queen, perhaps, carried her disregard of everything belonging to the strict forms of etiquette too far. one day, when the marechale de mouchy was teasing her with questions relative to the extent to which she would allow the ladies the option of taking off or wearing their cloaks, and of pinning up the lappets of their caps, or letting them hang down, the queen replied to her, in my presence: 'arrange all those matters, madame, just as you please; but do not imagine that a queen, born archduchess of austria, can attach that importance to them which might be felt by a polish princess who had become queen of france.' "the virtues and information of the great are always evinced by their conduct; their accomplishments, coming within the scope of flattery, are difficult to be ascertained by any authentic proofs, and those who have lived near them may be excused for some degree of scepticism with regard to their attainments of this kind. if they draw or paint, there is always an able artist present, who, if he does not absolutely guide the pencil with his own hand, directs it by his advice. if a princess attempt a piece of embroidery in colours, of that description which ranks amongst the productions of the arts, a skilful embroideress is employed to undo and repair whatever has been spoilt. if the princess be a musician, there are no ears that will discover when she is out of tune; at least there is no tongue that will tell her so. this imperfection in the accomplishments of the great is but a slight misfortune. it is sufficiently meritorious in them to engage in such pursuits, even with indifferent success, because this taste and the protection it extends produce abundance of talent on every side. maria leczinska delighted in the art of painting, and imagined she herself could draw and paint. she had a drawing-master, who passed all his time in her cabinet. she undertook to paint four large chinese pictures, with which she wished to ornament her private drawing-room, which was richly furnished with rare porcelain and the finest marbles. this painter was entrusted with the landscape and background of the pictures; he drew the figures with a pencil; the faces and arms were also left by the queen to his execution; she reserved to herself nothing but the draperies, and the least important accessories. the queen every morning filled up the outline marked out for her, with a little red, blue, or green colour, which the master prepared on the palette, and even filled her brush with, constantly repeating, 'higher up, madame--lower down, madame--a little to the right--more to the left.' after an hour's work, the time for hearing mass, or some other family or pious duty, would interrupt her majesty; and the painter, putting the shadows into the draperies she had painted, softening off the colour where she had laid too much, etc., finished the small figures. when the work was completed the private drawing-room was decorated with her majesty's work; and the firm persuasion of this good queen that she had painted it herself was so entire that she left this cabinet, with all its furniture and paintings, to the comtesse de noailles, her lady of honour. she added to the bequest: 'the pictures in my cabinet being my own work, i hope the comtesse de noailles will preserve them for my sake.' madame de noailles, afterwards marechale de mouchy, had a new pavilion constructed in her hotel in the faubourg st. germain, in order to form a suitable receptacle for the queen's legacy; and had the following inscription placed over the door, in letters of gold: 'the innocent falsehood of a good princess.' "maria leczinska could never look with cordiality on the princess of saxony, who married the dauphin; but the attentive behaviour of the dauphiness at length made her majesty forget that the princess was the daughter of a king who wore her father's crown. nevertheless, although the queen now saw in the princess of saxony only a wife beloved by her son, she never could forget that augustus wore the crown of stanislaus. one day an officer of her chamber having undertaken to ask a private audience of her for the saxon minister, and the queen being unwilling to grant it, he ventured to add that he should not have presumed to ask this favour of the queen had not the minister been the ambassador of a member of the family. 'say of an enemy of the family,' replied the queen, angrily; 'and let him come in.' "comte de tesse, father of the last count of that name, who left no children, was first equerry to queen maria leczinska. she esteemed his virtues, but often diverted herself at the expense of his simplicity. one day, when the conversation turned on the noble military, actions by which the french nobility was distinguished, the queen said to the count: 'and your family, m. de tesse, has been famous, too, in the field.'--'ah, madame, we have all been killed in our masters' service!'--'how rejoiced i am,' replied the queen, 'that you have revived to tell me of it.' the son of this worthy m. de tesse was married to the amiable and highly gifted daughter of the duc d'ayen, afterwards marechale de noailles. he was exceedingly fond of his daughter-in-law, and never could speak of her without emotion. the queen, to please him, often talked to him about the young countess, and one day asked him which of her good qualities seemed to him most conspicuous. 'her gentleness, madame, her gentleness,' said he, with tears in his eyes; 'she is so mild, so soft,--as soft as a good carriage.'--'well,' said her majesty, 'that's an excellent comparison for a first equerry.' "in queen maria leczinska, going to mass, met old marechal villars, leaning on a wooden crutch not worth fifteen pence. she rallied him about it, and the marshal told her that he had used it ever since he had received a wound which obliged him to add this article to the equipments of the army. her majesty, smiling, said she thought this crutch so unworthy of him that she hoped to induce him to give it up. on returning home she despatched m. campan to paris with orders to purchase at the celebrated germain's the handsomest cane, with a gold enamelled crutch, that he could find, and carry it without delay to marechal villars's hotel, and present it to him from her. he was announced accordingly, and fulfilled his commission. the marshal, in attending him to the door, requested him to express his gratitude to the queen, and said that he had nothing fit to offer to an officer who had the honour to belong to her majesty; but he begged him to accept of his old stick, saying that his grandchildren would probably some day be glad to possess the cane with which he had commanded at marchiennes and denain. the known frugality of marechal villars appears in this anecdote; but he was not mistaken with respect to the estimation in which his stick would be held. it was thenceforth kept with veneration by m. campan's family. on the th of august, , a house which i occupied on the carrousel, at the entrance of the court of the tuileries, was pillaged and nearly burnt down. the cane of marechal villars was thrown into the carrousel as of no value, and picked up by my servant. had its old master been living at that period we should not have witnessed such a deplorable day. "before the revolution there were customs and words in use at versailles with which few people were acquainted. the king's dinner was called 'the king's meat.' two of the body guard accompanied the attendants who carried the dinner; every one rose as they passed through the halls, saying, 'there is the king's meat.' all precautionary duties were distinguished by the words 'in case.' one of the guards might be heard to say, 'i am in case in the forest of st. germain.' in the evening they always brought the queen a large bowl of broth, a cold roast fowl, one bottle of wine, one of orgeat, one of lemonade, and some other articles, which were called the 'in case' for the night. an old medical gentleman, who had been physician in ordinary to louis xiv., and was still living at the time of the marriage of louis xv., told m. campan's father an anecdote which seems too remarkable to have remained unknown; nevertheless he was a man of honour, incapable of inventing this story. his name was lafosse. he said that louis xiv. was informed that the officers of his table evinced, in the most disdainful and offensive manner, the mortification they felt at being obliged to eat at the table of the comptroller of the kitchen along with moliere, valet de chambre to his majesty, because moliere had performed on the stage; and that this celebrated author consequently declined appearing at that table. louis xiv., determined to put an end to insults which ought never to have been offered to one of the greatest geniuses of the age, said to him one morning at the hour of his private levee, 'they say you live very poorly here, moliere; and that the officers of my chamber do not find you good enough to eat with them. perhaps you are hungry; for my part i awoke with a very good appetite this morning: sit down at this table. serve up my 'in case' for the night there.' the king, then cutting up his fowl, and ordering moliere to sit down, helped him to a wing, at the same time taking one for himself, and ordered the persons entitled to familiar entrance, that is to say the most distinguished and favourite people at court, to be admitted. 'you see me,' said the king to them, 'engaged in entertaining moliere, whom my valets de chambre do not consider sufficiently good company for them.' from that time moliere never had occasion to appear at the valets' table; the whole court was forward enough to send him invitations. "m. de lafosse used also to relate that a brigade-major of the body guard, being ordered to place the company in the little theatre at versailles, very roughly turned out one of the king's comptrollers who had taken his seat on one of the benches, a place to which his newly acquired office entitled him. in vain he insisted on his quality and his right. the altercation was ended by the brigade-major in these words: 'gentlemen body guards, do your duty.' in this case their duty was to turn the offender out at the door. this comptroller, who had paid sixty or eighty thousand francs for his appointment, was a man of a good family, and had had the honour of serving his majesty five and twenty years in one of his regiments; thus ignominiously driven out of the hall, he placed himself in the king's way in the great hall of the guards, and, bowing to his majesty, requested him to vindicate the honour of an old soldier who had wished to end his days in his prince's civil employment, now that age had obliged him to relinquish his military service. the king stopped, heard his story, and then ordered him to follow him. his majesty attended the representation in a sort of amphitheatre, in which his armchair was placed; behind him was a row of stools for the captain of the guards, the first gentleman of the chamber, and other great officers. the brigade-major was entitled to one of these places; the king stopped opposite the seat which ought to have been occupied by that officer and said to the comptroller, 'take, monsieur, for this evening, the place near my person of him who has offended you, and let the expression of my displeasure at this unjust affront satisfy you instead of any other reparation: "during the latter years of the reign of louis xiv. he never went out but in a chair carried by porters, and he showed a great regard for a man named d'aigremont, one of those porters who always went in front and opened the door of the chair. the slightest preference shown by sovereigns, even to the meanest of their servants, never fails to excite observation. [people of the very first rank did not disdain to descend to the level of d'aigremont. "lauzun," said the duchesse d'orleans in her "memoirs," "sometimes affects stupidity in order to show people their own with impunity, for he is very malicious. in order to make marechal de tease feel the impropriety of his familiarity with people of the common sort, he called out, in the drawing-room at marly, 'marechal, give me a pinch of snuff; some of your best, such as you take in the morning with monsieur d'aigremont, the chairman.'"--note by the editor.] the king had done something for this man's numerous family, and frequently talked to him. an abbe belonging to the chapel thought proper to request d'aigremont to present a memorial to the king, in which he requested his majesty to grant him a benefice. louis xiv. did not approve of the liberty thus taken by his chairman, and said to him, in a very angry tone, 'd'aigremont, you have been made to do a very unbecoming act, and i am sure there must be simony in the case.'--'no, sire, there is not the least ceremony in the case, i assure you,' answered the poor man, in great consternation; 'the abbe only said he would give me a hundred louis.'--'d'aigremont,' said the king, 'i forgive you on account of your ignorance and candour. i will give you the hundred louis out of my privy purse; but i will discharge you the very next time you venture to present a memorial to me.' "louis xiv. was very kind to those of his servants who were nearest his person; but the moment he assumed his royal deportment, those who were most accustomed to see him in his domestic character were as much intimidated as if they were appearing in his presence for the first time in their lives. some of the members of his majesty's civil household, then called 'commensalite', enjoying the title of equerry, and the privileges attached to officers of the king's household, had occasion to claim some prerogatives, the exercise of which the municipal body of st. germain, where they resided, disputed with them. being assembled in considerable numbers in that town, they obtained the consent of the minister of the household to allow them to send a deputation to the king; and for that purpose chose from amongst them two of his majesty's valets de chambre named bazire and soulaigre. the king's levee being over, the deputation of the inhabitants of the town of st. germain was called in. they entered with confidence; the king looked at them, and assumed his imposing attitude. bazire, one of these valets de chambre, was about to speak, but louis the great was looking on him. he no longer saw the prince he was accustomed to attend at home; he was intimidated, and could not find words; he recovered, however, and began as usual with the word sire. but timidity again overpowered him, and finding himself unable to recollect the slightest particle of what he came to say, he repeated the word sire several times, and at length concluded by paying, 'sire, here is soulaigre.' soulaigre, who was very angry with bazire, and expected to acquit himself much better, then began to speak; but he also, after repeating 'sire' several times, found his embarrassment increasing upon him, until his confusion equalled that of his colleague; he therefore ended with 'sire, here is bazire.' the king smiled, and answered, 'gentlemen, i have been informed of the business upon which you have been deputed to wait on me, and i will take care that what is right shall be done. i am highly satisfied with the manner in which you have fulfilled your functions as deputies.'" mademoiselle genet's education was the object of her father's particular attention. her progress in the study of music and of foreign languages was surprising; albaneze instructed her in singing, and goldoni taught her italian. tasso, milton, dante, and even shakespeare, soon became familiar to her. but her studies were particularly directed to the acquisition of a correct and elegant style of reading. rochon de chabannes, duclos, barthe, marmontel, and thomas took pleasure in hearing her recite the finest scenes of racine. her memory and genius at the age of fourteen charmed them; they talked of her talents in society, and perhaps applauded them too highly. she was soon spoken of at court. some ladies of high rank, who took an interest in the welfare of her family, obtained for her the place of reader to the princesses. her presentation, and the circumstances which preceded it, left a strong impression on her mind. "i was then fifteen," she says; "my father felt some regret at yielding me up at so early an age to the jealousies of the court. the day on which i first put on my court dress, and went to embrace him in his study, tears filled his eyes, and mingled with the expression of his pleasure. i possessed some agreeable talents, in addition to the instruction which it had been his delight to bestow on me. he enumerated all my little accomplishments, to convince me of the vexations they would not fail to draw upon me." mademoiselle genet, at fifteen, was naturally less of a philosopher than her father was at forty. her eyes were dazzled by the splendour which glittered at versailles. "the queen, maria leczinska, the wife of louis xv., died," she says, "just before i was presented at court. the grand apartments hung with black, the great chairs of state, raised on several steps, and surmounted by a canopy adorned with plumes; the caparisoned horses, the immense retinue in court mourning, the enormous shoulder-knots, embroidered with gold and silver spangles, which decorated the coats of the pages and footmen,--all this magnificence had such an effect on my senses that i could scarcely support myself when introduced to the princesses. the first day of my reading in the inner apartment of madame victoire i found it impossible to pronounce more than two sentences; my heart palpitated, my voice faltered, and my sight failed. how well understood was the potent magic of the grandeur and dignity which ought to surround sovereigns! marie antoinette, dressed in white, with a plain straw hat, and a little switch in her hand, walking on foot, followed by a single servant, through the walks leading to the petit trianon, would never have thus disconcerted me; and i believe this extreme simplicity was the first and only real mistake of all those with which she is reproached." when once her awe and confusion had subsided, mademoiselle genet was enabled to form a more accurate judgment of her situation. it was by no means attractive; the court of the princesses, far removed from the revels to which louie xv. was addicted, was grave, methodical, and dull. madame adelaide, the eldest of the princesses, lived secluded in the interior of her apartments; madame sophie was haughty; madame louise a devotee. mademoiselle genet never quitted the princesses' apartments; but she attached herself most particularly to madame victoire. this princess had possessed beauty; her countenance bore an expression of benevolence, and her conversation was kind, free, and unaffected. the young reader excited in her that feeling which a woman in years, of an affectionate disposition, readily extends to young people who are growing up in her sight, and who possess some useful talents. whole days were passed in reading to the princess, as she sat at work in her apartment. mademoiselle genet frequently saw there louis xv., of whom she has related the following anecdote: "one day, at the chateau of compiegne, the king came in whilst i was reading to madame. i rose and went into another room. alone, in an apartment from which there was no outlet, with no book but a massillon, which i had been reading to the princess, happy in all the lightness and gaiety of fifteen, i amused myself with turning swiftly round, with my court hoop, and suddenly kneeling down to see my rose-coloured silk petticoat swelled around me by the wind. in the midst of this grave employment enters his majesty, followed by one of the princesses. i attempt to rise; my feet stumble, and down i fall in the midst of my robes, puffed out by the wind. 'daughter,' said louis xv., laughing heartily, 'i advise you to send back to school a reader who makes cheeses.'" the railleries of louis xv. were often much more cutting, as mademoiselle genet experienced on another occasion, which, thirty years afterwards, she could not relate without an emotion of fear. "louis xv.," she said, "had the most imposing presence. his eyes remained fixed upon you all the time he was speaking; and, notwithstanding the beauty of his features, he inspired a sort of fear. i was very young, it is true, when he first spoke to me; you shall judge whether it was in a very gracious manner. i was fifteen. the king was going out to hunt, and a numerous retinue followed him. as he stopped opposite me he said, 'mademoiselle genet, i am assured you are very learned, and understand four or five foreign languages.'--'i know only two, sire,' i answered, trembling. 'which are they?' english and italian.'--'do you speak them fluently?' yes, sire, very fluently.' 'that is quite enough to drive a husband mad.' after this pretty compliment the king went on; the retinue saluted me, laughing; and, for my part, i remained for some moments motionless with surprise and confusion." at the time when the french alliance was proposed by the duc de choiseul there was at vienna a doctor named gassner,--[jean joseph gassner, a pretender to miraculous powers.]--who had fled thither to seek an asylum against the persecutions of his sovereign, one of the ecclesiastical electors. gassner, gifted with an extraordinary warmth of imagination, imagined that he received inspirations. the empress protected him, saw him occasionally, rallied him on his visions, and, nevertheless, heard them with a sort of interest. "tell me,"--said she to him one day, "whether my antoinette will be happy." gassner turned pale, and remained silent. being still pressed by the empress, and wishing to give a general expression to the idea with which he seemed deeply occupied, "madame," he replied, "there are crosses for all shoulders." the occurrences at the place louis xv. on the marriage festivities at paris are generally known. the conflagration of the scaffolds intended for the fireworks, the want of foresight of the authorities, the avidity of robbers, the murderous career of the coaches, brought about and aggravated the disasters of that day; and the young dauphiness, coming from versailles, by the cours la reine, elated with joy, brilliantly decorated, and eager to witness the rejoicings of the whole people, fled, struck with consternation and drowned in tears, from the dreadful scene. this tragic opening of the young princess's life in france seemed to bear out gassner's hint of disaster, and to be ominous of the terrible future which awaited her. in the same year in which marie antoinette was married to the dauphin, henriette genet married a son of m. campan, already mentioned as holding an office at the court; and when the household of the dauphiness was formed, madame campan was appointed her reader, and received from marie antoinette a consistent kindness and confidence to which by her loyal service she was fully entitled. madame campan's intelligence and vivacity made her much more sympathetic to a young princess, gay and affectionate in disposition, and reared in the simplicity of a german court, than her lady of honour, the comtesse de noailles. this respectable lady, who was placed near her as a minister of the laws of etiquette, instead of alleviating their weight, rendered their yoke intolerable to her. "madame de noailles," says madame campan, "abounded in virtues. her piety, charity, and irreproachable morals rendered her worthy of praise; but etiquette was to her a sort of atmosphere; at the slightest derangement of the consecrated order, one would have thought the principles of life would forsake her frame. "one day i unintentionally threw this poor lady into a terrible agony. the queen was receiving i know not whom,--some persons just presented, i believe; the lady of honour, the queen's tirewoman, and the ladies of the bedchamber, were behind the queen. i was near the throne, with the two women on duty. all was right,--at least i thought so. suddenly i perceived the eyes of madame de noailles fixed on mine. she made a sign with her head, and then raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead, lowered them, raised them again, then began to make little signs with her hand. from all this pantomime, i could easily perceive that something was not as it should be; and as i looked about on all sides to find out what it was, the agitation of the countess kept increasing. the queen, who perceived all this, looked at me with a smile; i found means to approach her majesty, who said to me in a whisper, 'let down your lappets, or the countess will expire.' all this bustle arose from two unlucky pins which fastened up my lappets, whilst the etiquette of costume said 'lappets hanging down.'" her contempt of the vanities of etiquette became the pretext for the first reproaches levelled at the queen. what misconduct might not be dreaded from a princess who could absolutely go out without a hoop! and who, in the salons of trianon, instead of discussing the important rights to chairs and stools, good-naturedly invited everybody to be seated. [m. de fresne forget, being one day in company with the queen marguerite, told her he was astonished how men and women with such great ruffs could eat soup without spoiling them; and still more how the ladies could be gallant with their great fardingales. the queen made no answer at that time, but a few days after, having a very large ruff on, and some 'bouili' to eat, she ordered a very long spoon to be brought, and ate her 'bouili' with it, without soiling her ruff. upon which, addressing herself to m. de fresne, she said, laughing, "there now, you see, with a little ingenuity one may manage anything."--"yes, faith, madame," said the good man, "as far as regards the soup i am satisfied."--laplace's "collection," vol. ii., p. .] the anti-austrian party, discontented and vindictive, became spies upon her conduct, exaggerated her slightest errors, and calumniated her most innocent proceedings. "what seems unaccountable at the first glance," says montjoie, "is that the first attack on the reputation of the queen proceeded from the bosom of the court. what interest could the courtiers have in seeking her destruction, which involved that of the king? was it not drying up the source of all the advantages they enjoyed, or could hope for?" [madame campan relates the following among many anecdotes illustrative of the queen's kindness of heart: "a petition was addressed to the queen by a corporation in the neighbourhood of paris, praying for the destruction of the game which destroyed their crops. i was the bearer of this petition to her majesty, who said, 'i will undertake to have these good people relieved from so great an annoyance.' she gave the document to m. de vermond in my presence, saying, 'i desire that immediate justice be done to this petition.' an assurance was given that her order should be attended to, but six weeks afterwards a second petition was sent up, for the nuisance had not been abated after all. if the second petition had reached the queen, m. de vermond would have received a sharp reprimand. she was always so happy when it was in her power to do good." the quick repartee, which was another of the queen's characteristics, was less likely to promote her popularity. "m. brunier," says madame campan, "was physician to the royal children. during his visits to the palace, if the death of any of his patients was alluded to, he never failed to say, 'ah! there i lost one of my best friends! 'well,' said the queen, 'if he loses all his patients who are his friends, what will become of those who are not?'"] when the terrible danton exclaimed, "the kings of europe menace us; it behooves us to defy them; let us throw down to them the head of a king as our gage!" these detestable words, followed by so cruel a result, formed, however, a formidable stroke of policy. but the queen! what urgent reasons of state could danton, collot d'herbois, and robespierre allege against her? what savage greatness did they discover in stirring up a whole nation to avenge their quarrel on a woman? what remained of her former power? she was a captive, a widow, trembling for her children! in those judges, who at once outraged modesty and nature; in that people whose vilest scoffs pursued her to the scaffold, who could have recognised the generous people of france? of all the crimes which disgraced the revolution, none was more calculated to show how the spirit of party can degrade the character of a nation. the news of this dreadful event reached madame campan in an obscure retreat which she had chosen. she had not succeeded in her endeavours to share the queen's captivity, and she expected every moment a similar fate. after escaping, almost miraculously, from the murderous fury of the marseillais; after being denounced and pursued by robespierre, and entrusted, through the confidence of the king and queen, with papers of the utmost importance, madame campan went to coubertin, in the valley of chevreuse. madame auguid, her sister, had just committed suicide, at the very moment of her arrest. [maternal affection prevailed over her religious sentiments; she wished to preserve the wreck of her fortune for her children. had she deferred this fatal act for one day she would have been saved; the cart which conveyed robespierre to execution stopped her funeral procession!] the scaffold awaited madame campan, when the th of thermidor restored her to life; but did not restore to her the most constant object of her thoughts, her zeal, and her devotion. a new career now opened to madame campan. at coubertin, surrounded by her nieces, she was fond of directing their studies. this occupation caused her ideas to revert to the subject of education, and awakened once more the inclinations of her youth. at the age of twelve years she could never meet a school of young ladies passing through the streets without feeling ambitious of the situation and authority of their mistress. her abode at court had diverted but not altered her inclinations. "a month after the fall of robespierre," she says, "i considered as to the means of providing for myself, for a mother seventy years of age, my sick husband, my child nine years old, and part of my ruined family. i now possessed nothing in the world but an assignat of five hundred francs. i had become responsible for my husband's debts, to the amount of thirty thousand francs. i chose st. germain to set up a boarding-school, for that town did not remind me, as versailles did, both of happy times and of the misfortunes of france. i took with me a nun of l'enfant-jesus, to give an unquestionable pledge of my religious principles. the school of st. germain was the first in which the opening of an oratory was ventured on. the directory was displeased at it, and ordered it to be immediately shut up; and some time after commissioners were sent to desire that the reading of the scriptures should be suppressed in my school. i inquired what books were to be substituted in their stead. after some minutes' conversation, they observed: 'citizeness, you are arguing after the old fashion; no reflections. the nation commands; we must have obedience, and no reasoning.' not having the means of printing my prospectus, i wrote a hundred copies of it, and sent them to the persons of my acquaintance who had survived the dreadful commotions. at the year's end i had sixty pupils; soon afterwards a hundred. i bought furniture and paid my debts." the rapid success of the establishment at st. germain was undoubtedly owing to the talents, experience, and excellent principles of madame campan, seconded by public opinion. all property had changed hands; all ranks found themselves confusedly jumbled by the shock of the revolution: the grand seigneur dined at the table of the opulent contractor; and the witty and elegant marquise was present at the ball by the side of the clumsy peasant lately grown rich. in the absence of the ancient distinctions, elegant manners and polished language now formed a kind of aristocracy. the house of st. germain, conducted by a lady who possessed the deportment and the habits of the best society, was not only a school of knowledge, but a school of the world. "a friend of madame de beauharnais," continues madame campan, "brought me her daughter hortense de beauharnais, and her niece emilie de beauharnais. six months afterwards she came to inform me of her marriage with a corsican gentleman, who had been brought up in the military school, and was then a general. i was requested to communicate this information to her daughter, who long lamented her mother's change of name. i was also desired to watch over the education of little eugene de beauharnais, who was placed at st. germain, in the same school with my son. "a great intimacy sprang up between my nieces and these young people. madame de beauharnaias set out for italy, and left her children with me. on her return, after the conquests of bonaparte, that general, much pleased with the improvement of his stepdaughter, invited me to dine at malmaison, and attended two representations of 'esther' at my school." he also showed his appreciation of her talents by sending his sister caroline to st. germain. shortly before caroline's marriage to murat, and while she was yet at st. germain, napoleon observed to madame campan: "i do not like those love matches between young people whose brains are excited by the flames of the imagination. i had other views for my sister. who knows what high alliance i might have procured for her! she is thoughtless, and does not form a just notion of my situation. the time will come when, perhaps, sovereigns might dispute for her hand. she is about to marry a brave man; but in my situation that is not enough. fate should be left to fulfil her decrees." [madame murat one day said to madame campan: "i am astonished that you are not more awed in our presence; you speak to us with as much familiarity as when we were your pupils!"--"the best thing you can do," replied madame campan, "is to forget your titles when you are with me, for i can never be afraid of queens whom i have held under the rod."] madame campan dined at the tuileries in company with the pope's nuncio, at the period when the concordat was in agitation. during dinner the first consul astonished her by the able manner in which he conversed on the subject under discussion. she said he argued so logically that his talent quite amazed her. during the consulate napoleon one day said to her, "if ever i establish a republic of women, i shall make you first consul." napoleon's views as to "woman's mission" are now well known. madame campan said that she heard from him that when he founded the convent of the sisters of la charite he was urgently solicited to permit perpetual vows. he, however, refused to do so, on the ground that tastes may change, and that he did not see the necessity of excluding from the world women who might some time or other return to it, and become useful members of society. "nunneries," he added, "assail the very roots of population. it is impossible to calculate the loss which a nation sustains in having ten thousand women shut up in cloisters. war does but little mischief; for the number of males is at least one-twenty-fifth greater than that of females. women may, if they please, be allowed to make perpetual vows at fifty years of age; for then their task is fulfilled." napoleon once said to madame campan, "the old systems of education were good for nothing; what do young women stand in need of, to be well brought up in france?"--"of mothers," answered madame campan. "it is well said," replied napoleon. "well, madame, let the french be indebted to you for bringing up mothers for their children."--"napoleon one day interrupted madame de stael in the midst of a profound political argument to ask her whether she had nursed her children." never had the establishment at st. germain been in a more flourishing condition than in - . what more could madame campan wish? for ten years absolute in her own house, she seemed also safe from the caprice of power. but the man who then disposed of the fate of france and europe was soon to determine otherwise. after the battle of austerlitz the state undertook to bring up, at the public expense, the sisters, daughters, or nieces of those who were decorated with the cross of honour. the children of the warriors killed or wounded in glorious battle were to find paternal care in the ancient abodes of the montmorencys and the condes. accustomed to concentrate around him all superior talents, fearless himself of superiority, napoleon sought for a person qualified by experience and abilities to conduct the institution of ecouen; he selected madame campan. comte de lacepede, the pupil, friend, and rival of buffon, then grand chancellor of the legion of honour, assisted her with his enlightened advice. napoleon, who could descend with ease from the highest political subjects to the examination of the most minute details; who was as much at home in inspecting a boarding-school for young ladies as in reviewing the grenadiers of his guard; whom it was impossible to deceive, and who was not unwilling to find fault when he visited the establishment at ecouen,--was forced to say, "it is all right." [napoleon wished to be informed of every particular of the furniture, government, and order of the house, the instruction and education of the pupils. the internal regulations were submitted to him. one of the intended rules, drawn up by madame campan, proposed that the children should hear mass on sundays and thursdays. napoleon himself wrote on the margin, "every day."] "in the summer of ," relates madame campan, "napoleon, accompanied by marie louise and several personages of distinction, visited the establishment at ecouen. after inspecting the chapel and the refectories, napoleon desired that the three principal pupils might be presented to him. 'sire,' said i, 'i cannot select three; i must present six.' he turned on his heel and repaired to the platform, where, after seeing all the classes assembled, he repeated his demand. 'sire,' said i, 'i beg leave to inform your majesty that i should commit an injustice towards several other pupils who are as far advanced as those whom i might have the honour to present to you.' "berthier and others intimated to me, in a low tone of voice, that i should get into disgrace by my noncompliance. napoleon looked over the whole of the house, entered into the most trivial details, and after addressing questions to several of the pupils: 'well, madame,' said he, 'i am satisfied; show me your six best pupils.'" madame campan presented them to him; and as he stepped into his carriage, he desired that their names might be sent to berthier. on addressing the list to the prince de neufchatel, madame campan added to it the names of four other pupils, and all the ten obtained a pension of francs. during the three hours which this visit occupied, marie louise did not utter a single word. m. de beaumont, chamberlain to the empress josephine, one day at malmaison was expressing his regret that m. d-----, one of napoleon's generals, who had recently been promoted, did not belong to a great family. "you mistake, monsieur," observed madame campan, "he is of very ancient descent; he is one of the nephews of charlemagne. all the heroes of our army sprang from the elder branch of that sovereign's family, who never emigrated." when madame campan related this circumstance she added: "after the th of march, , some officers of the army of conde presumed to say to certain french marshals that it was a pity they were not more nobly connected. in answer to this, one of them said, 'true nobility, gentlemen, consists in giving proofs of it. the field of honour has witnessed ours; but where are we to look for yours? your swords have rusted in their scabbards. our laurels may well excite envy; we have earned them nobly, and we owe them solely to our valour. you have merely inherited a name. this is the distinction between us." [when one of the princes of the smaller german states was showing marechal lannes, with a contemptuous superiority of manner but ill concealed, the portraits of his ancestors, and covertly alluding to the absence of lannes's, that general turned the tables on him by haughtily remarking, "but i am an ancestor."] napoleon used to observe that if he had had two such field-marshals as suchet in spain he would have not only conquered but kept the peninsula. suchet's sound judgment, his governing yet conciliating spirit, his military tact, and his bravery, had procured him astonishing success. "it is to be regretted," added he, "that a sovereign cannot improvise men of his stamp." on the th of march, , a number of papers were left in the king's closet. napoleon ordered them to be examined, and among them was found the letter written by madame campan to louis xviii., immediately after the first restoration. in this letter she enumerated the contents of the portfolio which louis xvi. had placed under her care. when napoleon read this letter, he said, "let it be sent to the office of foreign affairs; it is an historical document." madame campan thus described a visit from the czar of russia: "a few days after the battle of paris the emperor alexander came to ecouen, and he did me the honour to breakfast with me. after showing him over the establishment i conducted him to the park, the most elevated point of which overlooked the plain of st. denis. 'sire,' said i, 'from this point i saw the battle of paris'--'if,' replied the emperor, 'that battle had lasted two hours longer we should not have had a single cartridge at our disposal. we feared that we had been betrayed; for on arriving so precipitately before paris all our plans were laid, and we did not expect the firm resistance we experienced.' i next conducted the emperor to the chapel, and showed him the seats occupied by 'le connetable' (the constable) of montmorency, and 'la connetable' (the constable's lady), when they went to hear mass. 'barbarians like us,' observed the emperor, 'would say la connetable and le connetable.' "the czar inquired into the most minute particulars respecting the establishment of ecouen, and i felt great pleasure in answering his questions. i recollect having dwelt on several points which appeared to me to be very important, and which were in their spirit hostile to aristocratic principles. for example, i informed his majesty that the daughters of distinguished and wealthy individuals and those of the humble and obscure mingled indiscriminately in the establishment. 'if,' said i, 'i were to observe the least pretension on account of the rank or fortune of parents, i should immediately put an end to it. the most perfect equality is preserved; distinction is awarded only to merit and industry. the pupils are obliged to cut out and make all their own clothes. they are taught to clean and mend lace; and two at a time, they by turns, three times a week, cook and distribute food to the poor of the village. the young girls who have been brought up at ecouen, or in my boarding-school at st. germain, are thoroughly acquainted with everything relating to household business, and they are grateful to me for having made that a part of their education. in my conversations with them i have always taught them that on domestic management depends the preservation or dissipation of their fortunes.' "the post-master of ecouen was in the courtyard at the moment when the emperor, as he stepped into his carriage, told me he would send some sweetmeats for the pupils. i immediately communicated to them the intelligence, which was joyfully received; but the sweetmeats were looked for in vain. when alexander set out for england he changed horses at ecouen, and the post-master said to him: 'sire, the pupils of ecouen are still expecting the sweetmeats which your majesty promised them.' to which the emperor replied that he had directed saken to send them. the cossacks had most likely devoured the sweetmeats, and the poor little girls, who had been so highly flattered by the promise, never tasted them." "a second house was formed at st. denis, on the model of that of ecouen. perhaps madame campan might have hoped for a title to which her long labours gave her a right; perhaps the superintendence of the two houses would have been but the fair recompense of her services; but her fortunate years had passed her fate was now to depend on the most important events. napoleon had accumulated such a mass of power as no one but himself in europe could overturn. france, content with thirty years of victories, in vain asked for peace and repose. the army which had triumphed in the sands of egypt, on the summits of the alps, and in the marshes of holland, was to perish amidst the snows of russia. nations combined against a single man. the territory of france was invaded. the orphans of ecouen, from the windows of the mansion which served as their asylum, saw in the distant plain the fires of the russian bivouacs, and once more wept the deaths of their fathers. paris capitulated. france hailed the return of the descendants of henri iv.; they reascended the throne so long filled by their ancestors, which the wisdom of an enlightened prince established on the empire of the laws. [a lady, connected with the establishment of st. denis, told madame campan that napoleon visited it during the hundred days, and that the pupils were so delighted to see him that they crowded round him, endeavouring to touch his clothes, and evincing the most extravagant joy. the matron endeavoured to silence them; but napoleon said, 'let them alone; let them alone. this may weaken the head, but it strengthens the heart.'"] this moment, which diffused joy amongst the faithful servants of the royal family, and brought them the rewards of their devotion, proved to madame campan a period of bitter vexation. the hatred of her enemies had revived. the suppression of the school at ecouen had deprived her of her position; the most absurd calumnies followed her into her retreat; her attachment to the queen was suspected; she was accused not only of ingratitude but of perfidy. slander has little effect on youth, but in the decline of life its darts are envenomed with a mortal poison. the wounds which madame campan had received were deep. her sister, madame auguie, had destroyed herself; m. rousseau, her brother-in-law, had perished, a victim of the reign of terror. in a dreadful accident had deprived her of her niece, madame de broc, one of the most amiable and interesting beings that ever adorned the earth. madame campan seemed destined to behold those whom she loved go down to the grave before her. beyond the walls of the mansion of ecouen, in the village which surrounds it, madame campan had taken a small house where she loved to pass a few hours in solitary retirement. there, at liberty to abandon herself to the memory of the past, the superintendent of the imperial establishment became, once more, for the moment, the first lady of the chamber to marie antoinette. to the few friends whom she admitted into this retreat she would show, with emotion, a plain muslin gown which the queen had worn, and which was made from a part of tippoo saib's present. a cup, out of which marie antoinette had drunk; a writing-stand, which she had long used, were, in her eyes, of inestimable value; and she has often been discovered sitting, in tears, before the portrait of her royal mistress. after so many troubles madame campan sought a peaceful retreat. paris had become odious to her. she paid a visit to one of her most beloved pupils, mademoiselle crouzet, who had married a physician at mantes, a man of talent, distinguished for his intelligence, frankness, and cordiality. [m. maigne, physician to the infirmaries at mantes. madame campan found in him a friend and comforter, of whose merit and affection she knew the value.] mantes is a cheerful place of residence, and the idea of an abode there pleased her. a few intimate friends formed a pleasant society, and she enjoyed a little tranquillity after so many disturbances. the revisal of her "memoirs," the arrangement of the interesting anecdotes of which her "recollections" were to consist, alone diverted her mind from the one powerful sentiment which attached her to life. she lived only for her son. m. campan deserved the tenderness of, his mother. no sacrifice had been spared for his education. after having pursued that course of study which, under the imperial government, produced men of such distinguished merit, he was waiting till time and circumstances should afford him an opportunity of devoting his services to his country. although the state of his health was far from good, it did not threaten any rapid or premature decay; he was, however, after a few days' illness, suddenly taken from his family. "i never witnessed so heartrending a scene," m. maigne says, "as that which took place when marechal ney's lady, her niece, and madame pannelier, her sister, came to acquaint her with this misfortune.--[the wife of marechal ney was a daughter of madame auguie, and had been an intimate friend of hortense beauharnais.]--when they entered her apartment she was in bed. all three at once uttered a piercing cry. the two ladies threw themselves on their knees, and kissed her hands, which they bedewed with tears. before they could speak to her she read in their faces that she no longer possessed a son. at that instant her large eyes, opening wildly, seemed to wander. her face grew pale, her features changed, her lips lost their colour, she struggled to speak, but uttered only inarticulate sounds, accompanied by piercing cries. her gestures were wild, her reason was suspended. every part of her being was in agony. to this state of anguish and despair no calm succeeded, until her tears began to flow. friendship and the tenderest cares succeeded for a moment in calming her grief, but not in diminishing its power. "this violent crisis had disturbed her whole organisation. a cruel disorder, which required a still more cruel operation, soon manifested itself. the presence of her family, a tour which she made in switzerland, a residence at baden, and, above all, the sight, the tender and charming conversation of a person by whom she was affectionately beloved, occasionally diverted her mind, and in a slight degree relieved her suffering." she underwent a serious operation, performed with extraordinary promptitude and the most complete success. no unfavourable symptoms appeared; madame campan was thought to be restored to her friends; but the disorder was in the blood; it took another course: the chest became affected. "from that moment," says m. maigne, "i could never look on madame campan as living; she herself felt that she belonged no more to this world." "my friend," she said to her physician the day before her death, "i am attached to the simplicity of religion. i hate all that savours of fanaticism." when her codicil was presented for her signature, her hand trembled; "it would be a pity," she said, "to stop when so fairly on the road." madame campan died on the th of march, . the cheerfulness she displayed throughout her malady had nothing affected in it. her character was naturally powerful and elevated. at the approach of death she evinced the soul of a sage, without abandoning for an instant her feminine character. etext editor's bookmarks: ah, madame, we have all been killed in our masters' service! brought me her daughter hortense de beauharnais condescension which renders approbation more offensive difference between brilliant theories and the simplest practice extreme simplicity was the queens first and only real mistake i hate all that savours of fanaticism if ever i establish a republic of women.... no ears that will discover when she (the princess) is out of tune observe the least pretension on account of the rank or fortune on domestic management depends the preservation of their fortune spirit of party can degrade the character of a nation tastes may change the anti-austrian party, discontented and vindictive they say you live very poorly here, moliere true nobility, gentlemen, consists in giving proofs of it we must have obedience, and no reasoning what do young women stand in need of?--mothers! "would be a pity," she said, "to stop when so fairly on the road" your swords have rusted in their scabbards memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe book . madame sent for me yesterday evening, at seven o'clock, to read something to her; the ladies who were intimate with her were at paris, and m. de gontaut ill. "the king," said she, "will stay late at the council this evening; they are occupied with the affairs of the parliament again." she bade me leave off reading, and i was going to quit the room, but she called out, "stop." she rose; a letter was brought in for her, and she took it with an air of impatience and ill-humour. after a considerable time she began to talk openly, which only happened when she was extremely vexed; and, as none of her confidential friends were at hand, she said to me, "this is from my brother. it is what he would not have dared to say to me, so he writes. i had arranged a marriage for him with the daughter of a man of title; he appeared to be well inclined to it, and i, therefore, pledged my word. he now tells me that he has made inquiries; that the parents are people of insupportable hauteur; that the daughter is very badly educated; and that he knows, from authority not to be doubted, that when she heard this marriage discussed, she spoke of the connection with the most supreme contempt; that he is certain of this fact; and that i was still more contemptuously spoken of than himself. in a word, he begs me to break off the treaty. but he has let me go too far; and now he will make these people my irreconcilable enemies. this has been put in his head by some of his flatterers; they do not wish him to change his way of living; and very few of them would be received by his wife." i tried to soften madame, and, though i did not venture to tell her so, i thought her brother right. she persisted in saying these were lies, and, on the following sunday, treated her brother very coldly. he said nothing to me at that time; if he had, he would have embarrassed me greatly. madame atoned for everything by procuring favours, which were the means of facilitating the young lady's marriage with a gentleman of the court. her conduct, two months after marriage, compelled madame to confess that her brother had been perfectly right. i saw my friend, madame du chiron. "why," said she, "is the marquise so violent an enemy to the jesuits? i assure you she is wrong. all powerful as she is, she may find herself the worse for their enmity." i replied that i knew nothing about the matter. "it is, however, unquestionably a fact; and she does not feel that a word more or less might decide her fate."--"how do you mean?" said i. "well, i will explain myself fully," said she. "you know what took place at the time the king was stabbed: an attempt was made to get her out of the castle instantly. the jesuits have no other object than the salvation of their penitents; but they are men, and hatred may, without their being aware of it, influence their minds, and inspire them with a greater degree of severity than circumstances absolutely demand. favour and partiality may, on the other hand, induce the confessor to make great concessions; and the shortest interval may suffice to save a favourite, especially if any decent pretext can be found for prolonging her stay at court." i agreed with her in all she said, but i told her that i dared not touch that string. on reflecting on this conversation afterwards, i was forcibly struck with this fresh proof of the intrigues of the jesuits, which, indeed, i knew well already. i thought that, in spite of what i had replied to madame du chiron, i ought to communicate this to madame de pompadour, for the ease of my conscience; but that i would abstain from making any reflection upon it. "your friend, madame du chiron," said she, "is, i perceive, affiliated to the jesuits, and what she says does not originate with herself. she is commissioned by some reverend father, and i will know by whom." spies were, accordingly, set to watch her movements, and they discovered that one father de saci, and, still more particularly, one father frey, guided this lady's conduct. "what a pity," said madame to me, "that the abbe chauvelin cannot know this." he was the most formidable enemy of the reverend fathers. madame du chiron always looked upon me as a jansenist, because i would not espouse the interests of the good fathers with as much warmth as she did. madame is completely absorbed in the abbe de bernis, whom she thinks capable of anything; she talks of him incessantly. apropos, of this abbe, i must relate an anecdote, which almost makes one believe in conjurors. a year, or fifteen months, before her disgrace, madame de pompadour, being at fontainebleau, sat down to write at a desk, over which hung a portrait of the king. while she was, shutting the desk, after she had finished writing, the picture fell, and struck her violently on the head.. the persons who saw the accident were alarmed, and sent for dr. quesnay. he asked the circumstances of the case, and ordered bleeding and anodynes. just, as she had been bled, madame de brancas entered, and saw us all in confusion and agitation, and madame lying on her chaise-longue. she asked what was the matter, and was told. after having expressed her regret, and having consoled her, she said, "i ask it as a favour of madame, and of the king (who had just come in), that they will instantly send a courier to the abbe de bernis, and that the marquise will have the goodness to write a letter, merely requesting him to inform her what his fortune-tellers told him, and to withhold nothing from the fear of making her uneasy." the thing was, done as she desired, and she then told us that la bontemps had predicted, from the dregs in the, coffee-cup, in which she read everything, that the, head of her best friend was in danger, but that no fatal consequences would ensue. the next day, the abbe wrote word that madame bontemps also said to him, "you came into the world almost black," and that this was the fact. this colour, which lasted for some time, was attributed to a picture which hung at the foot of his, mother's bed, and which she often looked at. it represented a moor bringing to cleopatra a basket of flowers, containing the asp by whose bite she destroyed herself. he said that she also told him, "you have a great deal of money about you, but it does not belong to you;" and that he had actually in his pocket two hundred louis for the duc de la valliere. lastly, he informed us that she said, looking in the cup, "i see one of your friends--the best--a distinguished lady, threatened with an accident;" that he confessed that, in spite of all his philosophy, he turned pale; that she remarked this, looked again into the cup, and continued, "her head will be slightly in danger, but of this no appearance will remain half an hour afterwards." it was impossible to doubt the facts. they appeared so surprising to the king, that he desired some inquiry to be made concerning the fortune-teller. madame, however, protected her from the pursuit of the police. a man, who was quite as astonishing as this fortune-teller, often visited madame de pompadour. this was the comte de st. germain, who wished to have it believed that he had lived several centuries. [st. germain was an adept--a worthy predecessor of cagliostro, who expected to live five hundred years. the count de st. germain pretended to have already lived two thousand, and, according to him, the account was still running. he went so far as to claim the power of transmitting the gift of long life. one day, calling upon his servant to, bear witness to a fact that went pretty far back, the man replied, "i have no recollection of it, sir; you forget that i have only had the honour of serving you for five hundred years." st. germain, like all other charlatans of this sort, assumed a theatrical magnificence, and an air of science calculated to deceive the vulgar. his best instrument of deception was the phantasmagoria; and as, by means of this abuse of the science of optics, he called up shades which were asked for, and almost always recognised, his correspondence with the other world was a thing proved by the concurrent testimony of numerous witnesses. he played the same game in london, venice, and holland, but he constantly regretted paris, where his miracles were never questioned. st. germain passed his latter days at the court of the prince of hesse cassel, and died at plewig, in , in the midst of his enthusiastic disciples, and to their infinite astonishment at his sharing the common destiny.] one day, at her toilet, madame said to him, in my presence, "what was the personal appearance of francis i.? he was a king i should have liked."--"he was, indeed, very captivating," said st. germain; and he proceeded to describe his face and person as one does that of a man one has accurately observed. "it is a pity he was too ardent. i could have given him some good advice, which would have saved him from all his misfortunes; but he would not have followed it; for it seems as if a fatality attended princes, forcing them to shut their ears, those of the mind, at least, to the best advice, and especially in the most critical moments."--"and the constable," said madame, "what do you say of him?"--"i cannot say much good or much harm of him," replied he. "was the court of francis i. very brilliant?"--"very brilliant; but those of his grandsons infinitely surpassed it. in the time of mary stuart and margaret of valois it was a land of enchantment--a temple, sacred to pleasures of every kind; those of the mind were not neglected. the two queens were learned, wrote verses, and spoke with captivating grace and eloquence." madame said, laughing, "you seem to have seen all this."--"i have an excellent memory," said he, "and have read the history of france with great care. i sometimes amuse myself, not by making, but by letting it be believed that i lived in old times."--"you do not tell me your age, however, and you give yourself out for very old. the comtesse de gergy, who was ambassadress to venice, i think, fifty years ago, says she knew you there exactly what you are now."--"it is true, madame, that i have known madame de gergy a long time."--"but, according to what she says, you would be more than a hundred"--"that is not impossible," said he, laughing; "but it is, i allow, still more possible that madame de gergy, for whom i have the greatest respect, may be in her dotage."--"you have given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising. she declares that for a long time she has felt as if she was only four-and-twenty years of age; why don't you give some to the king?"--"ah! madame," said he, with a sort of terror, "i must be mad to think of giving the king an unknown drug." i went into my room to write down this conversation. some days afterwards, the king, madame de pompadour, some lords of the court, and the comte de st. germain, were talking about his secret for causing the spots in diamonds to disappear. the king ordered a diamond of middling size, which had a spot, to be brought. it was weighed; and the king said to the count, "it is valued at two hundred and forty louis; but it would be worth four hundred if it had no spot. will you try to put a hundred and sixty louis into my pocket?" he examined it carefully, and said, "it may be done; and i will bring it you again in a month." at the time appointed, the count brought back the diamond without a spot, and gave it to the king. it was wrapped in a cloth of amianthus, which he took off. the king had it weighed, and found it but very little diminished. the king sent it to his jeweller by m. de gontaut, without telling him anything of what had passed. the jeweller gave three hundred and eighty louis for it. the king, however, sent for it back again, and kept it as a curiosity. he could not overcome his surprise, and said that m. de st. germain must be worth millions, especially if he had also the secret of making large diamonds out of a number of small ones. he neither said that he had, nor that he had not; but he positively asserted that he could make pearls grow, and give them the finest water. the king, paid him great attention, and so did madame de pompadour. it was from her i learnt what i have just related. m. queanay said, talking of the pearls, "they are produced by a disease in the oyster. it is possible to know the cause of it; but, be that as it may, he is not the less a quack, since he pretends to have the elixir vitae, and to have lived several centuries. our master is, however, infatuated by him, and sometimes talks of him as if his descent were illustrious." i have seen him frequently: he appeared to be about fifty; he was neither fat nor thin; he had an acute, intelligent look, dressed very simply, but in good taste; he wore very fine diamonds in his rings, watch, and snuff-box. he came, one day, to visit madame de pompadour, at a time when the court was in full splendour, with knee and shoe-buckles of diamonds so fine and brilliant that madame said she did not believe the king had any equal to them. he went into the antechamber to take them off, and brought them to be examined; they were compared with others in the room, and the duc de gontaut, who was present, said they were worth at least eight thousand louis. he wore, at the same time, a snuff-box of inestimable value, and ruby sleeve-buttons, which were perfectly dazzling. nobody could find out by what means this man became so rich and so remarkable; but the king would not suffer him to be spoken of with ridicule or contempt. he was said to be a bastard son of the king of portugal. i learnt, from m. de marigny, that the relations of the good little marechale (de mirepoix) had been extremely severe upon her, for what they called the baseness of her conduct, with regard to madame de pompadour. they said she held the stones of the cherries which madame ate in her carriage, in her beautiful little hands, and that she sate in the front of the carriage, while madame occupied the whole seat in the inside. the truth was, that, in going to crecy, on an insupportably hot day, they both wished to sit alone, that they might be cooler; and as to the matter of the cherries, the villagers having brought them some, they ate them to refresh themselves, while the horses were changed; and the marechal emptied her pocket-handkerchief, into which they had both thrown the cherry-stones, out of the carriage window. the people who were changing the horses had given their own version of the affair. i had, as you know, a very pretty room at madame's hotel, whither i generally went privately. i had, one day, had visits from two or three paris representatives, who told me news; and madame, having sent for me, i went to her, and found her with m. de gontaut. i could not help instantly saying to her, "you must be much pleased, madame, at the noble action of the marquis de ------." madame replied, drily, "hold your tongue, and listen to what i have to say to you." i returned to my little room, where i found the comtesse d'amblimont, to whom i mentioned madame's reception of me. "i know what is the matter," said she; "it has no relation to you. i will explain it to you. the marquis de -------has told all paris, that, some days ago, going home at night, alone, and on foot, he heard cries in a street called ferou, which is dark, and, in great part, arched over; that he drew his sword, and went down the street, in which he saw, by the light of a lamp, a very handsome woman, to whom some ruffians were offering violence; that he approached, and that the woman cried out, 'save me! save me!' that he rushed upon the wretches, two of whom fought him, sword in hand, whilst a third held the woman, and tried to stop her mouth; that he wounded one in the arm; and that the ruffians, hearing people pass at the end of the street, and fearing they might come to his assistance, fled; that he went up to the lady, who told him that they were not robbers, but villains, one of whom was desperately in love with her; and that the lady knew not how to express her gratitude; that she had begged him not to follow her, after he had conducted her to a fiacre; that she would not tell him her name, but that she insisted on his accepting a little ring, as a token of remembrance; and that she promised to see him again, and to tell him her whole history, if he gave her his address; that he complied with this request of the lady, whom he represented as a charming person, and who, in the overflowing of her gratitude, embraced him several times. this is all very fine, so far," said madame d'amblimont, "but hear the rest. the marquis de exhibited himself everywhere the next day, with a black ribbon bound round his arm, near the wrist, in which part he said he had received a wound. he related his story to everybody, and everybody commented upon it after his own fashion. he went to dine with the dauphin, who spoke to him of his bravery, and of his fair unknown, and told him that he had already complimented the duc de c---- on the affair. i forgot to tell you," continued madame d'amblimont, "that, on the very night of the adventure, he called on madame d'estillac, an old gambler, whose house is open till four in the morning; that everybody there was surprised at the disordered state in which he appeared; that his bagwig had fallen off, one skirt of his coat was cut, and his right hand bleeding. that they instantly bound it up, and gave him some rota wine. four days ago, the duc de c---- supped with the king, and sat near m. de st. florentin. he talked to him of his relation's adventure, and asked him if he had made any inquiries concerning the lady. m. de st. florentin coldly answered, 'no!' and m. de c---- remarked, on asking him some further questions, that he kept his eyes firmed on his plate, looking embarrassed, and answered in monosyllables. he asked him the reason of this, upon which m. de florentin told him that it was extremely distressing to him to see him under such a mistake. 'how can you know that, supposing it to be the fact?' said m. de ------, 'nothing is more easy to prove,' replied m. de st. florentin. 'you may imagine that, as soon as i was informed of the marquis de ------'s adventure, i set on foot inquiries, the result of which was, that, on the night when this affair was said to have taken place, a party of the watch was set in ambuscade in this very street, for the purpose of catching a thief who was coming out of the gaming house; that this party was there four hours, and heard not the slightest noise.' m. de c was greatly incensed at this recital, which m. de st. florentin ought, indeed, to have communicated to the king. he has ordered, or will order, his relation to retire to his province. "after this, you will judge, my dear, whether you were very likely to be graciously received when you went open-mouthed with your compliment to the marquise. this adventure," continued she, "reminded the king of one which occurred about fifteen years ago. the comte d'e----, who was what is called 'enfant d'honneur' to the dauphin, and about fourteen years of age, came into the dauphin's apartments, one evening, with his bag-wig snatched off, and his ruffles torn, and said that, having walked rather late near the piece of water des suisses, he had been attacked by two robbers; that he had refused to give them anything, drawn his sword, and put himself in an attitude of defence; that one of the robbers was armed with a sword, the other with a large stick, from which he had received several blows, but that he had wounded one in the arm, and that, hearing a noise at that moment, they had fled. but unluckily for the little count, it was known that people were on the spot at the precise time he mentioned, and had heard nothing. the count was pardoned, on account of his youth. the dauphin made him confess the truth, and it was looked upon as a childish freak to set people talking about him." the king disliked the king of prussia because he knew that the latter was in the habit of jesting upon his mistress, and the kind of life he led. it was frederick's fault, as i have heard it said, that the king was not his most steadfast ally and friend, as much as sovereigns can be towards each other; but the jestings of frederick had stung him, and made him conclude the treaty of versailles. one day, he entered madame's apartment with a paper in his hand, and said, "the king of prussia is certainly a great man; he loves men of talent, and, like louis xiv., he wishes to make europe ring with his favours towards foreign savans. there is a letter from him, addressed to milord marshal, [george keith, better known under the name of milord marshal, was the eldest son of william keith, earl marshal of scotland. he was an avowed partisan of the stuarts, and did not lay down the arms he had taken up in their cause until it became utterly desperate, and drew upon its defenders useless dangers. when they were driven from their country, he renounced it, and took up his residence successively in france, prussia, spain, and italy. the delicious country and climate of valencia he preferred above any other. milord marshal died in the month of may, . it was he who said to madame geoffrin, speaking of his brother, who was field-marshal in the prussian service, and died on the field of honour, "my brother leaves me the most glorious inheritance" (he had just laid the whole of bohemia under contribution); "his property does not amount to seventy ducats." a eulogium on milord marshal, by d'alembert, is extant. it is the most cruelly mangled of all his works, by linguet] ordering him to acquaint a 'superieur' man of my kingdom (d'alembert) that he has granted him a "pension;" and, looking at the letter, he read the following words: "you must know that there is in paris a man of the greatest merit, whose fortune is not proportionate to his talents and character. i may serve as eyes to the blind goddess, and repair in some measure the injustice, and i beg you to offer on that account. i flatter myself that he will accept this pension because of the pleasure i shall feel in obliging a man who joins beauty of character to the most sublime intellectual talents." the king here stopped, on seeing mm. de ayen and de gontaut enter, and then recommenced reading the letter to them, and added, "it was given me by the minister for foreign affairs, to whom it was confided by milord marshal, for the purpose of obtaining my permission for this sublime genius to accept the favour. but," said the king, "what do you think is the amount?" some said six, eight, ten thousand livres. "you have not guessed," said the king; "it is twelve hundred livres."--"for sublime talents," said the duc d'ayen, "it is not much. but the philosophers will make europe resound with this letter, and the king of prussia will have the pleasure of making a great noise at little expense." the chevalier de courten,--[the chevalier de courten was a swiss, and a man of talent.]--who had been in prussia, came in, and, hearing this story told, said, "i have seen what is much better than that: passing through a village in prussia, i got out at the posthouse, while i was waiting for horses; and the postmaster, who was a captain in the prussian service, showed me several letters in frederick's handwriting, addressed to his uncle, who was a man of rank, promising him to provide for his nephews; the provision he made for this, the eldest of these nephews, who was dreadfully wounded, was the postmastership which he then held." m. de marigny related this story at quesnay's, and added, that the man of genius above mentioned was d'alembert, and that the king had permitted him to accept the pension. he added, that his sister had suggested to the king that he had better give d'alembert a pension of twice the value, and forbid him to take the king of prussia's. this advice he would not take, because he looked upon d'alembert as an infidel. m. de marigny took a copy of the letter, which he lent me. a certain nobleman, at one time, affected to cast tender glances on madame adelaide. she was wholly unconscious of it; but, as there are arguses at court, the king was, of course, told of it, and, indeed, he thought he had perceived it himself. i know that he came into madame de pompadour's room one day, in a great passion, and said, "would you believe that there is a man in my court insolent enough to dare to raise his eyes to one of my daughters?" madame had never seen him so exasperated, and this illustrious nobleman was advised to feign a necessity for visiting his estates. he remained there two months. madame told me, long after, that she thought that there were no tortures to which the king would not have condemned any man who had seduced one of his daughters. madame adelaide, at the time in question, was a charming person, and united infinite grace, and much talent, to a most agreeable face. a courier brought madame de pompadour a letter, on reading which she burst into tears. it contained the intelligence of the battle of rosbach, which m. de soubise sent her, with all the details. i heard her say to the marechal de belle-isle, wiping her eyes, "m. de soubise is inconsolable; he does not try to excuse his conduct, he sees nothing but the disastrous fortune which pursues him."--"m. de soubise must, however, have many things to urge in his own behalf," said m. de belle-isle, "and so i told the king."--"it is very noble in you, marshal, not to suffer an unfortunate man to be overwhelmed; the public are furious against him, and what has he done to deserve it?"--"there is not a more honourable nor a kinder man in the world. i only fulfil my duty in doing justice to the truth, and to a man for whom i have the most profound esteem. the king will explain to you, madame, how m. de soubise was forced to give battle by the prince of sage-hildbourgshausen, whose troops fled first, and carried along the french troops." madame would have embraced the old marshal if she had dared, she was so delighted with him. m. de soubise, having gained a battle, was made marshal of france: madame was enchanted with her friend's success. but, either it was unimportant, or the public were offended at his promotion; nobody talked of it but madame's friends. this unpopularity was concealed from her, and she said to colin, her steward, at her toilet, "are you not delighted at the victory m. de soubise has gained? what does the public say of it? he has taken his revenge well." colin was embarrassed, and knew not what to answer. as she pressed him further, he replied that he had been ill, and had seen nobody for a week. m. de marigny came to see me one day, very much out of humour. i asked him the cause. "i have," said he, "just been intreating my sister not to make m. le normand-de-mezi minister of the marine. i told her that she was heaping coals of fire upon her own head. a favourite ought not to multiply the points of attack upon herself." the doctor entered. "you," said the doctor, "are worth your weight in gold, for the good sense and capacity you have shewn in your office, and for your moderation, but you will never be appreciated as you deserve; your advice is excellent; there will never be a ship taken but madame will be held responsible for it to the public, and you are very wise not to think of being in the ministry yourself." one day, when i was at paris, i went to dine with the doctor, who happened to be there at the same time; there were, contrary to his usual custom, a good many people, and, among others, a handsome young master of the requests, who took a title from some place, the name of which i have forgotten, but who was a son of m. turgot, the 'prevot des marchands'. they talked a great deal about administration, which was not very amusing to me; they then fell upon the subject of the love frenchmen bear to their kings. m. turgot here joined in the conversation, and said, "this is not a blind attachment; it is a deeply rooted sentiment, arising from an indistinct recollection of great benefits. the french nation--i may go farther--europe, and all mankind, owe to a king of france" (i have forgotten his name)--[phillip the long]--"whatever liberty they enjoy. he established communes, and conferred on an immense number of men a civil existence. i am aware that it may be said, with justice, that he served his own interests by granting these franchises; that the cities paid him taxes, and that his design was to use them as instruments of weakening the power of great nobles; but what does that prove, but that this measure was at once useful, politic, and humane?" from kings in general the conversation turned upon louis xv., and m. turgot remarked that his reign would be always celebrated for the advancement of the sciences, the progress of knowledge, and of philosophy. he added that louis xv. was deficient in the quality which louis xiv. possessed to excess; that is to say, in a good opinion of himself; that he was well-informed; that nobody was more perfectly master of the topography of france; that his opinion in the council was always the most judicious; and that it was much to be lamented that he had not more confidence in himself, or that he did not rely upon some minister who enjoyed the confidence of the nation. everybody agreed with him. i begged m. quesnay to write down what young turgot had said, and showed it to madame. she praised this master of the requests greatly, and spoke of him to the king. "it is a good breed," said he. one day, i went out to walk, and saw, on my return, a great many people going and coming, and speaking to each other privately: it was evident that something extraordinary had happened. i asked a person of my acquaintance what was the matter. "alas!" said he, with tears in his eyes, "some assassins, who had formed the project of murdering the king, have inflicted several wounds on a garde-du-corps, who overheard them in a dark corridor; he is carried to the hospital: and as he has described the colour of these men's coats, the police are in quest of them in all directions, and some people, dressed in clothes of that colour, are already arrested." i saw madame with m. de gontaut, and i hastened home. she found her door besieged by a multitude of people, and was alarmed: when she got in, she found the comte de noailles. "what is all this, count?" said she. he said he was come expressly to speak to her, and they retired to her closet together. the conference was not long. i had remained in the drawing-room, with madame's equerry, the chevalier de solent, gourbillon, her valet de chambre, and some strangers. a great many details were related; but, the wounds being little more than scratches, and the garde-du-corps having let fall some contradictions, it was thought that he was an impostor, who had invented all this story to bring himself into favour. before the night was over, this was proved to be the fact, and, i believe, from his own confession. the king came, that evening, to see madame de pompadour; he spoke of this occurrence with great sang froid, and said, "the gentleman who wanted to kill me was a wicked madman; this is a low scoundrel." when he spoke of damiens, which was only while his trial lasted, he never called him anything but that gentleman. i have heard it said that he proposed having him shut up in a dungeon for life; but that the horrible nature of the crime made the judges insist upon his suffering all the tortures inflicted upon like occasions. great numbers, many of them women, had a barbarous curiosity to witness the execution; amongst others, madame de p------, a very beautiful woman, and the wife of a farmer general. she hired two places at a window for twelve louis, and played a game of cards in the room whilst waiting for the execution to begin. on this being told to the king, he covered his eyes with his hands and exclaimed, "fi, la vilaine!" i have been told that she, and others, thought to pay their court in this way, and signalise their attachment to the king's person. two things were related to me by m. duclos at the time of the attempt on the king's life. the first, relative to the comte de sponheim, who was the duc de deux-ponts, and next in succession to the palatinate and electorate of bavaria. he was thought to be a great friend to the king, and had made several long sojourns in france. he came frequently to see madame. m. duclos told us that the duc de deux-ponts, having learned, at deux-ponts, the attempt on the king's life, immediately set out in a carriage for versailles: "but remark," said he, "the spirit of 'courtisanerie' of a prince, who may be elector of bavaria and the palatinate tomorrow. this was not enough. when he arrived within ten leagues of paris, he put on an enormous pair of jack-boots, mounted a post-horse, and arrived in the court of the palace cracking his whip. if this had been real impatience, and not charlatanism, he would have taken horse twenty leagues from paris."--"i don't agree with you," said a gentleman whom i did not know; "impatience sometimes seizes one towards the end of an undertaking, and one employs the readiest means then in one's power. besides, the duc de deux-ponts might wish, by showing himself thus on horseback, to serve the king, to whom he is attached, by proving to frenchmen how greatly he is beloved and honoured in other countries." duclos resumed: "well," said he, "do you know the story of m. de c-----? the first day the king saw company, after the attempt of damiens, m. de c----- pushed so vigorously through the crowd that he was one of the first to come into the king's presence, but he had on so shabby a black coat that it caught the king's attention, who burst out laughing, and said, 'look at c-----, he has had the skirt of his coat torn off.' m. de c----- looked as if he was only then first conscious of his loss, and said, 'sire, there is such a multitude hurrying to see your majesty, that i was obliged to fight my way through them, and, in the effort, my coat has been torn.'--'fortunately it was not worth much,' said the marquis de souvre, 'and you could not have chosen a worse one to sacrifice on the occasion.'" madame de pompadour had been very judiciously advised to get her husband, m. le normand, sent to constantinople, as ambassador. this would have a little diminished the scandal caused by seeing madame de pompadour, with the title of marquise, at court, and her husband farmer general at paris. but he was so attached to a paris life, and to his opera habits, that he could not be prevailed upon to go. madame employed a certain m. d'arboulin, with whom she had been acquainted before she was at court, to negotiate this affair. he applied to a mademoiselle rem, who had been an opera-dancer, and who was m. le normand's mistress. she made him very fine promises; but she was like him, and preferred a paris life. she would do nothing in it. at the time that plays were acted in the little apartments, i obtained a lieutenancy for one of my relations, by a singular means, which proves the value the greatest people set upon the slightest access to the court. madame did not like to ask anything of m. d'argenson, and, being pressed by my family, who could not imagine that, situated as i was, it could be difficult for me to obtain a command for a good soldier, i determined to go and ask the comte d'argenson. i made my request, and presented my memorial. he received me coldly, and gave me vague answers. i went out, and the marquis de v-----, who was in his closet, followed me. "you wish to obtain a command," said he; "there is one vacant, which is promised me for one of my proteges; but if you will do me a favour in return, or obtain one for me, i will give it to you. i want to be a police officer, and you have it in your power to get me a place." i told him i did not understand the purport of his jest. "i will tell you," said he; "tartuffe is going to be acted in the cabinets, and there is the part of a police officer, which only consists of a few lines. prevail upon madame de pompadour to assign me that part, and the command is yours." i promised nothing, but i related the history to madame, who said she would arrange it for me. the thing was done, and i obtained the command, and the marquis de v----- thanked madame as if she had made him a duke. the king was often annoyed by the parliaments, and said a very remarkable thing concerning them, which m. de gontaut repeated to doctor quesnay in my presence. "yesterday," said he, "the king walked up and down the room with an anxious air. madame de pompadour asked him if he was uneasy about his health, as he had been, for some time, rather unwell. 'no,' replied he; 'but i am greatly annoyed by all these remonstrances.'--'what can come of them,' said she, 'that need seriously disquiet your majesty? are you not master of the parliaments, as well as of all the rest of the kingdom?'--'that is true,' said the king; 'but, if it had not been for these counsellors and presidents, i should never have been stabbed by that gentleman' (he always called damiens so). 'ah! sire,' cried madame de pompadour. 'read the trial,' said he. 'it was the language of those gentlemen he names which turned his head.'--'but,' said madame, 'i have often thought that, if the archbishop--[m. de beaumont]--could be sent to rome--'--'find anybody who will accomplish that business, and i will give him whatever he pleases.'" quesnay said the king was right in all he had uttered. the archbishop was exiled shortly after, and the king was seriously afflicted at being driven to take such a step. "what a pity," he often said, "that so excellent a man should be so obstinate."--"and so shallow," said somebody, one day. "hold your tongue," replied the king, somewhat sternly. the archbishop was very charitable, and liberal to excess, but he often granted pensions without discernment. [the following is a specimen of the advantages taken of his natural kindness. madame la caille, who acted the duennas at the opera comique, was recommended to him as the mother of a family, who deserved his protection, the worthy prelate asked what he could do for her. monseigneur," said the actress, "two words from your hand to the duc de richelieu would induce him to grant me a demi-part." m. de beaumont, who was very little acquainted with the language of the theatre, thought that a demi-part meant a more liberal portion of the marshal's alms, and the note was written in the most pressing manner. the marshal answered, that he thanked the archbishop for the interest he took in the theatre italien, and in madame la caille, who was a very useful person at that theatre; that, nevertheless, she had a bad voice; but that the recommendation of the archbishop was to be preferred to the greatest talents, and that the demi-part was granted."] he granted one of an hundred louis to a pretty woman, who was very poor, and who assumed an illustrious name, to which she had no right. the fear lest she should be plunged into vice led him to bestow such excessive bounty upon her; and the woman was an admirable dissembler. she went to the archbishop's, covered with a great hood, and, when she left him, she amused herself with a variety of lovers. great people have the bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before their servants. m. de gontaut once said these words, covertly, as he thought, to the duc de ------, "that measures had been taken which would, probably, have the effect of determining the archbishop to go to rome, with a cardinal's hat; and that, if he desired it, he was to have a coadjutor." a very plausible pretext had been found for making this proposition, and for rendering it flattering to the archbishop, and agreeable to his sentiments. the affair had been very adroitly begun, and success appeared certain. the king had the air, towards the archbishop, of entire unconsciousness of what was going on. the negotiator acted as if he were only following the suggestions of his own mind, for the general good. he was a friend of the archbishop, and was very sure of a liberal reward. a valet of the duc de gontaut, a very handsome young fellow, had perfectly caught the sense of what was spoken in a mysterious manner. he was one of the lovers of the lady of the hundred louis a year, and had heard her talk of the archbishop, whose relation she pretended to be. he thought he should secure her good graces by informing her that great efforts were being made to induce her patron to reside at rome, with a view to get him away from paris. the lady instantly told the archbishop, as she was afraid of losing her pension if he went. the information squared so well with the negotiation then on foot, that the archbishop had no doubt of its truth. he cooled, by degrees, in his conversations with the negotiator, whom he regarded as a traitor, and ended by breaking with him. these details were not known till long afterwards. the lover of the lady having been sent to the bicetre, some letters were found among his papers, which gave a scent of the affair, and he was made to confess the rest. in order not to compromise the duc de gontaut, the king was told that the valet had come to a knowledge of the business from a letter which he had found in his master's clothes. the king took his revenge by humiliating the archbishop, which he was enabled to do by means of the information he had obtained concerning the conduct of the lady, his protege. she was found guilty of swindling, in concert with her beloved valet; but, before her punishment was inflicted, the lieutenant of police was ordered to lay before monseigneur a full account of the conduct of his relation and pensioner. the archbishop had nothing to object to in the proofs which were submitted to him; he said, with perfect calmness, that she was not his relation; and, raising his hands to heaven, "she is an unhappy wretch," said he, "who has robbed me of the money which was destined for the poor. but god knows that, in giving her so large a pension, i did not act lightly. i had, at that time, before my eyes the example of a young woman who once asked me to grant her seventy louis a year, promising me that she would always live very virtuously, as she had hitherto done. i refused her, and she said, on leaving me, 'i must turn to the left, monseigneur, since the way on the right is closed against me: the unhappy creature has kept her word but too well. she found means of establishing a faro-table at her house, which is tolerated; and she joins to the most profligate conduct in her own person the infamous trade of a corrupter of youth; her house is the abode of every vice. think, sir, after that, whether it was not an act of prudence, on my part, to grant the woman in question a pension, suitable to the rank in which i thought her born, to prevent her abusing the gifts of youth, beauty, and talents, which she possessed, to her own perdition, and the destruction of others." the lieutenant of police told the king that he was touched with the candour and the noble simplicity of the prelate. "i never doubted his virtues," replied the king, "but i wish he would be quiet." this same archbishop gave a pension of fifty louis a year to the greatest scoundrel in paris. he is a poet, who writes abominable verses; this pension is granted on condition that his poems are never printed. i learned this fact from m. de marigny, to whom he recited some of his horrible verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with some people of quality. he chinked the money in his pocket. "this is my good archbishop's," said he, laughing; "i keep my word with him: my poem will not be printed during my life, but i read it. what would the good prelate say if he knew that i shared my last quarter's allowance with a charming little opera-dancer? 'it is the archbishop, then, who keeps me,' said she to me; 'oh, la! how droll that is!'" the king heard this, and was much scandalised at it. "how difficult it is to do good!" said he. the king came into madame de pompadour's room, one day, as she was finishing dressing. "i have just had a strange adventure," said he: "would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom into my bedroom, i met a gentleman face to face?"--"my god! sire," cried madame, terrified. "it was nothing," replied he; "but i confess i was greatly surprised: the man appeared speechless with consternation. 'what do you do here?' said i, civilly. he threw himself on his knees, saying, 'pardon me, sire; and, above all, have me searched: he instantly emptied his pockets himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and terror: at last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend of beccari, whom he came to visit; that he had mistaken the staircase, and, finding all the doors open, he had wandered into the room in which i found him, and which he would have instantly left: i rang; guimard came, and was astonished enough at finding me tete-a-tete with a man in his shirt. he begged guimard to go with him into another room, and to search his whole person. after this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat. guimard said to me, 'he is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth; this may, besides, be easily ascertained.' another of the servants of the palace came in, and happened to know him. 'i will answer for this good man,' said, he, 'who, moreover, makes the best 'boeuf a carlate' in the world.' as i saw the man was so agitated that he could not stand steady, i took fifty louis out of my bureau, and said, here, sir, are fifty louis, to quiet your alarms: he went out, after throwing himself at my feet." madame exclaimed on the impropriety of having the king's bedroom thus accessible to everybody. he talked with great calmness of this strange apparition, but it was evident that he controlled himself, and that he had, in fact, been much frightened, as, indeed, he had reason to be. madame highly approved of the gift; and she was the more right in applauding it, as it was by no means in the king's usual manner. m. de marigny said, when i told him of this adventure, that he would have wagered a thousand louis against the king's making a present of fifty, if anybody but i had told him of the circumstance. "it is a singular fact," continued he, "that all of the race of valois have been liberal to excess; this is not precisely the case with the bourbons, who are rather reproached with avarice. henri iv. was said to be avaricious. he gave to his mistresses, because he could refuse them nothing; but he played with the eagerness of a man whose whole fortune depends on the game. louis xiv. gave through ostentation. it is most astonishing," added he, "to reflect on what might have happened. the king might actually have been assassinated in his chamber, without anybody knowing anything of the matter and without a possibility of discovering the murderer." for more than a fortnight madame could not get over this incident. about that time she had a quarrel with her brother, and both were in the right. proposals were made to him to marry the daughter of one of the greatest noblemen of the court, and the king consented to create him a duke, and even to make the title hereditary. madame was right in wishing to aggrandise her brother, but he declared that he valued his liberty above all things, and that he would not sacrifice it except for a person he really loved. he was a true epicurean philosopher, and a man of great capacity, according to the report of those who knew him well, and judged him impartially. it was entirely at his option to have had the reversion of m. de st. florentin's place, and the place of minister of marine, when m. de machault retired; he said to his sister, at the time, "i spare you many vexations, by depriving you of a slight satisfaction. the people would be unjust to me, however well i might fulfil the duties of my office. as to m. de st. florentin's place, he may live five-and-twenty years, so that i should not be the better for it. kings' mistresses are hated enough on their own account; they need not also draw upon, themselves the hatred which is directed against ministers." m. quesnay repeated this conversation to me. the king had another mistress, who gave madame de pompadour some uneasiness. she was a woman of quality, and the wife of one of the most assiduous courtiers. a man in immediate attendance on the king's person, and who had the care of his clothes, came to me one day, and told me that, as he was very much attached to madame, because she was good and useful to the king, he wished to inform me that, a letter having fallen out of the pocket of a coat which his majesty had taken off, he had had the curiosity to read it, and found it to be from the comtesse de ----- who had already yielded to the king's desires. in this letter, she required the king to give her fifty thousand crowns in money, a regiment for one of her relations, and a bishopric for another, and to dismiss madame in the space of fifteen days, etc. i acquainted madame with what this man told me, and she acted with singular greatness of mind. she said to me, "i ought to inform the king of this breach of trust of his servant, who may, by the same means, come to the knowledge of, and make a bad use of, important secrets; but i feel a repugnance to ruin the man: however, i cannot permit him to remain near the king's person, and here is what i shall do: tell him that there is a place of ten thousand francs a year vacant in one of the provinces; let him solicit the minister of finance for it, and it shall be granted to him; but, if he should ever disclose through what interest he has obtained it, the king shall be made acquainted with his conduct. by this means, i think i shall have done all that my attachment and duty prescribe. i rid the king of a faithless domestic, without ruining the individual." i did as madame ordered me: her delicacy and address inspired me with admiration. she was not alarmed on account of the lady, seeing what her pretentions were. "she drives too quick," remarked madame, "and will certainly be overturned on the road." the lady died. "see what the court is; all is corruption there, from the highest to the lowest," said i to madame, one day, when she was speaking to me of some facts, that had come to my knowledge. "i could tell you many others," replied madame; "but the little chamber, where you often remain, must furnish you with a sufficient number." this was a little nook, from, whence i could hear a great part of what passed in madame's apartment. the lieutenant of police sometimes came secretly to this apartment, and waited there. three or four persons, of high consideration, also found their way in, in a mysterious, manner, and several devotees, who were, in their hearts, enemies of madame de pompadour. but these men had not petty objects in view: one: required the government of a province; another, a seat in the council; a third, a captaincy of the, guards; and this man would have obtained it if the marechale de mirepoix had not requested it for her brother, the prince de beauvan. the chevalier du muy was not among these apostates; not even the promise of being high constable would have tempted him to make up to madame, still less to betray his master, the dauphin. this prince was, to the last degree, weary of the station he held. sometimes, when teased to death by ambitious people, who pretended to be catos, or wonderfully devout, he took part against a minister against whom he was prepossessed; then relapsed into his accustomed state of inactivity and ennui. the king used to say, "my son is lazy; his temper is polonese--hasty and changeable; he has no tastes; he cares nothing for hunting, for women, or for good living; perhaps he imagines that if he were in my place he would be happy; at first, he would make great changes, create everything anew, as it were. in a short time he would be as tired of the rank of king as he now is of his own; he is only fit to live 'en philosophe', with clever people about him." the king added, "he loves what is right; he is truly virtuous, and does not want under standing." m. de st. germain said, one day, to the king, "to think well of mankind, one must be neither a confessor, nor a minister, nor a lieutenant of police."--"nor a king," said his majesty. "ah! sire," replied he, "you remember the fog we had a few days ago, when we could not see four steps before us. kings are commonly surrounded by still thicker fogs, collected around them by men of intriguing character, and faithless ministers--all, of every class, unite in endeavouring to make things appear to kings in any, light but the true one." i heard this from the mouth of the famous comte de st. germain, as i was attending upon madame, who was ill in bed. the king was there; and the count, who was a welcome visitor, had been admitted. there were also present, m. de gontaut, madame de brancas, and the abbe de bernis. i remember that the very same day, after the count was gone out, the king talked in a style which gave madame great pain. speaking of the king of prussia, he said, "that is a madman, who will risk all to gain all, and may, perhaps, win the game, though he has neither religion, morals, nor principles. he wants to make a noise in the world, and he will succeed. julian, the apostate, did the same."--"i never saw the king so animated before," observed madame, when he was gone out; "and really the comparison with julian, the apostate, is not amiss, considering the irreligion of the king of prussia. if he gets out of his perplexities, surrounded as he is by his enemies, he will be one of the greatest men in history." m. de bernis remarked, "madame is correct in her judgment, for she has no reason to pronounce his praises; nor have i, though i agree with what she says." madame de pompadour never enjoyed so much influence as at the time when m. de choiseul became one of the ministry. from the time of the abbe de bernis she had afforded him her constant support, and he had been employed in foreign affairs, of which he was said to know but little. madame made the treaty of sienna, though the first idea of it was certainly furnished her by the abbe. i have been informed by several persons that the king often talked to madame upon this subject; for my own part, i never heard any conversation relative to it, except the high praises bestowed by her on the empress and the prince de kaunitz, whom she had known a good deal of. she said that he had a clear head, the head of a statesman. one day, when she was talking in this strain, some one tried to cast ridicule upon the prince on account of the style in which he wore his hair, and the four valets de chambre, who made the hair-powder fly in all directions, while kaunitz ran about that he might only catch the superfine part of it. "aye," said madame, "just as alcibiades cut off his dog's tail in order to give the athenians something to talk about, and to turn their attention from those things he wished to conceal." never was the public mind so inflamed against madame de pompadour as when news arrived of the battle of rosbach. every day she received anonymous letters, full of the grossest abuse; atrocious verses, threats of poison and assassination. she continued long a prey to the most acute sorrow, and could get no sleep but from opiates. all this discontent was excited by her protecting the prince of soubise; and the lieutenant of police had great difficulty in allaying the ferment of the people. the king affirmed that it was not his fault. m. du verney was the confidant of madame in everything relating to war; a subject which he well understood, though not a military man by, profession. the old marechal de noailles called him, in derision, the general of the flour, but marechal saxe, one day, told madame that du verney knew more of military matters than the old marshal. du verney once paid a visit to madame de pompadour, and found her in company with the king, the minister of war, and two marshals; he submitted to them the plan of a campaign, which was generally applauded. it was through his influence that m. de richelieu was appointed to the command of the army, instead of the marechal d'estrdes. he came to quesnay two days after, when i was with him. the doctor began talking about the art of war, and i remember he said, "military men make a great mystery of their art; but what is the reason that young princes have always the most brilliant success? why, because they are active and daring. when sovereigns command their troops in person what exploits they perform! clearly, because they are at liberty to run all risks." these observations made a lasting impression on my mind. the first physician came, one day, to see madame he was talking of madmen and madness. the king was present, and everything relating to disease of any kind interested him. the first physician said that he could distinguish the symptoms of approaching madness six months beforehand. "are there any persons about the court likely to become mad?" said the king.--"i know one who will be imbecile in less than three months," replied he. the king pressed him to tell the name. he excused himself for some time. at last he said, "it is m. de sechelles, the controller-general."--"you have a spite against him," said madame, "because he would not grant what you asked"--"that is true," said he, "but though that might possibly incline me to tell a disagreeable truth, it would not make me invent one. he is losing his intellects from debility. he affects gallantry at his age, and i perceive the connection in his ideas is becoming feeble and irregular."--the king laughed; but three months afterwards he came to madame, saying, "sechelles gives evident proofs of dotage in the council. we must appoint a successor to him." madame de pompadour told me of this on the way to choisy. some time afterwards, the first physician came to see madame, and spoke to her in private. "you are attached to m. berryer, madame," said he, "and i am sorry to have to warn you that he will be attacked by madness, or by catalepsy, before long. i saw him this morning at chapel, sitting on one of those very low little chairs, which are only, meant to kneel upon. his knees touched his chin. i went to his house after mass; his eyes were wild, and when his secretary spoke to him, he said, 'hold your tongue, pen. a pen's business is to write, and not to speak.'" madame, who liked the keeper of the seals, was very much concerned, and begged the first physician not to mention what he had perceived. four days after this, m. berryer was seized with catalepsy, after having talked incoherently. this is a disease which i did not know even by name, and got it written down for me. the patient remains in precisely the same position in which the fit seizes him; one leg or arm elevated, the eyes wide open, or just as it may happen. this latter affair was known to all the court at the death of the keeper of the seals. when the marechal de belle-isle's son was killed in battle, madame persuaded the king to pay his father a visit. he was rather reluctant, and madame said to him, with an air half angry, half playful: --------"barbare! don't l'orgueil croit le sang d'un sujet trop pays d'un coup d'oeil." the king laughed, and said, "whose fine verses are those?"--"voltaire's," said madame ------. "as barbarous as i am, i gave him the place of gentleman in ordinary, and a pension," said the king. the king went in state to call on the marshal, followed by all the court; and it certainly appeared that this solemn visit consoled the marshal for the loss of his son, the sole heir to his name. when the marshal died, he was carried to his house on a common hand-barrow, covered with a shabby cloth. i met the body. the bearers were laughing and singing. i thought it was some servant, and asked who it was. how great was my surprise at learning that these were the remains of a man abounding in honours and in riches. such is the court; the dead are always in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon. the king said, "m. fouquet is dead, i hear."--"he was no longer fouquet," replied the duc d'ayen; "your majesty had permitted him to change that name, under which, however, he acquired all his reputation." the king shrugged his shoulders. his majesty had, in fact, granted him letters patent, permitting him not to sign fouquet during his ministry. i heard this on the occasion in question. m. de choiseul had the war department at his death. he was every day more and more in favour. madame treated him with greater distinction than any previous minister, and his manners towards her were the most agreeable it is possible to conceive, at once respectful and gallant. he never passed a day without seeing her. m. de marigny could not endure m. de choiseul, but he never spoke of him, except to his intimate friends. calling, one day, at quesnay's, i found him there. they were talking of m. de choiseul. "he is a mere 'petit maitre'," said the doctor, "and, if he were handsome just fit to be one of henri the third's favourites." the marquis de mirabeau and m. de la riviere came in. "this kingdom," said mirabeau, "is in a deplorable state. there is neither national energy, nor the only substitute for it--money."--"it can only be regenerated," said la riviere, "by a conquest, like that of china, or by some great internal convulsion; but woe to those who live to see that! the french people do not do things by halves." these words made me tremble, and i hastened out of the room. m. de marigny did the same, though without appearing at all affected by what had been said. "you heard de la riviere," said he,--"but don't be alarmed, the conversations that pass at the doctor's are never repeated; these are honourable men, though rather chimerical. they know not where to stop. i think, however, they are in the right way; only, unfortunately, they go too far." i wrote this down immediately. the comte de st. germain came to see madame de pompadour, who was ill, and lay on the sofa. he shewed her a little box, containing topazes, rubies, and emeralds. he appeared to have enough to furnish a treasury. madame sent for me to see all these beautiful things. i looked at them with an air of the utmost astonishment, but i made signs to madame that i thought them all false. the count felt for something in his pocketbook, about twice as large as a spectacle-case, and, at length, drew out two or three little paper packets, which he unfolded, and exhibited a superb ruby. he threw on the table, with a contemptuous air, a little cross of green and white stones. i looked at it and said, "that is not to be despised." i put it on, and admired it greatly. the count begged me to accept it. i refused--he urged me to take it. madame then refused it for me. at length, he pressed it upon me so warmly that madame, seeing that it could not be worth above forty louis, made me a sign to accept it. i took the cross, much pleased at the count's politeness; and, some days after, madame presented him with an enamelled box, upon which was the portrait of some grecian sage (whose name i don't recollect), to whom she compared him. i skewed the cross to a jeweller, who valued it at sixty-five louis. the count offered to bring madame some enamel portraits, by petitot, to look at, and she told him to bring them after dinner, while the king was hunting. he shewed his portraits, after which madame said to him, "i have heard a great deal of a charming story you told two days ago, at supper, at m. le premier's, of an occurrence you witnessed fifty or sixty years ago." he smiled and said, "it is rather long."--"so much the better," said she, with an air of delight. madame de gontaut and the ladies came in, and the door was shut; madame made a sign to me to sit down behind the screen. the count made many apologies for the ennui which his story would, perhaps, occasion. he said, "sometimes one can tell a story pretty well; at other times it is quite a different thing." "at the beginning of this century, the marquis de st. gilles was ambassador from spain to the hague. in his youth he had been particularly intimate with the count of moncade, a grandee of spain, and one of the richest nobles of that country. some months after the marquis's arrival at the hague, he received a letter from the count, entreating him, in the name of their former friendship, to render him the greatest possible service. 'you know,' said he, 'my dear marquis, the mortification i felt that the name of moncade was likely to expire with me. at length, it pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and to grant me a son: he gave early promise of dispositions worthy of his birth, but he, some time since, formed an unfortunate and disgraceful attachment to the most celebrated actress of the company of toledo. i shut my eyes to this imprudence on the part of a young man whose conduct had, till then, caused me unmingled satisfaction. but, having learnt that he was so blinded by passion as to intend to marry this girl, and that he had even bound himself by a written promise to that effect, i solicited the king to have her placed in confinement. my son, having got information of the steps i had taken, defeated my intentions by escaping with the object of his passion. for more than six months i have vainly endeavoured to discover where he has concealed himself, but i have now some reason to think he is at the hague. the count earnestly conjured the marquis to make the most rigid search, in order to discover his son's retreat, and to endeavour to prevail upon him to return to his home. 'it is an act of justice,' continued he, 'to provide for the, girl, if she consents to give up the written promise of marriage which she has received, and i leave it to your discretion to do what is right for her, as well as to determine the sum necessary to bring my son to madrid in a manner suitable to his condition. i know not,' concluded he, 'whether you are a father; if you are, you will be able to sympathise in my anxieties.' the count subjoined to this letter an exact description of his son, and the young woman by whom he was accompanied. "on the receipt of this letter, the marquis lost not a moment in sending to all the inns in amsterdam, rotterdam, and the hague, but in vain--he could find no trace of them. he began to despair of success, when the idea struck him that a young french page of his, remarkable for his quickness and intelligence, might be employed with advantage. he promised to reward him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the young woman, who was the cause of so much anxiety, and gave him the description of her person. the page visited all the public places for many days, without success; at length, one evening, at the play, he saw a young man and woman, in a box, who attracted his attention. when he saw that they, perceived he was looking at them, and withdrew to the back of the box to avoid his observation, he felt confident that they were the objects of his search. he did not take his eyes from the bog, and watched every movement in it. the instant the performance ended, he was in the passage leading from the boxes to the door, and he remarked that the young man, who, doubtless, observed the dress he wore, tried to conceal himself, as he passed him, by putting his handkerchief before his face. he followed him, at a distance, to the inn called the vicomte de turenne, which he saw him and the woman enter; and, being now certain of success, he ran to inform the ambassador. the marquis de st. gilles immediately repaired to the inn, wrapped in a cloak, and followed by his page and two servants. he desired the landlord to show him to the room of a young man and woman, who had lodged for some time in his house. the landlord, for some time, refused to do so, unless the marquis would give their name. the page told him to take notice that he was speaking to the spanish ambassador, who had strong reasons for wishing to see the persons in question. the innkeeper said they wished not to be known, and that they had absolutely forbidden him to admit anybody into their apartment who did not ask for them by name; but that, since the ambassador desired it, he would show him their room. he then conducted them up to a dirty, miserable garret. he knocked at the door, and waited for some time; he then knocked again pretty, loudly, upon which the door was half-opened. at the sight of the ambassador and his suite, the person who opened it immediately closed it again, exclaiming that they, had made a mistake. the ambassador pushed hard against him, forced his way, in, made a sign to his people to wait outside, and remained in the room. he saw before him a very handsome young man, whose appearance perfectly, corresponded with the description, and a young woman, of great beauty, and remarkably fine person, whose countenance, form, colour of the hair, etc., were also precisely those described by the count of moncade. the young man spoke first. he complained of the violence used in breaking into the apartment of a stranger, living in a free country, and under the protection of its laws. the ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, 'it is useless to feign, my dear count; i know you, and i do not come here--to give pain to you or to this lady, whose appearance interests me extremely.' the young man replied that he was totally mistaken; that he was not a count, but the son of a merchant of cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and, that they were travelling for pleasure. the ambassador, casting his eyes round the miserably furnished room, which contained but one bed, and some packages of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, 'is this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title which is warranted by my tender regard for your father), is this a fit residence for the son of the count of moncade?' the young man still protested against the use of any such language, as addressed to him. at length, overcome by the entreaties of the ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that he was the son of the count of moncade, but declared that nothing should induce him to return to his father, if he must abandon a woman he adored. the young woman burst into tears, and threw herself at the feet of the ambassador, telling him that she would not be the cause of the ruin of the young count; and that generosity, or rather, love, would enable her to disregard her own happiness, and, for his sake, to separate herself from him. the ambassador admired her noble disinterestedness. the young man, on the contrary, received her declaration with the most desperate grief. he reproached his mistress, and declared that he would never abandon so estimable a creature, nor suffer the sublime generosity of her heart to be turned against herself. the ambassador told him that the count of moncade was far from wishing to render her miserable, and that he was commissioned to provide her with a sum sufficient to enable her to return into spain, or to live where she liked. her noble sentiments, and genuine tenderness, he said, inspired him with the greatest interest for her, and would induce him to go to the utmost limits of his powers, in the sum he was to give her; that he, therefore, promised her ten thousand florins, that is to say, about twelve hundred louis, which would be given her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage she had received, and the count of moncade took up his abode in the ambassador's house, and promised to return to spain. the young woman seemed perfectly indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly absorbed in her lover, and in the grief of leaving him. she seemed insensible to everything but the cruel sacrifice which her reason, and her love itself, demanded. at length, drawing from a little portfolio the promise of marriage, signed by the count, 'i know his heart too well,' said she, 'to need it.' then she kissed it again and again, with a sort of transport, and delivered it to the ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of soul he witnessed. he promised her that he would never cease to take the liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the count of his father's forgiveness. 'he will receive with open arms,' said he, 'the prodigal son, returning to the bosom of his distressed family; the heart of a father is an exhaustless mine of tenderness. how great will be the felicity of my friend on the receipt of these tidings, after his long anxiety and affliction; how happy do i esteem myself, at being the instrument of that felicity?' such was, in part, the language of the ambassador, which appeared to produce a strong impression on the young man. but, fearing lest, during the night, love should regain all his power, and should triumph over the generous resolution of the lady, the marquis pressed the young count to accompany him to his hotel. the tears, the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel separation, cannot be described; they deeply touched the heart of the ambassador, who promised to watch over the young lady. the count's little baggage was not difficult to remove, and, that very evening, he was installed in the finest apartment of the ambassador's house. the marquis was overjoyed at having restored to the illustrious house of moncade the heir of its greatness, and of its magnificent domains. on the following morning, as soon as the young count was up, he found tailors, dealers in cloth, lace, stuffs, etc., out of which he had only to choose. two valets de chambre, and three laquais, chosen by the ambassador for their intelligence and good conduct, were in waiting in his antechamber, and presented themselves, to receive his orders. the ambassador shewed the young count the letter he had just written to his father, in which he congratulated him on possessing a son whose noble sentiments and striking qualities were worthy of his illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return. the young lady was not forgotten; he confessed that to her generosity he was partly indebted for the submission of her lover, and expressed his conviction that the count would not disapprove the gift he had made her, of ten thousand florins. that sum was remitted, on the same day, to this noble and interesting girl, who left the hague without delay. the preparations for the count's journey were made; a splendid wardrobe and an excellent carriage were embarked at rotterdam, in a ship bound for france, on board which a passage was secured for the count, who was to proceed from that country to spain. a considerable sum of money, and letters of credit on paris, were given him at his departure; and the parting between the ambassador and the young count was most touching. the marquis de st. gilles awaited with impatience the count's answer, and enjoyed his friend's delight by anticipation. at the expiration of four months, he received this long-expected letter. it would be utterly impossible to describe his surprise on reading the following words, 'heaven, my dear marquis, never granted me the happiness of becoming a father, and, in the midst of abundant wealth and honours, the grief of having no heirs, and seeing an illustrious race end in my person, has shed the greatest bitterness over my whole existence. i see, with extreme regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young adventurer, who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some means, obtained, of our old friendship. but your excellency must not be the sufferer. the count of moncade is, most assuredly, the person whom you wished to serve; he is bound to repay what your generous friendship hastened to advance, in order to procure him a happiness which he would have felt most deeply. i hope, therefore, marquis, that your excellency will have no hesitation in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of three thousand louis of france, of the disbursal of which you sent me an account.'" the manner in which the comte de st. germain spoke, in the characters of the young adventurer, his mistress, and the ambassador, made his audience weep and laugh by turns. the story is true in every particular, and the adventurer surpasses gusman d'alfarache in address, according to the report of some persons present. madame de pompadour thought of having a play written, founded on this story; and the count sent it to her in writing, from which i transcribed it. m. duclos came to the doctor's, and harangued with his usual warmth. i heard him saying to two or three persons, "people are unjust to great men, ministers and princes; nothing, for instance, is more common than to undervalue their intellect. i astonished one of these little gentlemen of the corps of the infallibles, by telling him that i could prove that there had been more men of ability in the house of bourbon, for the last hundred years, than in any other family."--"you prove that?" said somebody, sneeringly. "yes," said duclos; "and i will tell you how. the great conde, you will allow, was no fool; and the duchesse de longueville is cited as one of the wittiest women that ever lived. the regent was a man who had few equals, in every kind of talent and acquirement. the prince de conti, who was elected king of poland, was celebrated for his intelligence, and, in poetry, was the successful rival of la fare and st. aulaire. the duke of burgundy was learned and enlightened. his duchess, the daughter of louis xiv., was remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and couplets. the duc du maine is generally spoken of only for his weakness, but nobody had a more agreeable wit. his wife was mad, but she had an extensive acquaintance with letters, good taste in poetry, and a brilliant and inexhaustible imagination. here are instances enough, i think," said he; "and, as i am no flatterer, and hate to appear one, i will not speak of the living." his hearers were astonished at this enumeration, and all of them agreed in the truth of what he had said. he added, "don't we daily hear of silly d'argenson, [rene louis d'argenson, who was minister for foreign affairs. he was the author of 'considerations sur le gouvernement', and of several other works, from which succeeding political writers have drawn, and still draw ideas, which they give to the world as new. this man, remarkable not only for profound and original thinking, but for clear and forcible expression, was, nevertheless, d'argenson la bete. it is said, however, that he affected the simplicity, and even silliness of manner, which procured him that appellation. if, as we hope, the unedited memoirs left by rene d'argenson will be given to the world, they will be found fully to justify the opinion of duclos, with regard to this minister, and the inappropriateness of his nickname.] because he has a good-natured air, and a bourgeois tone? and yet, i believe, there have not been many ministers comparable to him in knowledge and in enlightened views." i took a pen, which lay on the doctor's table, and begged m. duclos to repeat to me all the names he had mentioned, and the eulogium he had bestowed on each. "if," said he, "you show that to the marquise, tell her how the conversation arose, and that i did not say it in order that it might come to her ears, and eventually, perhaps, to those of another person. i am an historiographer, and i will render justice, but i shall, also, often inflict it."--"i will answer for that," said the doctor, "and our master will be represented as he really is. louis xiv. liked verses, and patronised poets; that was very well, perhaps, in his time, because one must begin with something; but this age will be very superior to the last. it must be acknowledged that louis xv., in sending astronomers to mexico and peru, to measure the earth, has a higher claim to our respect than if he directed an opera. he has thrown down the barriers which opposed the progress of philosophy, in spite of the clamour of the devotees: the encyclopaedia will do honour to his reign." duclos, during this speech, shook his head. i went away, and tried to write down all i had heard, while it was fresh. i had the part which related to the princes of the bourbon race copied by a valet, who wrote a beautiful hand, and i gave it to madame de pompadour. but she said to me, "what! is duclos an acquaintance of yours? do you want to play the 'bel esprit', my dear good woman? that will not sit well upon you." the truth is, that nothing can be further from my inclination. i told her that i met him accidentally at the doctor's, where he generally spent an hour when he came to versailles. "the king knows him to be a worthy man," said she. madame de pompadour was ill, and the king came to see her several times a day. i generally left the room when he entered, but, having stayed a few minutes, on one occasion, to give her a glass of chicory water, i heard the king mention madame d'egmont. madame raised her eyes to heaven, and said, "that name always recalls to me a most melancholy and barbarous affair; but it was not my fault." these words dwelt in my mind, and, particularly, the tone in which they were uttered. as i stayed with madame till three o'clock in the morning, reading to her a part of the time, it was easy for me to try to satisfy my curiosity. i seized a moment, when the reading was interrupted, to say, "you looked dreadfully shocked, madame, when the king pronounced the name of d'egmont." at these words, she again raised her eyes, and said, "you would feel as i do, if you knew the affair."--"it must, then, be deeply affecting, for i do not think that it personally concerns you, madame."--"no," said she, "it does not; as, however, i am not the only person acquainted with this history, and as i know you to be discreet, i will tell it you. the last comte d'egmont married a reputed daughter of the duc de villars; but the duchess had never lived with her husband, and the comtesse d'egmont is, in fact, a daughter of the chevalier d'orleans.--[legitimate son of the regent, grand prior of france.]--at the death of her husband, young, beautiful, agreeable, and heiress to an immense fortune, she attracted the suit and homage of all the most distinguished men at court. her mother's director, one day, came into her room and requested a private interview; he then revealed to her that she was the offspring of an adulterous intercourse, for which her mother had been doing penance for five-and-twenty years. 'she could not,' said he, 'oppose your former marriage, although it caused her extreme distress. heaven did not grant you children; but, if you marry again, you run the risk, madame, of transmitting to another family the immense wealth, which does not, in fact, belong to you, and which is the price of crime.' "the comtesse d'egmont heard this recital with horror. at the same instant, her mother entered, and, on her knees, besought her daughter to avert her eternal damnation. madame d'egmont tried to calm her own and her mother's mind. 'what can i do?' said she, to her. 'consecrate yourself wholly to god,' replied the director, 'and thus expiate your mother's crime.' the countess, in her terror, promised whatever they asked, and proposed to enter the carmelites. i was informed of it, and spoke to the king about the barbarous tyranny the duchesse de villars and the director were about to exercise over this unhappy young woman; but we knew not how to prevent it. the king, with the utmost kindness, prevailed on the queen to offer her the situation of lady of the palace, and desired the duchess's friends to persuade her to endeavour to deter her daughter from becoming a carmelite. it was all in vain; the wretched victim was sacrificed." madame took it into her head to consult a fortuneteller, called madame bontemps, who had told m. de bernis's fortune, as i have already related, and had surprised him by her predictions. m. de choiseul, to whom she mentioned the matter, said that the woman had also foretold fine things that were to happen to him. "i know it," said she, "and, in return, you promised her a carriage, but the poor woman goes on foot still." madame told me this, and asked me how she could disguise herself, so as to see the woman without being known. i dared not propose any scheme then, for fear it should not succeed; but, two days after, i talked to her surgeon about the art, which some beggars practise, of counterfeiting sores, and altering their features. he said that was easy enough. i let the thing drop, and, after an interval of some minutes, i said, "if one could change one's features, one might have great diversion at the opera, or at balls. what alterations would it be necessary to make in me, now, to render it impossible to recognise me?"--"in the first place," said he, "you must alter the colour of your hair, then you must have a false nose, and put a spot on some part of your face, or a wart, or a few hairs." i laughed, and said, "help me to contrive this for the next ball; i have not been to one for twenty years; but i am dying to puzzle somebody, and to tell him things which no one but i can tell him. i shall come home, and go to bed, in a quarter of an hour."--"i must take the measure of your nose," said he; "or do you take it with wax, and i will have a nose made: you can get a flaxen or brown wig." i repeated to madame what the surgeon had told me: she was delighted at it. i took the measure of her nose, and of my own, and carried them to the surgeon, who, in two days, gave me the two noses, and a wart, which madame stuck under her left eye, and some paint for the eyebrows. the noses were most delicately made, of a bladder, i think, and these, with the ether disguises, rendered it impossible to recognize the face, and yet did not produce any shocking appearance. all this being accomplished, nothing remained but to give notice to the fortuneteller; we waited for a little excursion to paris, which madame was to take, to look at her house. i then got a person, with whom i had no connection, to speak to a waiting-woman of the duchesse de ruffec, to obtain an interview with the woman. she made some difficulty, on account of the police; but we promised secrecy, and appointed the place of meeting. nothing could be more contrary to madame de pompadour's character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to engage in such an adventure. but her curiosity was raised to the highest pitch, and, moreover, everything was so well arranged that there was not the slightest risk. madame had let m. de gontaut, and her valet de chambre, into the secret. the latter had hired two rooms for his niece, who was then ill, at versailles, near madame's hotel. we went out in the evening, followed by the valet de chambre, who was a safe man, and by the duke, all on foot. we had not, at farthest, above two hundred steps to go. we were shown into two small rooms, in which were fires. the two men remained in one, and we in the other. madame had thrown herself on a sofa. she had on a night-cap, which concealed half her face, in an unstudied manner. i was near the fire, leaning on a table, on which were two candles. there were lying on the chairs, near us, some clothes, of small value. the fortune-teller rang--a little servant-girl let her in, and then went to wait in the room where the gentlemen were. coffee-cups, and a coffee-pot, were set; and i had taken care to place, upon a little buffet, some cakes, and a bottle of malaga wine, having heard that madame bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor. her face, indeed, sufficiently proclaimed it. "is that lady ill?" said she, seeing madame de pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa. i told her that she would soon be better, but that she had kept her room for a week. she heated the coffee, and prepared the two cups, which she carefully wiped, observing that nothing impure must enter into this operation. i affected to be very anxious for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a pretext for assuaging her thirst, which she did, without much entreaty. when she had drunk two or three small glasses (for i had taken care not to have large ones), she poured the coffee into one of the two large cups. "this is yours," said she; "and this is your friends's; let them stand a little." she then observed our hands and our faces; after which she drew a looking-glass from her pocket, into which she told us to look, while she looked at the reflections of our faces. she next took a glass of wine, and immediately threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while she inspected my cup, and considered all the lines formed by the dregs of the coffee she had poured out. she began by saying, "that is well--prosperity--but there is a black mark--distresses. a man becomes a comforter. here, in this corner, are friends, who support you. ah! who is he that persecutes them? but justice triumphs--after rain, sunshine--a long journey successful. there, do you see these little bags? that is money which has been paid--to you, of course, i mean. that is well. do you see that arm?"--"yes."--"that is an arm supporting something: a woman veiled; i see her; it is you. all this is clear to me. i hear, as it were, a voice speaking to me. you are no longer attacked. i see it, because the clouds in that direction are passed off (pointing to a clearer spot). but, stay--i see small lines which branch out from the main spot. these are sons, daughters, nephews--that is pretty well." she appeared overpowered with the effort she was making. at length, she added, "that is all. you have had good luck first--misfortune afterward. you have had a friend, who has exerted himself with success to extricate you from it. you have had lawsuits--at length fortune has been reconciled to you, and will change no more." she drank another glass of wine. "your health, madame," said she to the marquise, and went through the same ceremonies with the cup. at length, she broke out, "neither fair nor foul. i see there, in the distance, a serene sky; and then all these things that appear to ascend all these things are applauses. here is a grave man, who stretches out his arms. do you see?--look attentively."--"that is true," said madame de pompadour, with surprise (there was, indeed, some appearance of the kind). "he points to something square that is an open coffer. fine weather. but, look! there are clouds of azure and gold, which surround you. do you see that ship on the high sea? how favourable the wind is! you are on board; you land in a beautiful country, of which you become the queen. ah! what do i see? look there--look at that hideous, crooked, lame man, who is pursuing you--but he is going on a fool's errand. i see a very great man, who supports you in his arms. here, look! he is a kind of giant. there is a great deal of gold and silver--a few clouds here and there. but you have nothing to fear. the vessel will be sometimes tossed about, but it will not be lost. dixi." madame said, "when shall i die, and of what disease?"--"i never speak of that," said she; "see here, rather but fate will not permit it. i will shew you how fate confounds everything"--shewing her several confused lumps of the coffee-dregs. "well, never mind as to the time, then, only tell me the kind of death." the fortune-teller looked in the cup, and said, "you will have time to prepare yourself." i gave her only two louis, to avoid doing anything remarkable. she left us, after begging us to keep her secret, and we rejoined the duc de gontaut, to whom we related everything that had passed. he laughed heartily, and said, "her coffee-dregs are like the clouds--you may see what you please in them." there was one thing in my horoscope which struck me, that was the comforter; because one of my uncles had taken great care of me, and had rendered me the most essential services. it is also true that i afterwards had an important lawsuit; and, lastly, there was the money which had come into my hands through madame de pompadour's patronage and bounty. as for madame, her husband was represented accurately enough by the man with the coffer; then the country of which she became queen seemed to relate to her present situation at court; but the most remarkable thing was the crooked and lame man, in whom madame thought she recognized the duc de v-----, who was very much deformed. madame was delighted with her adventure and her horoscope, which she thought corresponded very remarkably with the truth. two days after, she sent for m. de st. florentin, and begged him not to molest the fortuneteller. he laughed, and replied that he knew why she interceded for this woman. madame asked him why he laughed. he related every circumstance of her expedition with astonishing exactness;--[m. de st. florentin was minister for paris, to whom the lieutenant of police was accountable.]--but he knew nothing of what had been said, or, at least, so he pretended. he promised madame that, provided bontemps did nothing which called for notice, she should not be obstructed in the exercise of her profession, especially if she followed it in secret. "i know her," added he, "and i, like other people, have had the curiosity to consult her. she is the wife of a soldier in the guards. she is a clever woman in her way, but she drinks. four or five years ago, she got such hold on the mind of madame de ruffec, that she made her believe she could procure her an elixir of beauty, which would restore her to what she was at twenty-five. the duchess pays high for the drugs of which this elixir is compounded; and sometimes they are bad: sometimes, the sun, to which they were exposed, was not powerful enough; sometimes, the influence of a certain constellation was wanting. sometimes, she has the courage to assure the duchess that she really is grown handsomer, and actually succeeds in making her believe it." but the history of this woman's daughter is still more curious. she was exquisitely beautiful, and the duchess brought her up in her own house. bontemps predicted to the girl, in the duchess's presence, that she would marry a man of two thousand louis a year. this was not very likely to happen to the daughter of a soldier in the guards. it did happen, nevertheless. the little bontemps married the president beaudouin, who was mad. but, the tragical part of the story is, that her mother had also foretold that she would die in childbirth of her first child, and that she did actually die in child-birth, at the age of eighteen, doubtless under a strong impression of her mother's prophecy, to which the improbable event of her marriage had given such extraordinary weight. madame told the king of the adventure her curiosity had led her into, at which he laughed, and said he wished the police had arrested her. he added a very sensible remark. "in order to judge," said he, "of the truth or falsehood of such predictions, one ought to collect fifty of them. it would be found that they are almost always made up of the same phrases, which are sometimes inapplicable, and some times hit the mark. but the first are rarely-mentioned, while the others are always insisted on." i have heard, and, indeed, it is certainly true, that m. de bridge lived on terms of intimacy with madame, when she was madame d'aioles. he used to ride on horseback with her, and, as he is so handsome a man, that he has retained the name of the handsome man, it was natural enough that he should be thought the lover of a very handsome woman. i have heard something more than this. i was told that the king said to m. de bridge, "confess, now, that you were her lover. she has acknowledged it to me, and i exact from you this proof of sincerity." m. de. bridge replied, that madame de pompadour was at liberty to say what she pleased for her own amusement, or for any other reason; but that he, for his part, could not assert a falsehood; that he had been, her friend; that she was a charming companion, and had great talents; that he delighted in her society; but that his intercourse with her had never gone beyond the bounds of friendship. he added, that her husband was present in all their parties, that he watched her with a jealous eye, and that he would not have suffered him to be so much with her if he had conceived the least suspicion of the kind. the king persisted, and told him he was wrong to endeavour to conceal a fact which was unquestionable. it was rumoured, also, that the abbe de bernis had been a favoured lover of hers. the said abbe was rather a coxcomb; he had a handsome face, and wrote poetry. madame de pompadour was the theme of his gallant verses. he sometimes received the compliments of his friends upon his success with a smile which left some room for conjecture, although he denied the thing in words. it was, for some time, reported at court that she was in love with the prince de beauvau: he is a man distinguished for his gallantries, his air of rank and fashion, and his high play; he is brother to the little marechale: for all these reasons, madame is very civil to him, but there is nothing marked in her behaviour. she knows, besides, that he is in love with a very agreeable woman. now that i am on the subject of lovers, i cannot avoid speaking of m. de choiseul. madame likes him better than any of those i have just mentioned, but he is not her lover. a lady, whom i know perfectly well, but whom i do not chose to denounce to madame, invented a story about them, which was utterly false. she said, as i have good reason to believe, that one day, hearing the king coming, i ran to madame's closet door; that i coughed in a particular manner; and that the king having, happily, stopped a moment to talk to some ladies, there was time to adjust matters, so that madame came out of the closet with me and m. de choiseul, as if we had been all three sitting together. it is very true that i went in to carry something to madame, without knowing that the king was come, and that she came out of the closet with m. de choiseul, who had a paper in his hand, and that i followed her a few minutes after. the king asked m. de choiseul what that paper was which he had in his hand. he replied that it contained the remonstrance from the parliament. three or four ladies witnessed what i now relate, and as, with the exception of one, they were all excellent women, and greatly attached to madame, my suspicions could fall on none but the one in question, whom i will not name, because her brother has always treated me with great kindness. madame de pompadour had a lively imagination and great sensibility, but nothing could exceed the coldness of her temperament. it would, besides, have been extremely difficult for her, surrounded as she was, to keep up an intercourse of that kind with any man. it is true that this difficulty would have been diminished in the case of an all-powerful minister, who had constant pretexts for seeing her in private. but there was a much more decisive fact--m. de choiseul had a charming mistress--the princess de r------, and madame knew it, and often spoke of her. he had, besides, some remains of liking for the princess de kinski, who followed him from vienna. it is true that he soon after discovered how ridiculous she was. all these circumstances combined were, surely, sufficient to deter madame from engaging in a love affair with the duke; but his talents and agreeable qualities captivated her. he was not handsome, but he had manners peculiar to himself, an agreeable vivacity, a delightful gaiety; this was the general opinion of his character. he was much attached to madame, and though this might, at first, be inspired by a consciousness of the importance of her friendship to his interest, yet, after he had acquired sufficient political strength to stand alone, he was not the less devoted to her, nor less assiduous in his attentions. he knew her friendship for me, and he one day said to me, with great feeling, "i am afraid, my dear madame du hausset, that she will sink into a state of complete dejection, and die of melancholy. try to divert her." what a fate for the favourite of the greatest monarch in existence! thought i. one day, madame de pompadour had retired to her closet with m. berryer. madame d'amblimont stayed with madame de gontaut, who called me to talk about my son. a moment after, m. de gontaut came in and said, "d'amblimont, who shall have the swiss guards?"--"stop a moment," said she; "let me call my council----, m. de choiseul."--"that is not so very bad a thought," said m. de gontaut, "but i assure you, you are the first person who has suggested it." he immediately left us, and madame d'amblimont said, "i'll lay a wager he is going to communicate my idea to m. de choiseul." he returned very shortly, and, m. berrier having left the room, he said to madame de pompadour, "a singular thought has entered d'amblimont's head."--"what absurdity now?" said madame. "not so great an absurdity neither," said he. "she says the swiss guards ought to be given to m. de choiseul, and, really, if the king has not positively promised m. de soubise, i don't see what he can do better."--"the king has promised nothing," said madame, "and the hopes i gave him were of the vaguest kind. i only told him it was possible. but though i have a great regard for m. de soubise, i do not think his merits comparable to those of m. de choiseul." when the king came in, madame, doubtless, told him of this suggestion. a quarter of an hour afterwards, i went into the room to speak to her, and i heard the king say, "you will see that, because the duc du maine, and his children, had that place, he will think he ought to have it, on account of his rank as prince (soubise); but the marechal de bassompierre was not a prince; and, by the bye, the duc de choiseul is his grandnephew; do you know that?"--"your majesty is better acquainted with the history of france than anybody," replied madame. two days after this, madame de said to me, "i have two great delights; m. de soubise will not have the swiss guards, and madame de marsan will be ready to burst with rage at it; this is the first: and m. de choiseul will have them; this is the greatest." ........................... [the whole of this passage is in a different handwriting.] there was a universal talk of a young lady with whom the king was as much in love as it was possible for him to be. her name was romans. she was said to be a charming girl. madame de pompadour knew of the king's visits, and her confidantes brought her most alarming reports of the affair. the marechale de mirepoix, who had the best head in madame's council, was the only one who encouraged her. "i do not tell you," said she, "that he loves you better than her; and if she could be transported hither by the stroke of a fairy's wand; if she could entertain him this evening at supper; if she were familiar with all his tastes, there would, perhaps, be sufficient reason for you to tremble for your power. but princes are, above all, pre-eminently the slaves of habit. the king's attachment to you is like that he bears to your apartment, your furniture. you have formed yourself to his manners and habits; you know how to listen and reply to his stories; he is under no constraint with you; he has no fear of boring you. how do you think he could have resolution to uproot all this in a day, to form a new establishment, and to make a public exhibition of himself by so striking a change in his arrangements?" the young lady became pregnant; the reports current among the people, and even those at court, alarmed madame dreadfully. it was said that the king meant to legitimate the child, and to give the mother a title. "all that," said madame de mirepoix, "is in the style of louis xiv.--such dignified proceedings are very unlike those of our master." mademoiselle romans lost all her influence over the king by her indiscreet boasting. she was even treated with harshness and violence, which were in no degree instigated by madame. her house was searched, and her papers seized; but the most important, those which substantiated the fact of the king's paternity, had been withdrawn. at length she gave birth to a son, who was christened under the name of bourbon, son of charles de bourbon, captain of horse. the mother thought the eyes of all france were fixed upon her, and beheld in her son a future duc du maine. she suckled him herself, and she used to carry him in a sort of basket to the bois de boulogne. both mother and child were covered with the finest laces. she sat down upon the grass in a solitary spot, which, however, was soon well known, and there gave suck to her royal babe. madame had great curiosity to see her, and took me, one day, to the manufactory at sevres, without telling me what she projected. after she had bought some cups, she said, "i want to go and walk in the bois de boulogne," and gave orders to the coachman to stop at a certain spot where she wished to alight. she had got the most accurate directions, and when she drew near the young lady's haunt she gave me her arm, drew her bonnet over her eyes, and held her pocket-handkerchief before the lower part of her face. we walked, for some minutes, in a path, from whence we could see the lady suckling her child. her jet black hair was turned up, and confined by a diamond comb. she looked earnestly at us. madame bowed to her, and whispered to me, pushing me by the elbow, "speak to her." i stepped forward, and exclaimed, "what a lovely child!"--"yes, madame," replied she, "i must confess that he is, though i am his mother." madame, who had hold of my arm, trembled, and i was not very firm. mademoiselle romans said to me, "do you live in this neighbourhood?"--"yes, madame," replied i, "i live at auteuil with this lady, who is just now suffering from a most dreadful toothache."--"i pity her sincerely, for i know that tormenting pain well." i looked all around, for fear any one should come up who might recognise us. i took courage to ask her whether the child's father was a handsome man. "very handsome, and, if i told you his name, you would agree with me."--"i have the honour of knowing him, then, madame?"--"most probably you do." madame, fearing, as i did, some rencontre, said a few words in a low tone, apologizing for having intruded upon her, and we took our leave. we looked behind us, repeatedly, to see if we were followed, and got into the carriage without being perceived. "it must be confessed that both mother and child are beautiful creatures," said madame--"not to mention the father; the infant has his eyes. if the king had come up while we were there, do you think he would have recognised us?"--"i don't doubt that he would, madame, and then what an agitation i should have been in, and what a scene it would have been for the bystanders! and, above all, what a surprise to her!" in the evening, madame made the king a present of the cups she had bought, but she did not mention her walk, for fear mademoiselle romans should tell him that two ladies, who knew him, had met her there such a day. madame de mirepoix said to madame, "be assured, the king cares very little about children; he has enough of them, and he will not be troubled with the mother or the son. see what sort of notice he takes of the comte de i-----, who is strikingly like him. he never speaks of him, and i am convinced that he will never do anything for him. again and again i tell you, we do not live under louis xiv." madame de mirepoix had been ambassadress to london, and had often heard the english make this remark. some alterations had been made in madame de pompadour's rooms, and i had no longer, as heretofore, the niche in which i had been permitted to sit, to hear caffarelli, and, in later times, mademoiselle fel and jeliotte. i, therefore, went more frequently to my lodgings in town, where i usually received my friends: more particularly when madame visited her little hermitage, whither m. de gontaut commonly accompanied her. madame du chiron, the wife of the head clerk in the war-office, came to see me. "i feel," said she, "greatly embarrassed, in speaking to you about an affair, which will, perhaps, embarrass you also. this is the state of the case. a very poor woman, to whom i have sometimes given a little assistance, pretends to be a relation of the marquise de pompadour. here is her petition." i read it, and said that the woman had better write directly to madame, and that i was sure, if what she asserted was true, her application would be successful. madame du chiron followed my advice. the woman wrote she was in the lowest depth of poverty, and i learnt that madame sent her six louis until she could gain more accurate information as to the truth of her story. colin, who was commissioned to take the money, made inquiries of m. de malvoiain, a relation of madame, and a very respectable officer. the fact was found to be as she had stated it. madame then sent her a hundred louis, and promised her a pension of sixty louis a year. all this was done with great expedition, and madame had a visit of thanks from her poor relation, as soon as she had procured decent clothes to come in. that day the king happened to come in at an unusual hour, and saw this person going out. he asked who it was. "it is a very poor relation of mine," replied madame. "she came, then, to beg for some assistance?"--"no," said she. "what did she come for, then?"--"to thank me for a little service i have rendered her," said she, blushing from the fear of seeming to boast of her liberality. "well," said the king; "since she is your relation, allow me to have the pleasure of serving her too. i will give her fifty louis a year out of my private purse, and, you know, she may send for the first year's allowance to-morrow." madame burst into tears, and kissed the king's hand several times. she told me this three days afterwards, when i was nursing her in a slight attack of fever. i could not refrain from weeping myself at this instance of the king's kindness. the next day, i called on madame du chiron to tell her of the good fortune of her protege; i forgot to say that, after madame had related the affair to me, i told her what part i had taken in it. she approved my conduct, and allowed me to inform my friend of the king's goodness. this action, which showed no less delicate politeness towards her than sensibility to the sufferings of the poor woman, made a deeper impression on madame's heart than a pension of two thousand a year given to herself. madame had terrible palpitations of the heart. her heart actually seemed to leap. she consulted several physicians. i recollect that one of them made her walk up and down the room, lift a weight, and move quickly. on her expressing some surprise, he said, "i do this to ascertain whether the organ is diseased; in that case motion quickens the pulsation; if that effect is not produced, the complaint proceeds from the nerves." i repeated this to my oracle, quesnay. he knew very little of this physician, but he said his treatment was that of a clever man. his name was renard; he was scarcely known beyond the marais. madame often appeared suffocated, and sighed continually. one day, under pretence of presenting a petition to m. de choiseul, as he was going out, i said, in a low voice, that i wished to see him a few minutes on an affair of importance to my mistress. he told me to come as soon as i pleased, and that i should be admitted. i told him that madame was extremely depressed; that she gave way to distressing thoughts, which she would not communicate; that she, one day, said to me, "the fortune-teller told me i should have time to prepare myself; i believe it, for i shall be worn to death by melancholy." m. de choiseul appeared much affected; he praised my zeal, and said that he had already perceived some indications of what i told him; that he would not mention my name, but would try to draw from her an explanation. i don't know what he said to her; but, from that time, she was much more calm. one day, but long afterwards, madame said to m. de gontaut, "i am generally thought to have great influence, but if it were not for m. de choiseul, i should not be able to obtain a cross of st. louis." the king and madame de pompadour had a very high opinion of madame de choiseul. madame said, "she always says the right thing in the right place." madame de grammont was not so agreeable to them; and i think that this was to be attributed, in part, to the sound of her voice, and to her blunt manner of speaking; for she was said to be a woman of great sense, and devotedly attached to the king and madame de pompadour. some people pretended that she tried to captivate the king, and to supplant madame: nothing could be more false, or more ridiculously improbable. madame saw a great deal of these two ladies, who were extremely attentive to her. she one day remarked to the duc d'ayen,--[afterwards marechal de noaines.] that m. de choiseul was very fond of his sisters. "i know it, madame," said he, "and many sisters are the better for that."--"what do you mean?" said she. "why," said he, "as the duc de choiseul loves his sister, it is thought fashionable to do the same; and i know silly girls, whose brothers formerly cared nothing about them, who are now most tenderly beloved. no sooner does their little finger ache, than their brothers are running about to fetch physicians from all corners of paris. they flatter themselves that somebody will say, in m. de choiseul's drawing-room, 'how passionately m. de ------ loves his sister; he would certainly die if he had the misfortune to lose her.'" madame related this to her brother, in my presence, adding, that she could not give it in the duke's comic manner. m. de marigny said, "i have had the start of them all, without making so much noise; and my dear little sister knows that i loved her tenderly before madame de grammont left her convent. the duc d'ayen, however, is not very wrong; he has made the most of it in his lively manner, but it is partly true."--"i forgot," replied madame, "that the duke said, 'i want extremely to be in the fashion, but which sister shall i take up? madame de caumont is a devil incarnate, madame de villars drinks, madame d'armagnac is a bore, madame de la marck is half mad.'"--"these are fine family portraits, duke," said madame. the duc de gontaut laughed, during the whole of this conversation, immoderately. madame repeated it, one day, when she kept her bed. m. de g----- also began to talk of his sister, madame du roure. i think, at least, that is the name he mentioned. he was very gay, and had the art of creating gaiety. somebody said, he is an excellent piece of furniture for a favourite. he makes her laugh, and asks for nothing either for himself or for others; he cannot excite jealousy, and he meddles in nothing. he was called the white eunuch. madame's illness increased so rapidly that we were alarmed about her; but bleeding in the foot cured her as if by a miracle. the king watched her with the greatest solicitude; and i don't know whether his attentions did not contribute as much to the cure as the bleeding. m. de choiseul remarked, some days after, that she appeared in better spirits. i told him that i thought this improvement might be attributed to the same cause. etext editor's bookmarks: air of science calculated to deceive the vulgar bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before others clouds--you may see what you please in them dared to say to me, so he writes dead always in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon french people do not do things by halves fresh proof of the intrigues of the jesuits how difficult it is to do good i dared not touch that string infinite astonishment at his sharing the common destiny madame made the treaty of sienna pension is granted on condition that his poems are never printed pleasure of making a great noise at little expense sending astronomers to mexico and peru, to measure the earth she always says the right thing in the right place she drives quick and will certainly be overturned on the road memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe book . section i. [from the time that the princesse de lamballe saw the ties between the queen and her favourite de polignac drawing closer she became less assiduous in her attendance at court, being reluctant to importune the friends by her presence at an intimacy which she did not approve. she could not, however, withhold her accustomed attentions, as the period of her majesty's accouchement approached; and she has thus noted the circumstance of the birth of the duchesse d'angouleme, on the th of december, .] "the moment for the accomplishment of the queen's darling hope was now at hand: she was about to become a mother. "it had been agreed between her majesty and myself, that i was to place myself so near the accoucheur, vermond, [brother to the abbe, whose pride was so great at this honour conferred on his relative, that he never spoke of him without denominating him monsieur mon frere, d'accoucher de sa majeste, vermond.] as to be the first to distinguish the sex of the new-born infant, and if she should be delivered of a dauphin to say, in italian, 'il figlio e nato.' "her majesty was, however, foiled even in this the most blissful of her desires. she was delivered of a daughter instead of a dauphin. "from the immense crowd that burst into the apartment the instant vermond said, the queen is happily delivered, her majesty was nearly suffocated. i had hold of her hand, and as i said 'la regina e andato', mistaking 'andato' for 'nato', between the joy of giving birth to a son and the pressure of the crowd, her majesty fainted. overcome by the dangerous situation in which i saw my royal mistress, i myself was carried out of the room in a lifeless state. the situation of her majesty was for some time very doubtful, till the people were dragged with violence from about her, that she might have air. on her recovering, the king was the first person who told her that she was the mother of a very fine princess. "'well, then,' said the queen, 'i am like my mother, for at my birth she also wished for a son instead of a daughter; and you have lost your wager:' for the king had betted with maria theresa that it would be a son. "the king answered her by repeating the lines metastasio had written on that occasion. "'io perdei: l'augusta figlia a pagar, m'a condemnato; ma s'e ver the a voi somiglia tutto il moudo ha guadagnato.'" [the princesse de lamballe again ceased to be constantly about the queen. her danger was over, she was a mother, and the attentions of disinterested friendship were no longer indispensable. she herself about this time met with a deep affliction. she lost both of her own parents; and to her sorrows may, in a great degree, be ascribed her silence upon the events which intervened between the birth of madame and that of the dauphin. she was as assiduous as ever in her attentions to her majesty on her second lying-in. the circumstances of the death of maria theresa, the queen's mother, in the interval which divided the two accouchements, and her majesty's anguish, and refusal to see any but de lamballe and de polignac, are too well known to detain us longer from the notes of the princess. it is enough for the reader to know that the friendship of her majesty for her superintendent seemed to be gradually reviving in all its early enthusiasm, by her unremitting kindness during the confinements of the queen, till, at length, they became more attached than ever. but, not to anticipate, let me return to the narrative.] "the public feeling had undergone a great change with respect to her majesty from the time of her first accouchement. still, she was not the mother of a future king. the people looked upon her as belonging to them more than she had done before, and faction was silenced by the general delight. but she had not yet attained the climax of her felicity. a second pregnancy gave a new excitement to the nation; and, at length, on the nd october, , dawned the day of hope. "in consequence of what happened on the first accouchement, measures were taken to prevent similar disasters on the second. the number admitted into the apartment was circumscribed. the silence observed left the queen in uncertainty of the sex to which she had given birth, till, with tears of joy, the king said to her: 'madame, the hopes of the nation, and mine, are fulfilled. you are the mother of a dauphin.' "the princesse elizabeth and myself were so overjoyed that we embraced every one in the room. "at this time their majesties were adored. marie antoinette, with all her beauty and amiableness, was a mere cipher in the eyes of france previous to her becoming the mother of an heir to the crown; but her popularity now arose to a pitch of unequalled enthusiasm. "i have heard of but one expression to her majesty upon this occasion in any way savouring of discontent. this came from the royal aunts. on marie antoinette's expressing to them her joy in having brought a dauphin to the nation, they replied, 'we will only repeat our father's observation on a similar subject. when one of our sisters complained to his late majesty that, as her italian husband had copied the dauphin's whim, she could not, though long a bride, boast of being a wife, or hope to become a mother--"a prudent princess," replied louis xv., "never wants heirs!"' but the feeling of the royal aunts was an exception to the general sentiment, which really seemed like madness. "i remember a proof of this which happened at the time. chancing to cross the king's path as he was going to marly and i coming from rambouillet, my two postillions jumped from their horses, threw themselves on the high road upon their knees, though it was very dirty, and remained there, offering up their benedictions, till he was out of sight. "the felicity of the queen was too great not to be soon overcast. the unbounded influence of the de polignacs was now at its zenith. it could not fail of being attacked. every engine of malice, envy, and detraction was let loose; and, in the vilest calumnies against the character of the duchess, her royal mistress was included. "it was, in truth, a most singular fatality, in the life of marie antoinette that she could do nothing, however beneficial or disinterested, for which she was not either criticised or censured. she had a tenacity, of character which made her cling more closely to attachments from which she saw others desirous of estranging her; and this firmness, however excellent in principle, was, in her case, fatal in its effects. the abbe vermond, her majesty's confessor and tutor, and, unfortunately, in many respects, her ambitious guide, was really alarmed at the rising favour of the duchess; and, though he knew the very obstacles thrown in her way only strengthened her resolution as to any favourite object, yet he ventured to head an intrigue to destroy the great influence of the de polignacs, which, as he might have foreseen, only served to hasten their aggrandisement. "at this crisis the dissipation of the duc de guemenee caused him to become a bankrupt. i know not whether it can be said in principle, but certainly it may in property, 'it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.' the princess, his wife, having been obliged to leave her residence at versailles, in consequence of the duke's dismissal from the king's service on account of the disordered state of his pecuniary circumstances, the situation of governess to the royal children became necessarily vacant, and was immediately transferred to the duchesse de polignac. the queen, to enable her friend to support her station with all the eclat suitable to its dignity, took care to supply ample means from her own private purse. a most magnificent suite of apartments was ordered to be arranged, under the immediate inspection of the queen's maitre d'hotel, at her majesty's expense. "is there anything on earth more natural than the lively interest which inspires a mother towards those who have the care of her offspring? what, then, must have been the feelings of a queen of france who had been deprived of that blessing for which connubial attachments are formed, and which, vice versa, constitutes the only real happiness of every young female, what must have been, i say, the ecstasy of marie antoinette when she not only found herself a mother, but the dear pledges of all her future bliss in the hands of one whose friendship allowed her the unrestrained exercise of maternal affection,--a climax of felicity combining not only the pleasures of an ordinary mother, but the greatness, the dignity, and the flattering popularity of a queen of france. "though the pension of the duchesse de polignac was no more than that usually allotted to all former governesses of the royal children of france, yet circumstances tempted her to a display not a little injurious to her popularity as well as to that of her royal mistress. she gave too many pretexts to imputations of extravagance. yet she had neither patronage, nor sinecures, nor immunities beyond the few inseparable from the office she held, and which had been the same for centuries under the monarchy of france. but it must be remembered, as an excuse for the splendour of her establishment, that she entered her office upon a footing very different from that of any of her predecessors. her mansion was not the quiet, retired, simple household of the governess of the royal children, as formerly: it had become the magnificent resort of the first queen in europe; the daily haunt of her majesty. the queen certainly visited the former governess, as she had done the duchesse de duras and many other frequenters of her court parties; but she made the duchesse de polignac's her court; and all the courtiers of that court, and, i may say, the great personages of all france, as well as the ministers and all foreigners of distinction, held there their usual rendezvous; consequently, there was nothing wanting but the guards in attendance in the queen's apartments to have made it a royal residence suitable for the reception of the illustrious personages that were in the constant habit of visiting these levees, assemblies, balls, routs, picnics, dinner, supper, and card parties. [i have seen ladies at the princesse de lamballe's come from these card parties with their laps so blackened by the quantities of gold received in them, that they have been obliged to change their dresses to go to supper. many a chevalier d'industree and young military spendthrift has made his harvest here. thousands were won and lost, and the ladies were generally the dupes of all those who were the constant speculative attendants. the princease de lamballe did not like play, but when it was necessary she did play, and won or lost to a limited extent; but the prescribed sum once exhausted or gained she left off. in set parties, such as those of whist, she never played except when one was wanted, often excusing herself on the score of its requiring more attention than it was in her power to give to it and her reluctance to sacrifice her partner; though i have heard beau dillon, the duke of dorset, lord edward dillon, and many others say that she understood and played the game much better than many who had a higher opinion of their skill in it. lord edward fitzgerald was admitted to the parties at the duchesse de polignac's on his first coming to paris; but when his connection with the duc d'orleans and madame de genlis became known he was informed that his society would be dispensed with. the famous, or rather the infamous, beckford was also excluded.] "much as some of the higher classes of the nobility felt aggrieved at the preference given by the queen to the duchesse de polignac, that which raised against her majesty the most implacable resentment was her frequenting the parties of her favourite more than those of any other of the 'haut ton'. these assemblies, from the situation held by the duchess, could not always be the most select. many of the guests who chanced to get access to them from a mere glimpse of the queen--whose general good-humour, vivacity, and constant wish to please all around her would often make her commit herself unconsciously and unintentionally--would fabricate anecdotes of things they had neither seen nor heard; and which never had existence, except in their own wicked imaginations. the scene of the inventions, circulated against her majesty through france, was, in consequence, generally placed at the duchess's; but they were usually so distinctly and obviously false that no notice was taken of them, nor was any attempt made to check their promulgation. "exemplary as was the friendship between this enthusiastic pair, how much more fortunate for both would it have been had it never happened! i foresaw the results long, long before they took place; but the queen was not to be thwarted. fearful she might attribute my anxiety for her general safety to unworthy personal views, i was often silent, even when duty bade me speak. i was, perhaps, too scrupulous about seeming officious or jealous of the predilection shown to the duchess. experience had taught me the inutility of representing consequences, and i had no wish to quarrel with the queen. indeed, there was a degree of coldness towards me on the part of her majesty for having gone so far as i had done. it was not until after the birth of the duc de normandie, her third child, in march, , that her friendship resumed its primitive warmth. "as the children grew, her majesty's attachment for their governess grew with them. all that has been said of tasso's armida was nothing to this luxurious temple of maternal affection. never was female friendship more strongly cemented, or less disturbed by the nauseous poison of envy, malice, or mean jealousy. the queen was in the plenitude of every earthly enjoyment, from being able to see and contribute to the education of the children she tenderly loved, unrestrained by the gothic etiquette with which all former royal mothers had been fettered, but which the kind indulgence of the duchesse de polignac broke through, as unnatural and unworthy of the enlightened and affectionate. the duchess was herself an attentive, careful mother. she felt for the queen, and encouraged her maternal sympathies, so doubly endeared by the long, long disappointment which had preceded their gratification. the sacrifice of all the cold forms of state policy by the new governess, and the free access she gave the royal mother to her children, so unprecedented in the court of france, rendered marie antoinette so grateful that it may justly be said she divided her heart between the governess and the governed. habit soon made it necessary for her existence that she should dedicate the whole of her time, not taken up in public ceremonies or parties, to the cultivation of the minds of her children. conscious of her own deficiency in this respect, she determined to redeem this error in her offspring. the love of the frivolous amusements of society, for which the want of higher cultivation left room in her mind, was humoured by the gaieties of the duchesse de polignac's assemblies; while her nobler dispositions were encouraged by the privileges of the favourite's station. thus, all her inclinations harmonising with the habits and position of her friend, marie antoinette literally passed the greatest part of some years in company with the duchesse de polignac,--either amidst the glare and bustle of public recreation, or in the private apartment of the governess and her children, increasing as much as possible the kindness of the one for the benefit and comfort of the others. the attachment of the duchess to the royal children was returned by the queen's affection for the offspring of the duchess. so much was her majesty interested in favour of the daughter of the duchess, that, before that young lady was fifteen years of age, she herself contrived and accomplished her marriage with the duc de guiche, then 'maitre de ceremonie' to her majesty, and whose interests were essentially, promoted by this alliance. [the duc de guiche, since duc de grammont, has proved how much he merited the distinction he received, in consequence of the attachment between the queen and his mother-in-law, by the devotedness with which he followed the fallen fortunes of the bourbons till their restoration, since which he has not been forgotten. the duchess, his wife, who at her marriage was beaming with all the beauties of her age, and adorned by art and nature with every accomplishment, though she came into notice at a time when the court had scarcely recovered itself from the debauched morals by which it had been so long degraded by a de pompadour and a du barry, has yet preserved her character, by the strictness of her conduct, free from the censorious criticisms of an epoch in which some of the purest could not escape unassailed. i saw her at pyrmont in ; and even then, though the mother of many children, she looked as young and beautiful as ever. she was remarkably well educated and accomplished, a profound musician on the harp and pianoforte, graceful in her conversation, and a most charming dancer. she seemed to bear the vicissitudes of fortune with a philosophical courage and resignation not often to be met with in light-headed french women. she was amiable in her manners, easy of access, always lively and cheerful, and enthusiastically attached to the country whence she was then excluded. she constantly accompanied the wife of the late louis xviii. during her travels in germany, as her husband the duke did his majesty during his residence at mittau, in courland, etc. i have had the honour of seeing the duke twice since the revolution; once, on my coming from russia, at general binkingdroff's, governor of mittau, and since, in portland place, at the french ambassador's, on his coming to england in the name of his sovereign, to congratulate the king of england on his accession to the throne.] "the great cabals, which agitated the court in consequence of the favour shown to the de polignacs, were not slow in declaring themselves. the comtesse de noailles was one of the foremost among the discontented. her resignation, upon the appointment of a superintendent, was a sufficient evidence of her real feeling; but when she now saw a place filled, to which she conceived her family had a claim, her displeasure could not be silent, and her dislike to the queen began to express itself without reserve. "another source of dissatisfaction against the queen was her extreme partiality for the english. after the peace of versailles, in , the english flocked into france, and i believe if a poodle dog had come from england it would have met with a good reception from her majesty. this was natural enough. the american war had been carried on entirely against her wish; though, from the influence she was supposed to exercise in the cabinet, it was presumed to have been managed entirely by herself. this odious opinion she wished personally to destroy; and it could only be done by the distinction with which, after the peace, she treated the whole english nation.' [the daughter of the duchesse de polignac (of my meeting with whom i have already spoken in a note), entering with me upon the subject of france and of old times, observed that had the queen limited her attachment to the person of her mother, she would not have given all the annoyance which she did to the nobility. it was to these partialities to the english, the duchesse de guiche grammont alluded. i do not know the lady's name distinctly, but i am certain i have heard the beautiful lady sarah bunbury mentioned by the princesse de lamballe as having received particular attention from the queen; for the princess had heard much about this lady and "a certain great personage" in england; but, on discovering her acquaintance with the duc de lauzun, her majesty withdrew from the intimacy, though not soon enough to prevent its having given food for scandal. "you must remember," added the duchesse de guiche grammont, "how much the queen was censured for her enthusiasm about lady spencer." i replied that i did remember the much-ado about nothing there was regarding some english lady, to whom the queen took a liking, whose name i could not exactly recall; but i knew well she studied to please the english in general. of this lady spencer it is that the princess speaks in one of the following pages of this chapter.] "several of the english nobility were on a familiar footing at the parties of the duchesse de polignac. this was quite enough for the slanderers. they were all ranked, and that publicly, as lovers of her majesty. i recollect when there were no less than five different private commissioners out, to suppress the libels that were in circulation over all france, against the queen and lord edward dillon, the duke of dorset, lord george conway, arthur dillon, as well as count fersen, the duc de lauzun, and the comte d'artois, who were all not only constant frequenters of polignac's but visitors of marie antoinette. "by the false policy of her majesty's advisers, these enemies and libellers, instead of being brought to the condign punishment their infamy deserved, were privately hushed into silence, out of delicacy to the queen's feelings, by large sums of money and pensions, which encouraged numbers to commit the same enormity in the hope of obtaining the same recompense. "but these were mercenary wretches, from whom no better could have been expected. a legitimate mode of robbery had been pressed upon their notice by the government itself, and they thought it only a matter of fair speculation to make the best of it. there were some libellers, however, of a higher order, in comparison with whose motives for slander, those of the mere scandal-jobbers were white as the driven snow. of these, one of the worst was the duc de lauzun. "the first motive of the queen's strong dislike to the duc de lauzun sprang from her majesty's attachment to the duchesse d'orleans, whom she really loved. she was greatly displeased at the injury inflicted upon her valued friend by de lauzun, in estranging the affection of the duc d'orleans from his wife by introducing him to depraved society. among the associates to which this connection led the duc d'orleans were a certain madame duthee and madame buffon. "when de lauzun, after having been expelled from the drawing-room of the queen for his insolent presumption,--[the allusion here is to the affair of the heron plume.]--meeting with coolness at the king's levee, sought to cover his disgrace by appearing at the assemblies of the duchesse de polignac, her grace was too sincerely the friend of her sovereign and benefactress not to perceive the drift of his conduct. she consequently signified to the self-sufficient coxcomb that her assemblies were not open to the public. being thus shut out from their majesties, and, as a natural result, excluded from the most brilliant societies of paris, de lauzun, from a most diabolical spirit of revenge, joined the nefarious party which had succeeded in poisoning the mind of the duc d'orleans, and from the hordes of which, like the burning lava from etna, issued calumnies which swept the most virtuous and innocent victims that ever breathed to their destruction! "among the queen's favourites, and those most in request at the de polignac parties, was the good lady spencer, with whom i became most intimately acquainted when i first went to england; and from whom, as well as from her two charming daughters, the duchess of devonshire and lady duncannon, since lady besborough, i received the greatest marks of cordial hospitality. in consequence, when her ladyship came to france, i hastened to present her to the queen. her majesty, taking a great liking to the amiable englishwoman, and wishing to profit by her private conversations and society, gave orders that lady spencer should pass to her private closet whenever she came to versailles, without the formal ceremony of waiting in the antechamber to be announced. "one day, her majesty, lady spencer, and myself were observing the difficulty there was in acquiring a correct pronunciation of the english language, when lady spencer remarked that it only required a little attention. "'i beg your pardon,' said the queen, 'that's not all, because there are many things you do not call by their proper names, as they are in the dictionary.' "'pray what are they, please your majesty?' "'well, i will give you an instance. for example, 'les culottes'--what do you call them?' "'small clothes,' replied her ladyship. "'ma foi! how can they be called small clothes for one large man? now i do look in the dictionary, and i find, for the word culottes--breeches.' "'oh, please your majesty, we never call them by that name in england.' "'voila done, j'ai raison!' "'we say "inexpressibles"!' "'ah, c'est mieux! dat do please me ver much better. il y a du bon sens la dedans. c'est une autre chose!' "in the midst of this curious dialogue, in came the duke of dorset, lord edward dillon, count fersen, and several english gentlemen, who, as they were going to the king's hunt, were all dressed in new buckskin breeches. "'i do not like,' exclaimed the queen to them, dem yellow irresistibles!' "lady spencer nearly fainted. 'vat make you so frightful, my dear lady?' said the queen to her ladyship, who was covering her face with her hands. 'i am terrified at your majesty's mistake'--'comment? did you no tell me just now, dat in england de lady call les culottes "irresistibles"?'--'oh, mercy! i never could have made such a mistake, as to have applied to that part of the male dress such a word. i said, please your majesty, inexpressibles.' "on this the gentlemen all laughed most heartily. "'vell, vell,' replied the queen, 'do, my dear lady, discompose yourself. i vill no more call de breeches irresistibles, but say small clothes, if even elles sont upon a giant!' "at the repetition of the naughty word breeches, poor lady spencer's english delicacy quite overcame her. forgetting where she was, and also the company she was in, she ran from the room with her cross stick in her hand, ready to lay it on the shoulders of any one who should attempt to obstruct her passage, flew into her carriage, and drove off full speed, as if fearful of being contaminated,--all to the no small amusement of the male guests. "her majesty and i laughed till the very tears ran down our cheeks. the duke of dorset, to keep up the joke, said there really were some counties in england where they called 'culottes irresistibles. "now that i am upon the subject of england, and the peace of , which brought such throngs of english over to france, there occurs to me a circumstance, relating to the treaty of commerce signed at that time, which exhibits the comte de vergennes to some advantage; and with that let me dismiss the topic. "the comte de vergennes, was one of the most distinguished ministers of france. i was intimately acquainted with him. his general character for uprightness prompted his sovereign to govern in a manner congenial to his own goodness of heart, which was certainly most for the advantage of his subjects. vergennes cautioned louis against the hypocritical adulations of his privileged courtiers. the count had been schooled in state policy by the great venetian senator, francis foscari, the subtlest politician of his age, whom he consulted during his life on every important matter; and he was not very easily to be deceived. "when the treaty of commerce took place, at the period i mention, the experienced vergennes foresaw--what afterwards really happened--that france would be inundated with british manufactures; but calonne obstinately maintained the contrary, till he was severely reminded of the consequence of his misguided policy, in the insults inflicted on him by enraged mobs of thousands of french artificers, whenever he appeared in public. but though the mania for british goods had literally caused an entire stagnation of business in the french manufacturing towns, and thrown throngs upon the 'pave' for want of employment, yet m. de calonne either did not see, or pretended not to see, the errors he had committed. being informed that the comte de vergennes had attributed the public disorders to his fallacious policy, m. de calonne sent a friend to the count demanding satisfaction for the charge of having caused the riots. the count calmly replied that he was too much of a man of honour to take so great an advantage, as to avail himself of the opportunity offered, by killing a man who had only one life to dispose of, when there were so many with a prior claim, who were anxious to destroy him 'en societe'. i bid m. de calonne,' continued the count, 'first get out of that scrape, as the english boxers do when their eyes are closed up after a pitched battle. he has been playing at blind man's buff, but the poverty to which he has reduced so many of our tradespeople has torn the english bandage from his eyes!' for three or four days the comte de vergennes visited publicly, and showed himself everywhere in and about paris; but m. de calonne was so well convinced of the truth of the old fox's satire that he pocketed his annoyance, and no more was said about fighting. indeed, the comte de vergennes gave hints of being able to show that m. de calonne had been bribed into the treaty." [the princesse de lamballe has alluded in a former page to the happiness which the queen enjoyed during the visits of the foreign princes to the court of france. her papers contain a few passages upon the opinions her majesty entertained of the royal travellers; which, although in the order of time they should have been mentioned before the peace with england, yet, not to disturb the chain of the narrative, respecting the connection with the princesse de lamballe, of the prevailing libels, and the partiality shown towards the english, i have reserved them for the conclusion of the present chapter. the timidity of the queen in the presence of the illustrious strangers, and her agitation when about to receive them, have, i think, been already spoken of. upon the subject of the royal travellers themselves, and other personages, the princess expresses herself thus:] "the queen had never been an admirer of catharine ii. notwithstanding her studied policy for the advancement of civilization in her internal empire, the means which, aided by the princess dashkoff, she made use of to seat herself on the imperial throne of her weak husband, peter the third, had made her more understood than esteemed. yet when her son, the grand duke of the north,--[afterwards the unhappy emperor paul.]--and the grand duchess, his wife, came to france, their description of catharine's real character so shocked the maternal sensibility of marie antoinette that she could scarcely hear the name of the empress without shuddering. the grand duke spoke of catharine without the least disguise. he said he travelled merely for the security of his life from his mother, who had surrounded him with creatures that were his sworn enemies, her own spies and infamous favourites, to whose caprices they were utterly subordinate. he was aware that the dangerous credulity of the empress might be every hour excited by these wretches to the destruction of himself and his duchess, and, therefore, he had in absence sought the only refuge. he had no wish, he said, ever to return to his native country, till heaven should check his mother's doubts respecting his dutiful filial affection towards her, or till god should be pleased to take her into his sacred keeping. "the king was petrified at the duke's description of his situation, and the queen could not refrain from tears when the duchess, his wife, confirmed all her husband had uttered on the subject. the duchess said she had been warned by the untimely fate of the princess d'armstadt, her predecessor, the first wife of the grand duke, to elude similar jealousy and suspicion on the part of her mother-in-law, by seclusion from the court, in a country residence with her husband; indeed, that she had made it a point never to visit petersburg, except on the express invitation of the empress, as if she had been a foreigner. "in this system the grand duchess persevered, even after her return from her travels. when she became pregnant, and drew near her accouchement, the empress-mother permitted her to come to petersburg for that purpose; but, as soon as the ceremony required by the etiquette of the imperial court on those occasions ended, the duchess immediately returned to her hermitage. "this princess was remarkably well-educated; she possessed a great deal of good, sound sense, and had profited by the instructions of some of the best german tutors during her very early years. it was the policy of her father, the duke of wirtemberg, who had a large family, to educate his children as 'quietists' in matters of religion. he foresaw that the natural charms and acquired abilities of his daughters would one day call them to be the ornaments of the most distinguished courts in europe, and he thought it prudent not to instil early prejudices in favour of peculiar forms of religion which might afterwards present an obstacle to their aggrandisement. [the first daughter of the duke of wirtemberg was the first wife of the present emperor of austria. she embraced the catholic faith and died very young, two days before the emperor joseph the second, at vienna. the present empress dowager, late wife to paul, became a proselyte to the greek religion on her arrival at petersburg. the son of the duke of wirtemburg, who succeeded him in the dukedom, was a protestant, it being his interest to profess that religion for the security of his inheritance. prince ferdinand, who was in the austrian service, and a long time governor of vienna, was a catholic, as he could not otherwise have enjoyed that office. he was of a very superior character to the duke, his brother. prince louis, who held a commission under the prussian monarch, followed the religion of the country where he served, and the other princes, who were in the employment of sweden and other countries, found no difficulty in conforming themselves to the religion of the sovereigns under whom they served. none of them having any established forms of worship, they naturally embraced that which conduced most to their aggrandisement, emolument, or dignity.] "the notorious vices of the king of denmark, and his total neglect both of his young queen, carolina matilda, and of the interest of his distant dominions, while in paris, created a feeling in the queen's mind towards that house which was not a little heightened by her disgust at the king of sweden, when he visited the court of versailles. this king, though much more crafty than his brother-in-law, the king of denmark, who revelled openly in his depravities, was not less vicious. the deception he made use of in usurping part of the rights of his people, combined with the worthlessness and duplicity, of his private conduct, excited a strong indignation in the mind of marie antoinette, of which she was scarcely capable of withholding the expression in his presence. "it was during the visit of the duke and duchess of the north, that the cardinal de rohan again appeared upon the scene. for eight or ten years he had never been allowed to show himself at court, and had been totally shut out of every society where the queen visited. on the arrival of the illustrious, travellers at versailles, the queen, at her own expense, gave them a grand fete at her private palace, in the gardens of trianon, similar to the one given by the comte de provence--[afterwards louis xviii.]--to her majesty, in the gardens of brunoi. "on the eve of the fete, the cardinal waited upon, me to know if he would be permitted to appear there in the character he had the honour to hold at court, i replied that i had made it a rule never to interfere in the private or public amusements of the court, and that his eminence must be the best judge how far he, could obtrude himself upon the queen's private parties, to which only a select number had been invited, in consequence of the confined spot where the fete was to be given. "the cardinal left me, not much satisfied at his reception. determined to follow, as usual, his own misguided passion, he immediately went too trianon, disguised with a large cloak. he saw the porter, and bribed him. he only wished, he said, to be placed in a situation whence he might see the duke and duchess of the north without being seen; but no sooner did he perceive the porter engaged at some distance than he left his cloak at the lodge, and went forward in his cardinal's dress, as if he had been one of the invited guests, placing himself purposely in the queen's path to attract her attention as she rode by in the carriage with the duke and duchess. "the queen was shocked and thunderstruck at seeing him. but, great as was her annoyance, knowing the cardinal had not been invited and ought not to have been there, she only discharged the porter who had been seduced to let him in; and, though the king, on being made acquainted with his treachery, would have banished his eminence a hundred leagues from the capital, yet the queen, the royal aunts, the princesse elizabeth, and myself, not to make the affair public, and thereby disgrace the high order of his ecclesiastical dignity, prevented the king from exercising his authority by commanding instant exile. "indeed, the queen could never get the better of her fears of being some day, or in some way or other, betrayed by the cardinal, for having made him the confidant of the mortification she would have suffered if the projected marriage of louis xv. and her sister had been solemnized. on this account she uniformly opposed whatever harshness the king at any time intended against the cardinal. "thus was this wicked prelate left at leisure to premeditate the horrid plot of the famous necklace, the ever memorable fraud, which so fatally verified the presentiments of the queen." section ii. [the production of 'le mariage de figaro', by beaumarchais, upon the stage at paris, so replete with indecorous and slanderous allusions to the royal family, had spread the prejudices against the queen through the whole kingdom and every rank of france, just in time to prepare all minds for the deadly blow which her majesty received from the infamous plot of the diamond necklace. from this year, crimes and misfortunes trod closely on each others' heels in the history of the ill-starred queen; and one calamity only disappeared to make way for a greater. the destruction of the papers which would have thoroughly explained the transaction has still left all its essential particulars in some degree of mystery; and the interest of the clergy, who supported one of their own body, coupled with the arts and bribes of the high houses connected with the plotting prelate, must, of course, have discoloured greatly even what was well known. it will be recollected that before the accession of louis xvi. the cardinal de rohan was disgraced in consequence of his intrigues; that all his ingenuity was afterwards unremittingly exerted to obtain renewed favour; that he once obtruded himself upon the notice of the queen in the gardens of trianon, and that his conduct in so doing excited the indignation it deserved, but was left unpunished owing to the entreaties of the best friends of the queen, and her own secret horror of a man who had already caused her so much anguish. with the histories of the fraud every one is acquainted. that of madame campan, as far as it goes, is sufficiently detailed and correct to spare me the necessity of expatiating upon this theme of villany. yet, to assist the reader's memory, before returning to the journal of the princesse de lamballe, i shall recapitulate the leading particulars. the cardinal had become connected with a young, but artful and necessitous, woman, of the name of lamotte. it was known that the darling ambition of the cardinal was to regain the favour of the queen. the necklace, which has been already spoken of, and which was originally destined by louis xv. for marie antoinette--had her hand, by divorce, been transferred to him--but which, though afterwards intended by louis xv. for his mistress, du barry, never came to her in consequence of his death--this fatal necklace was still in existence, and in the possession of the crown jewellers, boehmer and bassange. it was valued at eighteen hundred thousand livres. the jewellers had often pressed it upon the queen, and even the king himself had enforced its acceptance. but the queen dreaded the expense, especially at an epoch of pecuniary difficulty in the state, much more than she coveted the jewels, and uniformly and resolutely declined them, although they had been proposed to her on very easy terms of payment, as she really did not like ornaments. it was made to appear at the parliamentary investigation that the artful lamotte had impelled the cardinal to believe that she herself was in communication with the queen; that she had interested her majesty in favour of the long slighted cardinal; that she had fabricated a correspondence, in which professions of penitence on the part of de rohan were answered by assurances of forgiveness from the queen. the result of this correspondence was represented to be the engagement of the cardinal to negotiate the purchase of the necklace secretly, by a contract for periodical payments. to the forgery of papers was added, it was declared, the substitution of the queen's person, by dressing up a girl of the palais royal to represent her majesty, whom she in some degree resembled, in a secret and rapid interview with rohan in a dark grove of the gardens of versailles, where she was to give the cardinal a rose, in token of her royal approbation, and then hastily disappear. the importunity of the jewellers, on the failure of the stipulated payment, disclosed the plot. a direct appeal of theirs to the queen, to save them from ruin, was the immediate source of detection. the cardinal was arrested, and all the parties tried. but the cardinal was acquitted, and lamotte and a subordinate agent alone punished. the quack cagliostro was also in the plot, but he, too, escaped, like his confederate, the cardinal, who was made to appear as the dupe of lamotte. the queen never got over the effect of this affair. her friends well knew the danger of severe measures towards one capable of collecting around him strong support against a power already so much weakened by faction and discord. but the indignation of conscious innocence insulted, prevailed, though to its ruin! but it is time to let the princesse de lamballe give her own impressions upon this fatal subject, and in her own words.] "how could messieurs boehmer and bassange presume that the queen would have employed any third person to obtain an article of such value, without enabling them to produce an unequivocal document signed by her own hand and countersigned by mine, as had ever been the rule during my superintendence of the household, whenever anything was ordered from the jewellers by her majesty? why did not messieurs boehmer and bassange wait on me, when they saw a document unauthorised by me, and so widely departing from the established forms? i must still think, as i have often said to the king, that boehmer and bassange wished to get rid of this dead weight of diamonds in any way; and the queen having unfortunately been led by me to hush up many foul libels against her reputation, as i then thought it prudent she should do, rather than compromise her character with wretches capable of doing anything to injure her, these jewellers, judging from this erroneous policy of the past, imagined that in this instance, also, rather than hazard exposure, her majesty would pay them for the necklace. this was a compromise which i myself resisted, though so decidedly adverse to bringing the affair before the nation by a public trial. of such an explosion, i foresaw the consequences, and i ardently entreated the king and queen to take other measures. but, though till now so hostile to severity with the cardinal, the queen felt herself so insulted by the proceeding that she gave up every other consideration to make manifest her innocence. "the wary comte de vergennes did all he could to prevent the affair from getting before the public. against the opinion of the king and the whole council of ministers, he opposed judicial proceedings. not that he conceived the cardinal altogether guiltless; but he foresaw the fatal consequences that must result to her majesty, from bringing to trial an ecclesiastic of such rank; for he well knew that the host of the higher orders of the nobility, to whom the prelate was allied, would naturally strain every point to blacken the character of the king and queen, as the only means of exonerating their kinsman in the eyes of the world from the criminal mystery attached to that most diabolical intrigue against the fair fame of marie antoinette. the count could not bear the idea of the queen's name being coupled with those of the vile wretches, lamotte and the mountebank cagliostro, and therefore wished the king to chastise the cardinal by a partial exile, which might have been removed at pleasure. but the queen's party too fatally seconded her feelings, and prevailed. "i sat by her majesty's bedside the whole of the night, after i heard what had been determined against the cardinal by the council of ministers, to beg her to use all her interest with the king to persuade him to revoke the order of the warrant for the prelate's arrest. to this the queen replied, 'then the king, the ministers, and the people, will all deem me guilty.' "her majesty's remark stopped all farther argument upon the subject, and i had the inconsolable grief to see my royal mistress rushing upon dangers which i had no power of preventing her from bringing upon herself. "the slanderers who had imputed such unbounded influence to the queen over the mind of louis xvi. should have been consistent enough to consider that, with but a twentieth part of the tithe of her imputed power, uncontrolled as she then was by national authority, she might, without any exposure to third persons, have at once sent one of her pages to the garde-meuble and other royal depositaries, replete with hidden treasures of precious stones which never saw the light, and thence have supplied herself with more than enough to form ten necklaces, or to have fully satisfied, in any way she liked, the most unbounded passion for diamonds, for the use of which she would never have been called to account. "but the truth is, the queen had no love of ornaments. a proof occurred very soon after i had the honour to be nominated her majesty's superintendent. on the day of the great fete of the cordon bleu, when it was the etiquette to wear diamonds and pearls, the queen had omitted putting them on. as there had been a greater affluence of visitors than usual that morning, and her majesty's toilet was overthronged by princes and princesses, i fancied in the bustle that the omission proceeded from forgetfulness. consequently, i sent the tirewoman, in the queen's hearing, to order the jewels to be brought in. smilingly, her majesty replied, 'no, no! i have not forgotten these gaudy things; but i do not intend that the lustre of my eyes should be outshone by the one, or the whiteness of my teeth by the other; however, as you wish art to eclipse nature, i'll wear them to satisfy you, ma belle dame!' "the king was always so thoroughly indulgent to her majesty, with regard both to her public and private conduct, that she never had any pretext for those reserves which sometimes tempt queens as well as the wives of private individuals to commit themselves to third persons for articles of high value, which their caprice indiscreetly impels them to procure unknown to their natural guardians. marie antoinette had no reproach or censure for plunging into excesses beyond her means to apprehend from her royal husband. on the contrary, the king himself had spontaneously offered to purchase the necklace from the jewellers, who had urged it on him without limiting any time for payment. it was the intention of his majesty to have liquidated it out of his private purse. but marie antoinette declined the gift. twice in my presence was the refusal repeated before messieurs boehmer and bassange. who, then, can for a moment presume, after all these circumstances, that the queen of france, with a nation's wealth at her feet and thousands of individuals offering her millions, which she never accepted, would have so far degraded herself and the honour of the nation, of which she was born to be the ornament, as to place herself gratuitously in the power of a knot of wretches, headed by a man whose general bad character for years had excluded him from court and every respectable society, and had made the queen herself mark him as an object of the utmost aversion. "if these circumstances be not sufficient adequately to open the eyes of those whom prejudice has blinded, and whose ears have been deafened against truth, by the clamours of sinister conspirators against the monarchy instead of the monarchs; if all these circumstances, i repeat, do not completely acquit the queen, argument, or even ocular demonstration itself, would be thrown away. posterity will judge impartially, and with impartial judges the integrity of marie antoinette needs no defender. "when the natural tendency of the character of de rohan to romantic and extraordinary intrigue is considered in connection with the associates he had gathered around him, the plot of the necklace ceases to be a source of wonder. at the time the cardinal was most at a loss for means to meet the necessities of his extravagance, and to obtain some means of access to the queen, the mountebank quack, cagliostro, made his appearance in france. his fame had soon flown from strasburg to paris, the magnet of vices and the seat of criminals. the prince-cardinal, known of old as a seeker after everything of notoriety, soon became the intimate of one who flattered him with the accomplishment of all his dreams in the realization of the philosopher's stone; converting puffs and french paste into brilliants; roman pearls into oriental ones; and turning earth to gold. the cardinal, always in want of means to supply the insatiable exigencies of his ungovernable vices, had been the dupe through life of his own credulity--a drowning man catching at a straw! but instead of making gold of base materials, cagliostro's brass soon relieved his blind adherent of all his sterling metal. as many needy persons enlisted under the banners of this nostrum speculator, it is not to be wondered at that the infamous name of the comtesse de lamotte, and others of the same stamp, should have thus fallen into an association of the prince-cardinal or that her libellous stories of the queen of france should have found eager promulgators, where the real diamonds of the famous necklace being taken apart were divided piecemeal among a horde of the most depraved sharpers that ever existed to make human nature blush at its own degradation! [cagliostro, when he came to rome, for i know not whether there had been any previous intimacy, got acquainted with a certain marchese vivaldi, a roman, whose wife had been for years the chere amie of the last venetian ambassador, peter pesaro, a noble patrician, and who has ever since his embassy at rome been his constant companion and now resides with him in england. no men in europe are more constant in their attachments than the venetians. pesaro is the sole proprietor of one of the moat beautiful and magnificent palaces on the grand canal at venice, though he now lives in the outskirts of london, in a small house, not so large as one of the offices of his immense noble palace, where his agent transacts his business. the husband of pesaro's chere amie, the marchese vivaldi, when cagliostro was arrested and sent to the castello santo angelo at rome, was obliged to fly his country, and went to venice, where he was kept secreted and maintained by the marquis solari, and it was only through his means and those of the cardinal consalvi, then known only as the musical abbe consalvi, from his great attachment to the immortal cimarosa, that vivaldi was ever allowed to return to his native country; but consalvi, who was the friend of vivaldi, feeling with the marquis solari much interested for his situation, they together contrived to convince pius vi. that he was more to be pitied than blamed, and thus obtained his recall. i have merely given this note as a further warning to be drawn from the connections of the cardinal de rohan, to deter hunters after novelty from forming ties with innovators and impostors. cagliostro was ultimately condemned, by the roman laws under pope pius vi., for life, to the galleys, where he died. proverbs ought to be respected; for it is said that no phrase becomes a proverb until after a century's experience of its truth. in england it is proverbial to judge of men by the company they keep. judge of the cardinal de rohan from his most intimate friend, the galley-slave.] "eight or ten years had elapsed from the time her majesty had last seen the cardinal to speak to him, with the exception of the casual glance as she drove by when he furtively introduced himself into the garden at the fete at trianon, till he was brought to the king's cabinet when arrested, and interrogated, and confronted with her face to face. the prince started when he saw her. the comparison of her features with those of the guilty wretch who had dared to personate her in the garden at versailles completely destroyed his self-possession. her majesty's person was become fuller, and her face was much longer than that of the infamous d'oliva. he could neither speak nor write an intelligible reply to the questions put to him. all he could utter, and that only in broken accents, was, 'i'll pay! i'll pay messieurs bassange.' "had he not speedily recovered himself, all the mystery in which this affair has been left, so injuriously to the queen, might have been prevented. his papers would have declared the history of every particular, and distinctly established the extent of his crime and the thorough innocence of marie antoinette of any connivance at the fraud, or any knowledge of the necklace. but when the cardinal was ordered by the king's council to be put under arrest, his self-possession returned. he was given in charge to an officer totally unacquainted with the nature of the accusation. considering only the character of his prisoner as one of the highest dignitaries of the church, from ignorance and inexperience, he left the cardinal an opportunity to write a german note to his factotum, the abbe georgel. in this note the trusty secretary was ordered to destroy all the letters of cagliostro, madame de lamotte, and the other wretched associates of the infamous conspiracy; and the traitor was scarcely in custody when every evidence of his treason had disappeared. the note to georgel saved his master from expiating his offence at the place de grave. "the consequences of the affair would have been less injurious, however, had it been managed, even as it stood, with better judgment and temper. but it was improperly entrusted to the baron de breteuil and the abbe vermond, both sworn enemies of the cardinal. their main object was the ruin of him they hated, and they listened only to their resentments. they never weighed the danger of publicly prosecuting an individual whose condemnation would involve the first families in france, for he was allied even to many of the princes of the blood. they should have considered that exalted personages, naturally feeling as if any crime proved against their kinsman would be a stain upon themselves, would of course resort to every artifice to exonerate the accused. to criminate the queen was the only and the obvious method. few are those nearest the crown who are not most jealous of its wearers! look at the long civil wars of york and lancaster, and the short reign of richard. the downfall of kings meets less resistance than that of their inferiors. "still, notwithstanding all the deplorable blunders committed in this business of de rohan, justice was not smothered without great difficulty. his acquittal cost the families of de rohan and de conde more than a million of livres, distributed among all ranks of the clergy; besides immense sums sent to the court of rome to make it invalidate the judgment of the civil authority of france upon so high a member of the church, and to induce it to order the cardinal's being sent to rome by way of screening him from the prosecution, under the plausible pretext of more rigid justice. "considerable sums in money and jewels were also lavished on all the female relatives of the peers of france, who were destined to sit on the trial. the abbe georgel bribed the press, and extravagantly paid all the literary pens in france to produce the most jesuitical and sophisticated arguments in his patron's justification. though these writers dared not accuse or in any way criminate the queen, yet the respectful doubts, with which their defence of her were seasoned, did indefinitely more mischief than any direct attack, which could have been directly answered. "the long cherished, but till now smothered, resentment of the comtesse de noailles, the scrupulous madame etiquette, burst forth on this occasion. openly joining the cardinal's party against her former mistress and sovereign, she recruited and armed all in favour of her protege; for it was by her intrigues de rohan had been nominated ambassador to vienna. mesdames de guemenee and marsan, rival pretenders to favours of his eminence, were equally earnest to support him against the queen. in short, there was scarcely a family of distinction in france that, from the libels which then inundated the kingdom, did not consider the king as having infringed on their prerogatives and privileges in accusing the cardinal. "shortly after the acquittal of this most artful, and, in the present instance, certainly too fortunate prelate, the princesse de conde came to congratulate me on the queen's innocence, and her kinsman's liberation from the bastille. "without the slightest observation, i produced to the princess documents in proof of the immense sums she alone had expended in bribing the judges and other persons, to save her relation, the cardinal, by criminating her majesty. "the princesse de conde instantly fell into violent hysterics, and was carried home apparently, lifeless. "i have often reproached myself for having given that sudden shock and poignant anguish to her highness, but i could not have supposed that one who came so barefacedly to impress me with the cardinal's innocence, could have been less firm in refuting her own guilt. "i never mentioned the circumstance to the queen. had i done so, her highness would have been forever excluded from the court and the royal presence. this was no time to increase the enemies of her majesty, and, the affair of the trial being ended, i thought it best to prevent any further breach from a discord between the court and the house of conde. however, from a coldness subsisting ever after between the princess and myself, i doubt not that the queen had her suspicions that all was not as it should be in that quarter. indeed, though her majesty never confessed it, i think she herself had discovered something at that very time not altogether to the credit of the princesse de conde, for she ceased going, from that period, to any of the fetes given at chantilly. "these were but a small portion of the various instruments successfully levelled by parties, even the least suspected, to blacken and destroy the fair fame of marie antoinette. "the document which so justly alarmed the princesse de conde, when i showed it to her came into my hands in the following manner: "whenever a distressed family, or any particular individual, applied to me for relief, or was otherwise recommended for charitable purposes, i generally sent my little english protegee--whose veracity, well knowing the goodness of her heart, i could rely--to ascertain whether their claims were really well grounded. [indeed, i never deceived the princess on these occasions. she was so generously charitable that i should have conceived it a crime. when i could get no satisfactory information, i said i could not trace anything undeserving her charity, and left her highness to exercise her own discretion.] "one day i received an earnest memorial from a family, desiring to make some private communications of peculiar delicacy. i sent my usual ambassadress to inquire into its import. on making her mission known, she found no difficulty in ascertaining the object of the application. it proceeded from conscientious distress of mind. a relation of this family had been the regular confessor of a convent. with the lady abbess of this convent and her trusty nuns, the princesse de conde had deposited considerable sums of money, to be bestowed in creating influence in favour of the cardinal de rohan. the confessor, being a man of some consideration among the clergy, was applied to, to use his influence with the needier members of the church more immediately about him, as well as those of higher station, to whom he had access, in furthering the purposes of the princesse de conde. the bribes were applied as intended. but, at the near approach of death, the confessor was struck with remorse. he begged his family, without mentioning his name, to send the accounts and vouchers of the sums he had so distributed, to me, as a proof of his contrition, that i might make what use of them i should think proper. the papers were handed to my messenger, who pledged her word of honour that i would certainly adhere to the dying man's last injunctions. she desired they might be sealed up by the family, and by them directed to me.--[to this day, i neither know the name of the convent or the confessor.]--she then hastened back to our place of rendezvous, where i waited for her, and where she consigned the packet into my own hands. "that part of the papers which compromised only the princesse de conde was shown by me to the princess on the occasion i have mentioned. it was natural enough that she should have been shocked at the detection of having suborned the clergy and others with heavy bribes to avert the deserved fate of the cardinal. i kept this part of the packet secret till the king's two aunts, who had also been warm advocates in favour of the prelate, left paris for rome. then, as pius vi. had interested himself as head of the church for the honour of one of its members, i gave them these very papers to deliver to his holiness for his private perusal. i was desirous of enabling this truly charitable and christian head of our sacred religion to judge how far his interference was justified by facts. i am thoroughly convinced that, had he been sooner furnished with these evidences, instead of blaming the royal proceeding, he would have urged it on, nay, would himself have been the first to advise that the foul conspiracy should be dragged into open day. "the comte de vergennes told me that the king displayed the greatest impartiality throughout the whole investigation for the exculpation of the queen, and made good his title on this, as he did on every occasion where his own unbiassed feelings and opinions were called into action, to great esteem for much higher qualities than the world has usually given him credit for. "i have been accused of having opened the prison doors of the culprit lamotte for her escape; but the charge is false. i interested myself, as was my duty, to shield the queen from public reproach by having lamotte sent to a place of penitence; but i never interfered, except to lessen her punishment, after the judicial proceedings. the diamonds, in the hands of her vile associates at paris, procured her ample means to escape. i should have been the queen's greatest enemy had i been the cause of giving liberty to one who acted, and might naturally have been expected to act, as this depraved woman did. "through the private correspondence which was carried on between this country and england, after i had left it, i was informed that m. de calonne, whom the queen never liked, and who was called to the administration against her will--which he knew, and consequently became one of her secret enemies in the affair of the necklace--was discovered to have been actively employed against her majesty in the work published in london by lamotte. "mr. sheridan was the gentleman who first gave me this information. "i immediately sent a trusty person by the queen's orders to london, to buy up the whole work. it was too late. it had been already so widely circulated that its consequences could no longer be prevented. i was lucky enough, however, for a considerable sum, to get a copy from a person intimate with the author, the margin of which, in the handwriting of m. de calonne, actually contained numerous additional circumstances which were to have been published in a second edition! this publication my agent, aided by some english gentlemen, arrived in time to suppress. "the copy i allude to was brought to paris and shown to the queen. she instantly flew with it in her hands to the king's cabinet. "'now, sire,' exclaimed she, 'i hope you will be convinced that my enemies are those whom i have long considered as the most pernicious of your majesty's councillors--your own cabinet ministers--your m. de calonne!--respecting whom i have often given you my opinion, which, unfortunately, has always been attributed to mere female caprice, or as having been biassed by the intrigues of court favourites! this, i hope, your majesty will now be able to contradict!' "the king all this time was looking over the different pages containing m. de calonne's additions on their margins. on recognising the hand-writing, his majesty was so affected by this discovered treachery of his minister and the agitation of his calumniated queen that he could scarcely articulate. "'where,' said he, i did you procure this?' "'through the means, sire, of some of the worthy members of that nation your treacherous ministers made our enemy--from england! where your unfortunate queen, your injured wife, is compassionated!' "'who got it for you?' "'my dearest, my real, and my only sincere friend, the princesse de lamballe!' "the king requested i should be sent for. i came. as may be imagined, i was received with the warmest sentiments of affection by both their majesties. i then laid before the king the letter of mr. sheridan, which was, in substance, as follows: "'madame, "'a work of mine, which i did not choose should be printed, was published in dublin and transmitted to be sold in london. as soon as i was informed of it, and had procured a spurious copy, i went to the bookseller to put a stop to its circulation. i there met with a copy of the work of madame de lamotte, which has been corrected by some one at paris and sent back to the bookseller for a second edition. though not in time to suppress the first edition, owing to its rapid circulation, i have had interest enough, through the means of the bookseller of whom i speak, to remit you the copy which has been sent as the basis of a new one. the corrections, i am told, are by one of the king's ministers. if true, i should imagine the writer will be easily traced. "'i am happy that it has been in my power to make this discovery, and i hope it will be the means of putting a stop to this most scandalous publication. i feel myself honoured in having contributed thus far to the wishes of her majesty, which i hope i have fulfilled to the entire satisfaction of your highness. "'should anything further transpire on this subject, i will give you the earliest information. "'i remain, madame, with profound respect, your highness' most devoted, "'very humble servant, "'richard brinsley sheridan.' [madame campan mentions in her work that the queen had informed her of the treachery of the minister, but did not enter into particulars, nor explain the mode or source of its detection. notwithstanding the parties had bound themselves for the sums they received not to reprint the work, a second edition appeared a short time afterwards in london. this, which was again bought up by the french ambassador, was the same which was to have been burned by the king's command at the china manufactory at sevres.] "m. de calonne immediately received the king's mandate to resign the portfolio. the minister desired that he might be allowed to give his resignation to the king himself. his request was granted. the queen was present at the interview. the work in question was produced. on beholding it, the minister nearly fainted. the king got up and left the room. the queen, who remained, told m. de calonne that his majesty had no further occasion for his services. he fell on his knees. he was not allowed to speak, but was desired to leave paris. "the dismissal and disgrace of m. de calonne were scarcely known before all paris vociferated that they were owing to the intrigues of the favourite de polignac, in consequence of his having refused to administer to her own superfluous extravagance and the queen's repeated demands on the treasury to satisfy the numerous dependants of the duchess. "this, however, was soon officially disproved by the exhibition of a written proposition of calonne's to the queen, to supply an additional hundred thousand francs that year to her annual revenue, which her majesty refused. as for the duchesse de polignac, so far from having caused the disgrace, she was not even aware of the circumstance from which it arose; nor did the minister himself ever know how, or by what agency, his falsehood was so thoroughly unmasked." note: [the work which is here spoken of, the queen kept, as a proof of the treachery of calonne towards her and his sovereign, till the storming of the tuileries on the th of august, , when, with the rest of the papers and property plundered on that memorable occasion, it fell into the hands of the ferocious mob. m. de calonne soon after left france for italy. there he lived for some time in the palace of a particular friend of mine and the marquis, my husband, the countess francese tressino, at vicenza. in consequence of our going every season to take the mineral waters and use the baths at valdagno, we had often occasion to be in company with m. de calonne, both at vicenza and valdagno, where i must do him the justice to say he conducted himself with the greatest circumspection in speaking of the revolution. though he evidently avoided the topic which terminates this chapter, yet one day, being closely pressed upon the subject, he said forgeries were daily committed on ministers, and were most particularly so in france at the period in question; that he had borne the blame of various imprudencies neither authorized nor executed by him; that much had been done and supposed to have been done with his sanction, of which he had not the slightest knowledge. this he observed generally, without specifying any express instance. he was then asked whether he did not consider himself responsible for the mischief he occasioned by declaring the nation in a state of bankruptcy. he said, "no, not in the least. there was no other way of preventing enormous sums from being daily lavished, as they then were, on herds of worthless beings; that the queen had sought to cultivate a state of private domestic society, but that, in the attempt, she only warmed in her bosom domestic vipers, who fed on the vital spirit of her generosity." he mentioned no names. i then took the liberty of asking him his opinion of the princesse de lamballe. "oh, madame! had the rest of her majesty's numerous attendants possessed the tenth part of that unfortunate victim's virtues, her majesty would never have been led into the errors which all france must deplore! "i shall never forget her," continued he, "the day i went to take leave of her. she was sitting on a sofa when i entered. on seeing me, she rose immediately. before i could utter a syllable, 'monsieur,' said the princess, 'you are accused of being the queen's enemy. acquit yourself of the foul deed imputed to you, and i shall be happy to serve you as far as lies in my power. till then, i must decline holding any communication with an individual thus situated. i am her friend, and cannot receive any one known to be otherwise.' "there was something," added he, "so sublime, so dignified, and altogether so firm, though mild in her manner, that she appeared not to belong to a race of earthly beings!" seeing the tears fall from his eyes, while he was thus eulogising her whose memory i shall ever venerate, i almost forgave him the mischief of his imprudence, which led to her untimely end. i therefore carefully avoided wounding his few gray hairs and latter days, and left him still untold that it was by her, of whom he thought so highly, that his uncontradicted treachery had been discovered. section iii. "of the many instances in which the queen's exertions to serve those whom she conceived likely to benefit and relieve the nation, turned to the injury, not only of herself, but those whom she patronised and the cause she would strengthen, one of the most unpopular was that of the promotion of brienne, archbishop of sens, to the ministry. her interest in his favour was entirely created by the abbe vermond, himself too superficial to pronounce upon any qualities, and especially such as were requisite for so high a station. by many, the partiality which prompted vermond to espouse the interests of the archbishop was ascribed to the amiable sentiment of gratitude for the recommendation of that dignitary, by which vermond himself first obtained his situation at court; but there were others, who have been deemed deeper in the secret, who impute it to the less honourable source of self-interest, to the mere spirit of ostentation, to the hope of its enabling him to bring about the destruction of the de polignacs. be this as it may, the abbe well knew that a minister indebted for his elevation solely to the queen would be supported by her to the last. "this, unluckily, proved the case. marie antoinette persisted in upholding every act of brienne, till his ignorance and unpardonable blunders drew down the general indignation of the people against her majesty and her protege, with whom she was identified. the king had assented to the appointment with no other view than that of not being utterly isolated and to show a respect for his consort's choice. but the incapable minister was presently compelled to retire not only from office, but from paris. never was a minister more detested while in power, or a people more enthusiastically satisfied at his going out. his effigy was burnt in every town of france, and the general illuminations and bonfires in the capital were accompanied by hooting and hissing the deposed statesman to the barriers. "the queen, prompted by the abbe vermond, even after brienne's dismission, gave him tokens of her royal munificence. her majesty feared that her acting otherwise to a minister, who had been honoured by her confidence, would operate as a check to prevent all men of celebrity from exposing their fortunes to so ungracious a return for lending their best services to the state, which now stood in need of the most skilful pilots. such were the motives assigned by her majesty herself to me, when i took the liberty, of expostulating with her respecting the dangers which threatened herself and family, from this continued devotedness to a minister against whom the nation had pronounced so strongly. i could not but applaud the delicacy of the feeling upon which her conduct had been grounded; nor could i blame her, in my heart, for the uprightness of her principle, in showing that what she had once undertaken should not be abandoned through female caprice. i told her majesty that the system upon which she acted was praiseworthy; and that its application in the present instance would have been so had the archbishop possessed as much talent as he lacked; but, that now it was quite requisite for her to stop the public clamour by renouncing her protection of a man who had so seriously endangered the public tranquillity and her own reputation. "as a proof how far my caution was well founded, there was an immense riotous mob raised about this time against the queen, in consequence of her having, appointed the dismissed minister's niece, madame de canisy, to a place at court, and having given her picture, set in diamonds, to the archbishop himself. "the queen, in many cases, was by far too communicative to some of her household, who immediately divulged all they gathered from her unreserve. how could these circumstances have transpired to the people but from those nearest the person of her majesty, who, knowing the public feeling better than their royal mistress could be supposed to know it, did their own feeling little credit by the mischievous exposure? the people were exasperated beyond all conception. the abbe vermond placed before her majesty the consequences of her communicativeness, and from this time forward she never repeated the error. after the lesson she had received, none of her female attendants, not even the duchesse de polignac, to whom she would have confided her very existence, could, had they been ever so much disposed, have drawn anything upon public matters from her. with me, as her superintendent and entitled by my situation to interrogate and give her counsel, she was not, of course, under the same restriction. to his other representations of the consequences of the queen's indiscreet openness, the abbe vermond added that, being obliged to write all the letters, private and public, he often found himself greatly embarrassed by affairs having gone forth to the world beforehand. one misfortune of putting this seal upon the lips of her majesty was that it placed her more thoroughly in the abbe's power. she was, of course, obliged to rely implicitly upon him concerning many points, which, had they undergone the discussion necessarily resulting from free conversation, would have been shown to her under very different aspects. a man with a better heart, less jesuitical, and not so much interested as vermond was to keep his place, would have been a safer monitor. "though the archbishop of sens was so much hated and despised, much may be said in apology for his disasters. his unpopularity, and the queen's support of him against the people, was certainly a vital blow to the monarchy. there is no doubt of his having been a poor substitute for the great men who had so gloriously beaten the political paths of administration, particularly the comte de vergennes and necker. but at that time, when france was threatened by its great convulsion, where is the genius which might not have committed itself? and here is a man coming to rule amidst revolutionary feelings, with no knowledge whatever of revolutionary principles--a pilot steering into one harbour by the chart of another. i am by no means a vindicator of the archbishop's obstinacy in offering himself a candidate for a situation entirely foreign to the occupations, habits, and studies of his whole life; but his intentions may have been good enough, and we must not charge the physician with murder who has only mistaken the disease, and, though wrong in his judgment, has been zealous and conscientious; nor must we blame the comedians for the faults of the comedy. the errors were not so much in the men who did not succeed as in the manners of the times. "the part which the queen was now openly compelled to bear, in the management of public affairs, increased the public feeling against her from dislike to hatred. her majesty was unhappy, not only from the necessity which called her out of the sphere to which she thought her sex ought to be confined, but from the divisions which existed in the royal family upon points in which their common safety required a common scheme of action. her favourite brother-in-law, d'artois, had espoused the side of d'orleans, and the popular party seemed to prevail against her, even with the king. "the various parliamentary assemblies, which had swept on their course, under various denominations, in rapid and stormy succession, were now followed by one which, like aaron's rod, was to swallow up the rest. its approach was regarded by the queen with ominous reluctance. at length, however, the moment for the meeting of the states general at versailles arrived. necker was once more in favour, and a sort of forlorn hope of better times dawned upon the perplexed monarch, in his anticipations from this assembly. "the night before the procession of the instalment of the states general was to take place, it being my duty to attend her majesty, i received an anonymous letter, cautioning me not to be seen that day by her side. i immediately went to the king's apartments and showed him the letter. his majesty humanely enjoined me to abide by its counsels. i told him i hoped he would for once permit me to exercise my own discretion; for if my royal sovereign were in danger, it was then that her attendants should be most eager to rally round her, in order to watch over her safety and encourage her fortitude. "while we were thus occupied, the queen and my sister-in-law, the duchesse d'orleans, entered the king's apartment, to settle some part of the etiquette respecting the procession. "'i wish,' exclaimed the duchess, 'that this procession were over; or that it were never to take place; or that none of us had to be there; or else, being obliged, that we had all passed, and were comfortably at home again.' "'its taking place,' answered the queen, 'never had my sanction, especially at versailles. m. necker appears to be in its favour, and answers for its success. i wish he may not be deceived; but i much fear that he is guided more by the mistaken hope of maintaining his own popularity by this impolitic meeting, than by any conscientious confidence in its advantage to the king's authority.' "the king, having in his hand the letter which i had just brought him, presented it to the queen. "'this, my dear duchess,' cried the queen, i comes from the palais royal manufactory, [palais d' orleans. d.w.] to poison the very first sentiments of delight at the union expected between the king and his subjects, by innuendoes of the danger which must result from my being present at it. look at the insidiousness of the thing! under a pretext of kindness, cautions against the effect of their attachment are given to my most sincere and affectionate attendants, whose fidelity none dare attack openly. i am, however, rejoiced that lamballe has been cautioned.' "'against what?' replied i. "'against appearing in the procession,' answered the queen. "'it is only,' i exclaimed, 'by putting me in the grave they can ever withdraw me from your majesty. while i have life and your majesty's sanction, force only will prevent me from doing my duty. fifty thousand daggers, madame, were they all raised against me, would have no power to shake the firmness of my character or the earnestness of my attachment. i pity the wretches who have so little penetration. victim or no victim, nothing shall ever induce me to quit your majesty.' "the queen and duchess, both in tears, embraced me. after the duchess had taken her leave, the king and queen hinted their suspicions that she had been apprised of the letter, and had made this visit expressly to observe what effect it had produced, well knowing at the time that some attempt was meditated by the hired mob and purchased deputies already brought over to the d'orleans faction. not that the slightest suspicion of collusion could ever be attached to the good duchesse d'orleans against the queen. the intentions of the duchess were known to be as virtuous and pure as those of her husband's party were criminal and mischievous. but, no doubt, she had intimations of the result intended; and, unable to avert the storm or prevent its cause, had been instigated by her strong attachment to me, as well as the paternal affection her father, the duc de penthievre, bore me, to attempt to lessen the exasperation of the palais royal party and the duke, her husband, against me, by dissuading me from running any risk upon the occasion. "the next day, may , , at the very moment when all the resources of nature and art seemed exhausted to render the queen a paragon of loveliness beyond anything i had ever before witnessed, even in her; when every impartial eye was eager to behold and feast on that form whose beauty warmed every heart in her favour; at that moment a horde of miscreants, just as she came within sight of the assembly, thundered in her ears, 'orleans forever!' three or four times, while she and the king were left to pass unheeded. even the warning of the letter, from which she had reason to expect some commotions, suggested to her imagination nothing like this, and she was dreadfully shaken. i sprang forward to support her. the king's party, prepared for the attack, shouted 'vive le roi! vive la reine!' as i turned, i saw some of the members lividly pale, as if fearing their machinations had been discovered; but, as they passed, they said in the hearing of her majesty, 'remember, you are the daughter of maria theresa.'--'true,' answered the queen. the duc de biron, orleans, la fayette, mirabeau, and the mayor of paris, seeing her majesty's emotion, came up, and were going to stop the procession. all, in apparent agitation, cried out 'halt!' the queen, sternly looking at them, made a sign with her head to proceed, recovered herself, and moved forward in the train, with all the dignity and self-possession for which she was so eminently distinguished. "but this self-command in public proved nearly fatal to her majesty on her return to her apartment. there her real feelings broke forth, and their violence was so great as to cause the bracelets on her wrists and the pearls in her necklace to burst from the threads and settings, before her women and the ladies in attendance could have time to take them off. she remained many hours in a most alarming state of strong convulsions. her clothes were obliged to be cut from her body, to give her ease; but as soon as she was undressed, and tears came to her relief, she flew alternately to the princesse elizabeth and to myself; but we were both too much overwhelmed to give her the consolation of which she stood so much in need. "barnave that very evening came to my private apartment, and tendered his services to the queen. he told me he wished her majesty to be convinced that he was a frenchman; that he only desired his country might be governed by salutary laws, and not by the caprice of weak sovereigns, or a vitiated, corrupt ministry; that the clergy and nobility ought to contribute to the wants of the state equally with every other class of the king's subjects; that when this was accomplished, and abuses were removed, by such a national representation as would enable the minister, necker, to accomplish his plans for the liquidation of the national debt, i might assure her majesty that both the king and herself would find themselves happier in a constitutional government than they had ever yet been; for such a government would set them free from all dependence on the caprice of ministers, and lessen a responsibility of which they now experienced the misery; that if the king sincerely entered into the spirit of regenerating the french nation, he would find among the present representatives many members of probity, loyal and honourable in their intentions, who would never become the destroyers of a limited legitimate monarchy, or the corrupt regicides of a rump parliament, such as brought the wayward charles the first, of england, to the fatal block. "i attempted to relate the conversation to the queen. she listened with the greatest attention till i came to the part concerning the constitutional king, when her majesty lost her patience, and prevented me from proceeding. [this and other conversations, which will be found in subsequent pages, will prove that barnave's sentiments in favour of the royal family long preceded the affair at varennes, the beginning of which madame campan assigns to it. indeed it must by this time be evident to the reader that madame campan, though very correct in relating all she knew, with respect to the history of marie antoinette, was not in possession of matters foreign to her occupation about the person of the queen, and, in particular, that she could communicate little concerning those important intrigues carried on respecting the different deputies of the first assembly, till in the latter days of the revolution, when it became necessary, from the pressure of events, that she should be made a sort of confidante, in order to prevent her from compromising the persons of the queen and the princesse de lamballe: a trust, of her claim to which her undoubted fidelity was an ample pledge. still, however, she was often absent from court at moments of great importance, and was obliged to take her information, upon much which she has recorded, from hearsay, which has led her, as i have before stated, into frequent mistakes.] "the expense of the insulting scene, which had so overcome her majesty, was five hundred thousand francs! this sum was paid by the agents of the palais royal, and its execution entrusted principally to mirabeau, bailly, the mayor of paris, and another individual, who was afterwards brought over to the court party. "the history of the assembly itself on the day following, the th of may, is too well known. the sudden perturbation of a guilty conscience, which overcame the duc d'orleans, seemed like an awful warning. he had scarcely commenced his inflammatory address to the assembly, when some one, who felt incommoded by the stifling heat of the hall, exclaimed, 'throw open the windows!' the conspirator fancied he heard in this his death sentence. he fainted, and was conducted home in the greatest agitation. madame de bouffon was at the palais royal when the duke was taken thither. the duchesse d'orleans was at the palace of the duc de penthievre, her father, while the duke himself was at the hotel thoulouse with me, where he was to dine, and where we were waiting for the duchess to come and join us, by appointment. but madame de bouffon was so alarmed by the state in which she saw the duc d'orleans that she instantly left the palais royal, and despatched his valet express to bring her thither. my sister-in-law sent an excuse to me for not coming to dinner, and an explanation to her father for so abruptly leaving his palace, and hastened home to her husband. it was some days before he recovered; and his father-in-law, his wife, and myself were not without hopes that he would see in this an omen to prevent him from persisting any longer in his opposition to the royal family. "the effects of the recall of the popular minister, necker, did not satisfy the king. necker soon became an object of suspicion to the court party, and especially to his majesty and the queen. he was known to have maintained an understanding with d'orleans. the miscarriage of many plans and the misfortunes which succeeded were the result of this connection, though it was openly disavowed. the first suspicion of the coalition arose thus: "when the duke had his bust carried about paris, after his unworthy schemes against the king had been discovered, it was thrown into the mire. necker passing, perhaps by mere accident, stopped his carriage, and expressing himself with some resentment for such treatment to a prince of the blood and a friend of the people, ordered the bust to be taken to the palais royal, where it was washed, crowned with laurel, and thence, with necker's own bust, carried to versailles. the king's aunts, coming from bellevue as the procession was upon the road, ordered the guards to send the men away who bore the busts, that the king and queen might not be insulted with the sight. this circumstance caused another riot, which was attributed to their majesties. the dismission of the minister was the obvious result. it is certain, however, that, in obeying the mandate of exile, necker had no wish to exercise the advantage he possessed from his great popularity. his retirement was sudden and secret; and, although it was mentioned that very evening by the baroness de stael to the comte de chinon, so little bustle was made about his withdrawing from france, that it was even stated at the time to have been utterly unknown, even to his daughter. "necker himself ascribed his dismission to the influence of the de polignacs; but he was totally mistaken, for the duchesse de polignac was the last person to have had any influence in matters of state, whatever might have been the case with those who surrounded her. she was devoid of ambition or capacity to give her weight; and the queen was not so pliant in points of high import as to allow herself to be governed or overruled, unless her mind was thoroughly convinced. in that respect, she was something like catharine ii., who always distinguished her favourites from her minister; but in the present case she had no choice, and was under the necessity of yielding to the boisterous voice of a faction. "from this epoch, i saw all the persons who had any wish to communicate with the queen on matters relative to the public business, and her majesty was generally present when they came, and received them in my apartments. the duchesse de polignac never, to my knowledge, entered into any of these state questions; yet there was no promotion in the civil, military, or ministerial department, which she has not been charged with having influenced the queen to make, though there were few of them who were not nominated by the king and his ministers, even unknown to the queen herself. "the prevailing dissatisfaction against her majesty and the favourite de polignac now began to take so many forms, and produce effects so dreadful, as to wring her own feelings, as well as those of her royal mistress, with the most intense anguish. let me mention one gross and barbarous instance in proof of what i say. "after the birth of the queen's second son, the duc de normandie, who was afterwards dauphin, the duke and duchess of harcourt, outrageously jealous of the ascendency of the governess of the dauphin, excited the young prince's hatred toward madame de polignac to such a pitch that he would take nothing from her hands, but often, young as he was at the time, order her out of the apartment, and treat her remonstrances with the utmost contempt. the duchess bitterly complained of the harcourts to the queen; for she really sacrificed the whole of her time to the care and attention required by this young prince, and she did so from sincere attachment, and that he might not be irritated in his declining state of health. the queen was deeply hurt at these dissensions between the governor and governess. her majesty endeavoured to pacify the mind of the young prince, by literally making herself a slave to his childish caprices, which in all probability would have created the confidence so desired, when a most cruel, unnatural, i may say diabolical, report prevailed to alienate the child's affections even from his mother, in making him believe that, owing to his deformity and growing ugliness, she had transferred all her tenderness to his younger brother, who certainly was very superior in health and beauty to the puny dauphin. making a pretext of this calumny, the governor of the heir-apparent was malicious enough to prohibit him from eating or drinking anything but what first passed through the hands of his physicians; and so strong was the impression made by this interdict on the mind of the young dauphin that he never after saw the queen but with the greatest terror. the feelings of his disconsolate parent may be more readily conceived than described. so may the mortification of his governess, the duchesse de polignac, herself so tender, so affectionate a mother. fortunately for himself, and happily for his wretched parents, this royal youth, whose life, though short, had been so full of suffering, died at versailles on the th of june, , and, though only between seven and eight years of age at the time of his decease, he had given proofs of intellectual precocity, which would probably have made continued life, amidst the scenes of wretchedness, which succeeded, anything to him but a blessing. "the cabals of the duke of harcourt, to which i have just adverted, against the duchesse de polignac, were the mere result of foul malice and ambition. harcourt wished to get his wife, who was the sworn enemy of de polignac, created governess to the dauphin, instead of the queen's favourite. most of the criminal stories against the duchesse de polignac, and which did equal injury to the queen, were fabricated by the harcourts, for the purpose of excluding their rival from her situation. "barnave, meanwhile, continued faithful to his liberal principles, but equally faithful to his desire of bringing their majesties over to those principles, and making them republican sovereigns. he lost no opportunity of availing himself of my permission for him to call whenever he chose on public business; and he continued to urge the same points, upon which he had before been so much in earnest, although with no better effect. both the king and the queen looked with suspicion upon barnave, and with still more suspicion upon his politics. "the next time i received him, 'madame,' exclaimed the deputy to me, 'since our last interview i have pondered well on the situation of the king; and, as an honest frenchman, attached to my lawful sovereign, and anxious for his future prosperous reign, i am decidedly of opinion that his own safety, as well as the dignity of the crown of france, and the happiness of his subjects, can only be secured by his giving his country a constitution, which will at once place his establishment beyond the caprice and the tyranny of corrupt administrations, and secure hereafter the first monarchy in europe from the possibility of sinking under weak princes, by whom the royal splendour of france has too often been debased into the mere tool of vicious and mercenary noblesse, and sycophantic courtiers. a king, protected by a constitution, can do no wrong. he is unshackled with responsibility. he is empowered with the comfort of exercising the executive authority for the benefit of the nation, while all the harsher duties, and all the censures they create, devolve on others. it is, therefore, madame, through your means, and the well-known friendship you have ever evinced for the royal family, and the general welfare of the french nation, that i wish to obtain a private audience of her majesty, the queen, in order to induce her to exert the never-failing ascendency she has ever possessed over the mind of our good king, in persuading him to the sacrifice of a small proportion of his power, for the sake of preserving the monarchy to his heirs; and posterity will record the virtues of a prince who has been magnanimous enough, of his own free will, to resign the unlawful part of his prerogatives, usurped by his predecessors, for the blessing and pleasure of giving liberty to a beloved people, among whom both the king and queen will find many hampdens and sidneys, but very few cromwells. besides, madame, we must make a merit of necessity. the times are pregnant with events, and it is more prudent to support the palladium of the ancient monarchy than risk its total overthrow; and fall it must, if the diseased excrescences, of which the people complain, and which threaten to carry death into the very heart of the tree, be not lopped away in time by the sovereign himself.' "i heard the deputy with the greatest attention. i promised to fulfil his commission. the better to execute my task, i retired the moment he left me, and wrote down all i could recollect of his discourse, that it might be thoroughly placed before the queen the first opportunity. "when i communicated the conversation to her majesty, she listened with the most gracious condescension, till i came to the part wherein barnave so forcibly impressed the necessity of adopting a constitutional monarchy. here, as she had done once before, when i repeated some former observations of barnave to her, marie antoinette somewhat lost her equanimity. she rose from her seat, and exclaimed: "'what! is an absolute prince, and the hereditary sovereign of the ancient monarchy of france, to become the tool of a plebeian faction, who will, their point once gained, dethrone him for his imbecile complaisance? do they wish to imitate the english revolution of , and reproduce the sanguinary times of the unfortunate and weak charles the first? to make france a commonwealth! well! be it so! but before i advise the king to such a step, or give my consent to it, they shall bury me under the ruins of the monarchy.' "'but what answer,' said i, 'does your majesty wish me to return to the deputy's request for a private audience?' "'what answer?' exclaimed the queen. no answer at all is the best answer to such a presumptuous proposition! i tremble for the consequences of the impression their disloyal manoeuvres have made upon the minds of the people, and i have no faith whatever in their proffered services to the king. however, on reflection, it may be expedient to temporise. continue to see him. learn, if possible, how far he may be trusted; but do not fix any time, as yet, for the desired audience. i wish to apprise the king, first, of his interview with you, princess. this conversation does not agree with what he and mirabeau proposed about the king's recovering his prerogatives. are these the prerogatives with which he flattered the king? binding him hand and foot, and excluding him from every privilege, and then casting him a helpless dependant on the caprice of a volatile plebeian faction! the french nation is very different from the english. the first rules of the established ancient order of the government broken through, they will violate twenty others, and the king will be sacrificed, before this frivolous people again organise themselves with any sort of regular government.' "agreeably to her majesty's commands, i continued to see barnave. i communicated with him by letter,' at his private lodgings at passy, and at vitry; but it was long before the queen could be brought to consent to the audience he solicited. [of these letters i was generally the bearer. i recollect that day perfectly. i was copying some letters for the princesse de lamballe, when the prince de conti came in. the prince lived not only to see, but to feel the errors of his system. he attained a great age. he outlived the glory of his country. like many others, the first gleam of political regeneration led him into a system, which drove him out of france, to implore the shelter of a foreign asylum, that he might not fall a victim to his own credulity. i had an opportunity of witnessing in his latter days his sincere repentance; and to this it is fit that i should bear testimony. there were no bounds to the execration with which he expressed himself towards the murderers of those victims, whose death he lamented with a bitterness in which some remorse was mingled, from the impression that his own early errors in favour of the revolution had unintentionally accelerated their untimely end. this was a source to him of deep and perpetual self-reproach. there was an eccentricity in the appearance, dress, and manners of the prince de conti, which well deserves recording. he wore to the very last--and it was in barcelona, so late as , that i last had the honour of conversing with him--a white rich stuff dress frock coat, of the cut and fashion of louis xiv., which, being without any collar, had buttons and button-holes from the neck to the bottom of the skirt, and was padded and stiffened with buckram. the cuffs were very large, of a different colour, and turned up to the elbows. the whole was lined with white satin, which, from its being very much moth-eaten, appeared as if it had been dotted on purpose to show the buckram between the satin lining. his waistcoat was of rich green striped silk, bound with gold lace; the buttons and buttonholes of gold; the flaps very large, and completely covering his small clothes; which happened very apropos, for they scarcely reached his knees, over which he wore large striped silk stockings, that came half-way up his thighs. his shoes had high heels, and reached half up his legs; the buckles were small, and set round with paste. a very narrow stiff stock decorated his neck. he carried a hat, with a white feather on the inside, under his arm. his ruffles were of very handsome point lace. his few gray hairs were gathered in a little round bag. the wig alone was wanting to make him a thorough picture of the polished age of the founder of versailles and marly. he had all that princely politeness of manner which so eminently distinguished the old school of french nobility, previous to the revolution. he was the thorough gentleman, a character by no means so readily to be met with in these days of refinement as one would imagine. he never addressed the softer sex but with ease and elegance, and admiration of their persons. could louis xiv. have believed, had it been told to him when he placed this branch of the bourbons on the throne of iberia, that it would one day refuse to give shelter at the court of madrid to one of his family, for fear of offending a corsican usurper!] "indeed, her majesty had such an aversion to all who had declared themselves for any innovation upon the existing power of the monarchy, that she was very reluctant to give audience upon the subject to any person, not even excepting the princes of the blood. the comte d'artois himself, leaning as he did to the popular side, had ceased to be welcome. expressions he had made use of, concerning the necessity for some change, had occasioned the coolness, which was already of considerable standing. "one day the prince de conti came to me, to complain of the queen's refusing to receive him, because he had expressed himself to the same effect as had the comte d'artois on the subject of the tiers etat. "'and does your highness,' replied i, 'imagine that the queen is less displeased with the conduct of the comte d'artois on that head than she is with you, prince? i can assure your highness, that at this moment there subsists a very great degree of coolness between her majesty and her royal brother-in-law, whom she loves as if he were her own brother. though she makes every allowance for his political inexperience, and well knows the goodness of his heart and the rectitude of his intentions, yet policy will not permit her to change her sentiments.' "'that may be,' said the prince, 'but while her majesty continues to honour with her royal presence the duchesse de polignac, whose friends, as well as herself, are all enthusiastically mad in favour of the constitutional system, she shows an undue partiality, by countenancing one branch of the party and not the other; particularly so, as the great and notorious leader of the opposition, which the queen frowns upon, is the sister-in-law of this very duchesse de polignac, and the avowed favourite of the comte d'artois, by whom, and the councils of the palais royal, he is supposed to be totally governed in his political career.' "'the queen,' replied i, 'is certainly her own mistress. she sees, i believe, many persons more from habit than any other motive; to which, your highness is aware, many princes often make sacrifices. your highness cannot suppose i can have the temerity to control her majesty, in the selection of her friends, or in her sentiments respecting them.' "'no,' exclaimed the prince, 'i imagine not. but she might just as well see any of us; for we are no more enemies of the crown than the party she is cherishing by constantly appearing among them; which, according to her avowed maxims concerning the not sanctioning any but supporters of the absolute monarchy, is in direct opposition to her own sentiments. "'who,' continued his highness, 'caused that infernal comedy, 'le mariage de figaro', to be brought out, but the party of the duchesse de polignac? [note of the princesse de lamballe:--the prince de conti never could speak of beaumarchais but with the greatest contempt. there was something personal in this exasperation. beaumarchais had satirized the prince. 'the spanish barber' was founded on a circumstance which happened at a country house between conti and a young lady, during the reign of louis xv., when intrigues of every kind were practised and almost sanctioned. the poet has exposed the prince by making him the doctor bartolo of his play. the affair which supplied the story was hushed up at court, and the prince was punished only by the loss of his mistress, who became the wife of another.] the play is a critique on the whole royal family, from the drawing up of the curtain to its fall. it burlesques the ways and manners of every individual connected with the court of versailles. not a scene but touches some of their characters. are not the queen herself and the comte d'artois lampooned and caricatured in the garden scenes, and the most slanderous ridicule cast upon their innocent evening walks on the terrace? does not beaumarchais plainly show in it, to every impartial eye, the means which the comtesse diane has taken publicly to demonstrate her jealousy of the queen's ascendency over the comte d'artois? is it not from the same sentiment that she roused the jealousy of the comtesse d'artois against her majesty?' "'all these circumstances,' observed i, 'the king prudently foresaw when he read the manuscript, and caused it to be read to the queen, to convince her of the nature of its characters and the dangerous tendency likely to arise from its performance. of this your highness is aware. it is not for me to apprise you that, to avert the excitement inevitable from its being brought upon the stage, and under a thorough conviction of the mischief it would produce in turning the minds of the people against the queen, his majesty solemnly declared that the comedy should not be performed in paris; and that he would never sanction its being brought before the public on any stage in france.' "'bah! bah! madame!' exclaimed de conti. the queen has acted like a child in this affair, as in many others. in defiance of his majesty's determination, did not the queen herself, through the fatal influence of her favourite, whose party wearied her out by continued importunities, cause the king to revoke his express mandate? and what has been the consequence of her majesty's ungovernable partiality for these de polignacs?' "'you know, prince,' said i, 'better than i do.' "'the proofs of its bad consequences,' pursued his highness, 'are more strongly verified than ever by your own withdrawing from the queen's parties since her unreserved acknowledgment of her partiality (fatal partiality!) for those who will be her ruin; for they are her worst enemies.' "'pardon me, prince,' answered i, 'i have not withdrawn myself from the queen, but from the new parties, with whose politics i cannot identify myself, besides some exceptions i have taken against those who frequent them.' "'bah! bah!' exclaimed de conti, 'your sagacity has got the better of your curiosity. all the wit and humour of that traitor beaumarchais never seduced you to cultivate his society, as all the rest of the queen's party have done.' "'i never knew him to be accused of treason.' "'why, what do you call a fellow who sent arms to the americans before the war was declared, without his sovereign's consent?' "'in that affair, i consider the ministers as criminal as himself; for the queen, to this day, believes that beaumarchais was sanctioned by them and, you know, her majesty has ever since had an insuperable dislike to both de maurepas and de vergennes. but i have nothing to do with these things.' "'yes, yes, i understand you, princess. let her romp and play with the 'compate vous',--[a kind of game of forfeits, introduced for the diversion of the royal children and those of the duchesse de polignac.]--but who will 'compatire' (make allowance for) her folly? bah! bah! bah! she is inconsistent, princess. not that i mean by this to insinuate that the duchess is not the sincere friend and well-wisher of the queen. her immediate existence, her interest, and that of her family, are all dependent on the royal bounty. but can the duchess answer for the same sincerity towards the queen, with respect to her innumerable guests? no! are not the sentiments of the duchesses sister-in-law, the comtesse diane, in direct opposition to the absolute monarchy? has she not always been an enthusiastic advocate for all those that have supported the american war? who was it that crowned, at a public assembly, the democratical straight hairs of dr. franklin? why the same madame comtesse diane! who was 'capa turpa' in applauding the men who were framing the american constitution at paris? madame comtesse diane! who was it, in like manner, that opposed all the queen's arguments against the political conduct of france and spain, relative to the war with england, in favour of the american independence? the comtesse diane! not for the love of that rising nation, or for the sacred cause of liberty; but from a taste for notoriety, a spirit of envy and jealousy, an apprehension lest the personal charms of the queen might rob her of a part of those affections, which she herself exclusively hoped to alienate from that abortion, the comtesse d'artois, in whose service she is maid of honour, and handmaid to the count. my dear princess, these are facts proved. beaumarchais has delineated them all. why, then, refuse to see me? why withdraw her former confidence from the comte d'artois, when she lives in the society which promulgates antimonarchical principles? these are sad evidences of her majesty's inconsistency. she might as well see the duc d'orleans' "here my feelings overwhelmed me. i could contain myself no longer. the tears gushed from my eyes. "'oh, prince!' exclaimed i, in a bitter agony of grief--'oh, prince! touch not that fatal string. for how many years has he not caused these briny tears of mine to flow from my burning eyes! the scalding drops have nearly parched up the spring of life!'" etext editor's bookmarks: beaumarchais sent arms to the americans educate his children as quietists in matters of religion it is an ill wind that blows no one any good judge of men by the company they keep les culottes--what do you call them?' 'small clothes' my little english protegee no phrase becomes a proverb until after a century's experience we say "inexpressibles" wish art to eclipse nature memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe book . section v. "the accession of louis xvi. and marie antoinette to the crown of france took place (may , ) under the most propitious auspices! "after the long, corrupt reign of an old debauched prince, whose vices were degrading to himself and to a nation groaning under the lash of prostitution and caprice, the most cheering changes were expected from the known exemplariness of his successor and the amiableness of his consort. both were looked up to as models of goodness. the virtues of louis xvi. were so generally known that all france hastened to acknowledge them, while the queen's fascinations acted like a charm on all who had not been invincibly prejudiced against the many excellent qualities which entitled her to love and admiration. indeed, i never heard an insinuation against either the king or queen but from those depraved minds which never possessed virtue enough to imitate theirs, or were jealous of the wonderful powers of pleasing that so eminently distinguished marie antoinette from the rest of her sex. "on the death of louis xv. the entire court removed from versailles to the palace of la muette, situate in the bois de boulogne, very near paris. the confluence of parisians, who came in crowds joyfully to hail the death of the old vitiated sovereign, and the accession of his adored successors, became quite annoying to the whole royal family. the enthusiasm with which the parisians hailed their young king, and in particular his amiable young partner, lasted for many days. these spontaneous evidences of attachment were regarded as prognostics of a long reign of happiness. if any inference can be drawn from public opinion, could there be a stronger assurance than this one of uninterrupted future tranquility to its objects? "to the queen herself it was a double triumph. the conspirators, whose depravity had been labouring to make her their victim, departed from the scene of power. the husband, who for four years had been callous to her attractions, became awakened to them. a complete change in the domestic system of the palace was wrought suddenly. the young king, during the interval which elapsed between the death and the interment of his grandfather, from court etiquette was confined to his apartments. the youthful couple therefore saw each other with less restraint. the marriage was consummated. marie antoinette from this moment may date that influence over the heart (would i might add over the head and policy!) of the king, which never slackened during the remainder of their lives. "madame du barry was much better dealt with by the young king, whom she had always treated with the greatest levity, than she, or her numerous courtiers, expected. she was allowed her pension, and the entire enjoyment of all her ill-gotten and accumulated wealth; but, of course, excluded from ever appearing at court, and politically exiled from paris to the chateau aux dames. "this implacable foe and her infamous coadjutors being removed from further interference in matters of state by the expulsion of all their own ministers, their rivals, the duc de choiseul and his party, by whom marie antoinette had been brought to france, were now in high expectation of finding the direction of the government, by the queen's influence, restored to that nobleman. but the king's choice was already made. he had been ruled by his aunts, and appointed ministers suggested by them and his late grandfather's friends, who feared the preponderance of the austrian influence. the three ladies, madame la marechale de beauveau, the duchesse de choiseul, and the duchesse de grammont, who were all well-known to louis xvi. and stood high in his opinion for many excellent qualities, and especially for their independent assertion of their own and the dauphine's dignity by retiring from court in consequence of the supper at which du barry was introduced these ladies, though received on their return thither with peculiar welcome, in vain united their efforts with those of the queen and the abbe vermond, to overcome the prejudice which opposed choiseul's reinstatement. it was all in vain. the royal aunts, adelaide especially, hated choiseul for the sake of austria, and his agency in bringing marie antoinette to france; and so did the king's tutor and governor, the duc de vauguyon, who had ever been hostile to any sort of friendship with vienna; and these formed a host impenetrable even to the influence of the queen, which was opposed by all the leaders of the prevailing party, who, though they were beginning externally to court, admire, and idolize her, secretly surrounded her by their noxious and viperous intrigues, and, while they lived in her bosom, fattened on the destruction of her fame! "one of the earliest of the paltry insinuations against marie antoinette emanated from her not counterfeiting deep affliction at the decease of the old king. a few days after that event, the court received the regular visits of condolence and congratulation of the nobility, whose duty prescribes their attendance upon such occasions; and some of them, among whom were the daughters of louis xv., not finding a young queen of nineteen hypocritically bathed in tears, on returning to their abodes declared her the most indecorous of princesses, and diffused a strong impression of her want of feeling. at the head of these detractors were mesdames de guemenee and marsan, rival pretenders to the favours of the cardinal de rohan, who, having by the death of louis xv. lost their influence and their unlimited power to appoint and dismiss ministers, themselves became ministers to their own evil geniuses, in calumniating her whose legitimate elevation annihilated their monstrous pretensions! "the abbe vermond, seeing the defeat of the party of the duc de choiseul, by whom he had been sent to the court of vienna on the recommendation of brienne, began to tremble for his own security. as soon as the court had arrived at choisy, and he was assured of the marriage having been consummated, he obtained, with the queen's consent, an audience of the king, for the purpose of soliciting his sanction to his continuing in his situation. on submitting his suit to the king, his majesty merely gave a shrug of the shoulders, and turned to converse with the duc d'aiguillon, who at that moment entered the room. the abbe stood stupefied, and the queen, seeing the crestfallen humour of her tutor, laughed and cheered him by remarking, 'there is more meaning in the shrug of a king than in the embrace of a minister. the one always promises, but is seldom sincere; the other is generally sincere, but never promises.' the abbe, not knowing how to interpret the dumb answer, finding the king's back turned and his conversation with d'aiguillon continuing, was retiring with a shrug of his own shoulders to the queen, when she exclaimed, good-humouredly, to louis, laughing and pointing to the abbe, 'look! look! see how readily a church dignitary can imitate the good christian king, who is at the head of the church.' the king, seeing the abbe still waiting, said, dryly, 'monsieur, you are confirmed in your situation,' and then resumed his conversation with the duke. "this anecdote is a sufficient proof that louis xvi. had no prepossession in favour of the abbe vermond, and that it was merely not to wound the feelings of the queen that he was tolerated. the queen herself was conscious of this, and used frequently to say to me how much she was indebted to the king for such deference to her private choice, in allowing vermond to be her secretary, as she did not remember the king's ever having held any communication with the abbe during the whole time he was attached to the service, though the abbe always expressed himself with the greatest respect towards the king. "the decorum of marie antoinette would not allow her to endure those public exhibitions of the ceremony, of dressing herself which had been customary at court. this reserve was highly approved by his majesty; and one of the first reforms she introduced, after the accession, was in the internal discipline of her own apartment. "it was during one of the visits, apart from court etiquette, to the toilet of the queen, that the duchesse de chartres, afterwards duchesse d'orleans, introduced the famous mademoiselle bertin, who afterwards became so celebrated as the queen's milliner--the first that was ever allowed to approach a royal palace; and it was months before marie antoinette had courage to receive her milliner in any other than the private apartment which, by the alteration her majesty had made in the arrangements of the household, she set apart for the purpose of dressing in comfort by herself and free from all intruders. "till then the queen was not only very plain in her attire, but very, economical--a circumstance which, i have often heard her say, gave great umbrage to the other princesses of the court of versailles, who never showed themselves, from the moment they rose till they returned to bed, except in full dress; while she herself made all her morning visits in a simple white cambric gown and straw hat. this simplicity, unfortunately, like many other trifles, whose consequences no foresight would have predicted, tended much to injure marie antoinette, not only with the court dandies, but the nation; by whom, though she was always censured, she was as suddenly imitated in all she wore or did. "from the private closet, which marie antoinette reserved to herself, and had now opened to her milliner, she would retire, after the great points of habiliment were accomplished, to those who were waiting with memorials at her public toilet, where the hairdresser would finish putting the ornaments in her majesty's hair. "the king made marie antoinette a present of le petit trianon. much has been said of the extravagant expense lavished by her upon this spot. i can only declare that the greater part of the articles of furniture which had not been worn out by time or were not worm or moth-eaten, and her own bed among them, were taken from the apartments of former queens, and some of them had actually belonged to anne of austria, who, like marie antoinette, had purchased them out of her private savings. hence it is clear that neither of the two queens were chargeable to the state even for those little indulgences which every private lady of property is permitted from her husband, without coming under the lash of censure. "her allowance as queen of france was no more than , francs. it is well known that she was generous, liberal, and very charitable; that she paid all her expenses regularly respecting her household, trianon, her dresses, diamonds, millinery, and everything else; her court establishment excepted, and some few articles, which were paid by the civil list. she was one of the first queens in europe, had the first establishment in europe, and was obliged to keep up the most refined and luxurious court in europe; and all upon means no greater than had been assigned to many of the former bigoted queens, who led a cloistered life, retired from the world without circulating their wealth among the nation which supplied them with so large a revenue; and yet who lived and died uncensured for hoarding from the nation what ought at least to have been in part expended for its advantage. "and yet of all the extra expenditure which the dignity and circumstances of marie antoinette exacted, not a franc came from the public treasury; but everything out of her majesty's private purse and savings from the above three hundred thousand francs, which was an infinitely less sum than louis xiv. had lavished yearly on the duchesse de montespan, and less than half what louis xv. had expended on the last two favourites, de pompadour and du barry. these two women, as clearly appeared from the private registers, found among the papers of louis xv. after his death, by louis xvi. (but which, out of respect for the memory of his grandfather, he destroyed), these two women had amassed more property in diamonds and other valuables than all the queens of france from the days of catherine de medicis up to those of marie antoinette. "such was the goodness of heart of the excellent queen of louis xvi., such the benevolence of her character, that not only did she pay all the pensions of the invalids left by her predecessors, but she distributed in public and private charities greater sums than any of the former queens, thus increasing her expenses without any proportionate augmentation of her resources." [indeed, could louis xvi. have foreseen--when, in order not to expose the character of his predecessor and to honour the dignity of the throne and monarchy of france, he destroyed the papers of his grandfather--what an arm of strength he would have possessed in preserving them, against the accusers of his unfortunate queen and himself, he never could have thrown away such means of establishing a most honourable contrast between his own and former reigns. his career exhibits no superfluous expenditure. its economy was most rigid. no sovereign was ever more scrupulous with the public money. he never had any public or private predilection; no dilapidated minister for a favourite: no courtesan intrigue. for gaming he had no fondness; and, if his abilities were not splendid, he certainly had no predominating vices.] note: [i must once more quit the journal of the princess. her highness here ceases to record particulars of the early part of the reign of louis xvi., and everything essential upon those times is too well known to render it desirable to detain the reader by an attempt to supply the deficiency. it is enough to state that the secret unhappiness of the queen at not yet having the assurance of an heir was by no means weakened by the impatience of the people, nor by the accouchement of the comtesse d'artois of the duc d'angouleme. while the queen continued the intimacy, and even held her parties at the apartments of the duchess that she might watch over her friend, even in this triumph over herself, the poissardes grossly insulted her in her misfortune, and coarsely called on her to give heirs to the throne! a consolation, however, for the unkind feeling of the populace was about to arise in the delights of one of her strongest friendships. i am come to the epoch when her majesty first formed an acquaintance with the princesse de lamballe. after a few words of my own on the family of her highness, i shall leave her to pursue her beautiful and artless narrative of her parentage, early sorrows, and introduction to her majesty, unbroken. the journal of the history of marie antoinette, after this slight interruption for the private history of her friend, will become blended with the journal of the princesse de lamballe, and both thenceforward will proceed in their course together, like their destinies, which from that moment never became disunited.] section vi. [maria theresa louisa carignan, princess of savoy, was born at turin on the th september, . she had three sisters; two of them were married at rome, one to the prince doria pamfili, the other to the prince colonna; and the third at vienna, to the prince lobkowitz, whose son was the great patron of the immortal haydn, the celebrated composer. the celebrated haydn was, even at the age of , when i last saw him at vienna, till the most good-humoured bon vivant of his age. he delighted in telling the origin of his good fortune, which he said he entirely owed to a bad wife. when he was first married, he said, finding no remedy against domestic squabbles, he used to quit his bad half and go and enjoy himself with his good friends, who were hungarians and germans, for weeks together. once, having returned home after a considerable absence, his wife, while he was in bed next morning, followed her husband's example: she did even more, for she took all his clothes, even to his shoes, stockings, and small clothes, nay, everything he had, along with her! thus situated, he was under the necessity of doing something to cover his nakedness; and this, he himself acknowledged, was the first cause of his seriously applying himself to the profession which has since made his name immortal. he used to laugh, saying, "i was from that time so habituated to study that my wife, often fearing it would injure me, would threaten me with the same operation if i did not go out and amuse myself; but then," added he, "i was grown old, and she was sick and no longer jealous." he spoke remarkably good italian, though he had never been in italy, and on my going to vienna to hear his "creation," he promised to accompany me back to italy; but he unfortunately died before i returned to vienna from carlsbad. she had a brother also, the prince carignan, who, marrying against the consent of his family, was no longer received by them; but the unremitting and affectionate attention which the princesse de lamballe paid to him and his new connexions was an ample compensation for the loss he sustained in the severity of his other sisters. with regard to the early life of the princesse de lamballe, the arranger of these pages must now leave her to pursue her own beautiful and artless narrative unbroken, up to the epoch of her appointment to the household of the queen. it will be recollected that the papers of which the reception has been already described in the introduction formed the private journal of this most amiable princess; and those passages relating to her own early life being the most connected part of them, it has been thought that to disturb them would be a kind of sacrilege. after the appointment of her highness to the superintendence of the queen's household, her manuscripts again become confused, and fall into scraps and fragments, which will require to be once more rendered clear by the recollections of events and conversations by which the preceding chapters have been assisted.] "i was the favourite child of a numerous family, and intended, almost at my birth--as is generally the case among princes who are nearly allied to crowned heads--to be united to one of the princes, my near relation, of the royal house of sardinia. "a few years after this, the duc and duchesse de penthievre arrived at turin, on their way to italy, for the purpose of visiting the different courts, to make suitable marriage contracts for both their infant children. "these two children were mademoiselle de penthievre, afterwards the unhappy duchesse d'orleans, and their idolised son, the prince de lamballe. [the father of louis alexander joseph stanislaus de bourbon penthievre, prince de lamballe, was the son of comte de toulouse, himself a natural son of louis xiv. and madame de montespan, who was considered as the most wealthy of all the natural children, in consequence of madame de montespan having artfully entrapped the famous mademoiselle de moutpensier to make over her immense fortune to him as her heir after her death, as the price of liberating her husband from imprisonment in the bastille, and herself from a ruinous prosecution, for having contracted this marriage contrary to the express commands of her royal cousin, louis xiv.--vide histoire de louis xiv. par voltaire.] "happy would it have been both for the prince who was destined to the former and the princess who was given to the latter, had these unfortunate alliances never taken place. "the duc and duchesse de penthievre became so singularly attached to my beloved parents, and, in particular, to myself, that the very day they first dined at the court of turin, they mentioned the wish they had formed of uniting me to their young son, the prince de lamballe. "the king of sardinia, as the head of the house of savoy and carignan, said there had been some conversation as to my becoming a member of his royal family; but as i was so very young at the time, many political reasons might arise to create motives for a change in the projected alliance. 'if, therefore, the prince de carignan,' said the king, 'be anxious to settle his daughter's marriage, by any immediate matrimonial alliance, i certainly shall not avail myself of any prior engagement, nor oppose any obstacle in the way of its solemnisation.' "the consent of the king being thus unexpectedly obtained by the prince, so desirable did the arrangement seem to the duke and duchess that the next day the contract was concluded with my parents for my becoming the wife of their only son, the prince de lamballe. "i was too young to be consulted. perhaps had i been older the result would have been the same, for it generally happens in these great family alliances that the parties most interested, and whose happiness is most concerned, are the least thought of. the prince was, i believe, at paris, under the tuition of his governess, and i was in the nursery, heedless, and totally ignorant of my future good or evil destination! "so truly happy and domestic a life as that led by the duc and duchesse de penthievre seemed to my family to offer an example too propitious not to secure to me a degree of felicity with a private prince, very rarely the result of royal unions! of course, their consent was given with alacrity. when i was called upon to do homage to my future parents, i had so little idea, from my extreme youthfulness, of what was going on that i set them all laughing, when, on being asked if i should like to become the consort of the prince de lamballe, i said, 'yes, i am very fond of music!' no, my dear,' resumed the good and tender-hearted duc de penthievre, 'i mean, would you have any objection to become his wife?'--'no, nor any other person's!' was the innocent reply, which increased the mirth of all the guests at my expense. "happy, happy days of youthful, thoughtless innocence, luxuriously felt and appreciated under the thatched roof of the cottage, but unknown and unattainable beneath the massive pile of a royal palace and a gemmed crown! scarcely had i entered my teens when my adopted parents strewed flowers of the sweetest fragrance to lead me to the sacred altar, that promised the bliss of busses, but which, too soon, from the foul machinations of envy, jealousy, avarice, and a still more criminal passion, proved to me the altar of my sacrifice! "my misery and my uninterrupted grief may be dated from the day my beloved sister-in-law, mademoiselle de penthievre, sullied her hand by its union with the duc de chartres.--[afterwards duc d'orleans, and the celebrated revolutionary philippe egalite.]--from that moment all comfort, all prospect of connubial happiness, left my young and affectionate heart, plucked thence by the very roots, never more again to bloom there. religion and philosophy were the only remedies remaining. "i was a bride when an infant, a wife before i was a woman, a widow before i was a mother, or had the prospect of becoming one! our union was, perhaps, an exception to the general rule. we became insensibly the more attached to each other the more we were acquainted, which rendered the more severe the separation, when we were torn asunder never to meet again in this world! "after i left turin, though everything for my reception at the palaces of toulouse and rambouillet had been prepared in the most sumptuous style of magnificence, yet such was my agitation that i remained convulsively speechless for many hours, and all the affectionate attention of the family of the duc de penthievre could not calm my feelings. "among those who came about me was the bridegroom himself, whom i had never yet seen. so anxious was he to have his first acquaintance incognito that he set off from paris the moment he was apprised of my arrival in france and presented himself as the prince's page. as he had outgrown the figure of his portrait, i received him as such; but the prince, being better pleased with me than he had apprehended he should be, could scarcely avoid discovering himself. during our journey to paris i myself disclosed the interest with which the supposed page had inspired me. 'i hope,' exclaimed i, 'my prince will allow his page to attend me, for i like him much.' "what was my surprise when the duc de penthievre presented me to the prince and i found in him the page for whom i had already felt such an interest! we both laughed and wanted words to express our mutual sentiments. this was really love at first sight. [the young prince was enraptured at finding his lovely bride so superior in personal charms to the description which had been given of her, and even to the portrait sent to him from turin. indeed, she must have been a most beautiful creature, for when i left her in the year , though then five-and-forty years of age, from the freshness of her complexion, the elegance of her figure, and the dignity of her deportment, she certainly did not appear to be more than thirty. she had a fine head of hair, and she took great pleasure in showing it unornamented. i remember one day, on her coming hastily from the bath, as she was putting on her dress, her cap falling off, her hair completely covered her! the circumstances of her death always make me shudder at the recollection of this incident! i have been assured by mesdames mackau, de soucle, the comtesse de noailles (not duchesse, as mademoiselle bertin has created her in her memoirs of that name), and others, that the princesse de lamballe was considered the most beautiful and accomplished princess at the court of louis xv., adorned with all the grace, virtue, and elegance of manner which so eminently distinguished her through life.] "the duc de chartres, then possessing a very handsome person and most insinuating address, soon gained the affections of the amiable mademoiselle penthievre. becoming thus a member of the same family, he paid me the most assiduous attention. from my being his sister-in-law, and knowing he was aware of my great attachment to his young wife, i could have no idea that his views were criminally levelled at my honour, my happiness, and my future peace of mind. how, therefore, was i astonished and shocked when he discovered to me his desire to supplant the legitimate object of my affections, whose love for me equalled mine for him! i did not expose this baseness of the duc de chartres, out of filial affection for my adopted father, the duc de penthievre; out of the love i bore his amiable daughter, she being pregnant; and, above all, in consequence of the fear i was under of compromising the life of the prince, my husband, who i apprehended might be lost to me if i did not suffer in silence. but still, through my silence he was lost--and oh, how dreadfully! the prince was totally in the dark as to the real character of his brother-in-law. he blindly became every day more and more attached to the man, who was then endeavouring by the foulest means to blast the fairest prospects of his future happiness in life! but my guardian angel protected me from becoming a victim to seduction, defeating every attack by that prudence which has hitherto been my invincible shield. "guilt, unpunished in its first crime, rushes onward, and hurrying from one misdeed to another, like the flood-tide, drives all before it! my silence, and his being defeated without reproach, armed him with courage for fresh daring, and he too well succeeded in embittering the future days of my life, as well as those of his own affectionate wife, and his illustrious father-in-law, the virtuous duc de penthievre, who was to all a father. "to revenge himself upon me for the repulse he met with, this man inveigled my young, inexperienced husband from his bridal bed to those infected with the nauseous poison of every vice! poor youth! he soon became the prey of every refinement upon dissipation and studied debauchery, till at length his sufferings made his life a burthen, and he died in the most excruciating agonies both of mind and body, in the arms of a disconsolate wife and a distracted father--and thus, in a few short months, at the age of eighteen, was i left a widow to lament my having become a wife! "i was in this situation, retired from the world and absorbed in grief, with the ever beloved and revered illustrious father of my murdered lord, endeavouring to sooth his pangs for the loss of those comforts in a child with which my cruel disappointment forbade my ever being blest--though, in the endeavour to soothe, i often only aggravated both his and my own misery at our irretrievable loss--when a ray of unexpected light burst upon my dreariness. it was amid this gloom of human agony, these heartrending scenes of real mourning, that the brilliant star shone to disperse the clouds which hovered over our drooping heads,--to dry the hot briny tears which were parching up our miserable vegetating existence--it was in this crisis that marie antoinette came, like a messenger sent down from heaven, graciously to offer the balm of comfort in the sweetest language of human compassion. the pure emotions of her generous soul made her unceasing, unremitting, in her visits to two mortals who must else have perished under the weight of their misfortunes. but for the consolation of her warm friendship we must have sunk into utter despair! "from that moment i became seriously attached to the queen of france. she dedicated a great portion of her time to calm the anguish of my poor heart, though i had not yet accepted the honour of becoming a member of her majesty's household. indeed, i was a considerable time before i could think of undertaking a charge i felt myself so completely incapable of fulfilling. i endeavoured to check the tears that were pouring down my cheeks, to conceal in the queen's presence the real feelings of my heart, but the effort only served to increase my anguish when she had departed. her attachment to me, and the cordiality with which she distinguished herself towards the duc de penthievre, gave her a place in that heart, which had been chilled by the fatal vacuum left by its first inhabitant; and marie antoinette was the only rival through life that usurped his pretensions, though she could never wean me completely from his memory. "my health, from the melancholy life i led, had so much declined that my affectionate father, the duc de penthievre, with whom i continued to reside, was anxious that i should emerge from my retirement for the benefit of my health. sensible of his affection, and having always honoured his counsels, i took his advice in this instance. it being in the hard winter, when so many persons were out of bread, the queen, the duchesse d'orleans, the duc de penthievre, and myself, introduced the german sledges, in which we were followed by most of the nobility and the rich citizens. this afforded considerable employment to different artificers. the first use i made of my own new vehicle was to visit, in company with the duc de penthievre, the necessitous poor families and our pensioners. in the course of our rounds we met the queen. "'i suppose,' exclaimed her majesty, 'you also are laying a good foundation for my work! heavens! what must the poor feel! i am wrapped up like a diamond in a box, covered with furs, and yet i am chilled with cold!' "'that feeling sentiment,' said the duke, 'will soon warm many a cold family's heart with gratitude to bless your majesty!' "'why, yes,' replied her majesty, showing a long piece of paper containing the names of those to whom she intended to afford relief, 'i have only collected two hundred yet on my list, but the cure will do the rest and help me to draw the strings of my privy purse! but i have not half done my rounds. i daresay before i return to versailles i shall have as many more, and, since we are engaged in the same business, pray come into my sledge and do not take my work out of my hands! let me have for once the merit of doing something good!' "on the coming up of a number of other vehicles belonging to the sledge party, the queen added, 'do not say anything about what i have been telling you!' for her majesty never wished what she did in the way of charity or donations should be publicly known, the old pensioners excepted, who, being on the list, could not be concealed; especially as she continued to pay all those she found of the late queen of louis xv. she was remarkably delicate and timid with respect to hurting the feelings of any one; and, fearing the duc de penthievre might not be pleased at her pressing me to leave him in order to join her, she said, 'well, i will let you off, princess, on your both promising to dine with me at trianon; for the king is hunting, not deer, but wood for the poor, and he will see his game off to paris before he comes back: "the duke begged to be excused, but wished me to accept the invitation, which i did, and we parted, each to pursue our different sledge excursions. "at the hour appointed, i made my appearance at trianon, and had the honour to dine tete-a-tete with her majesty, which was much more congenial to my feelings than if there had been a party, as i was still very low-spirited and unhappy. "after dinner, 'my dear princess,' said the queen to me, 'at your time of life you must not give yourself up entirely to the dead. you wrong the living. we have not been sent into the world for ourselves. i have felt much for your situation, and still do so, and therefore hope, as long as the weather permits, that you will favour me with your company to enlarge our sledge excursions. the king and my dear sister elizabeth are also much interested about your coming on a visit to versailles. what think you of our plan. "i thanked her majesty, the king, and the princess, for their kindness, but i observed that my state of health and mind could so little correspond in any way with the gratitude i should owe them for their royal favours that i trusted a refusal would be attributed to the fact of my consciousness how much rather my society must prove an annoyance and a burthen than a source of pleasure. "my tears flowing down my cheeks rapidly while i was speaking, the queen, with that kindness for which she was so eminently distinguished, took me by the hand, and with her handkerchief dried my face. "'i am,' said the queen, i about to renew a situation which has for some time past lain dormant; and i hope, my dear princess, therewith to establish my own private views, in forming the happiness of a worthy individual.' "i replied that such a plan must insure her majesty the desired object she had in view, as no individual could be otherwise than happy under the immediate auspices of so benevolent and generous a sovereign. "the queen, with great affability, as if pleased with my observation, only said, 'if you really think as you speak, my views are accomplished.' "my carriage was announced, and i then left her majesty, highly pleased at her gracious condescension, which evidently emanated from the kind wish to raise my drooping spirits from their melancholy. "gratitude would not permit me to continue long without demonstrating to her majesty the sentiments her kindness had awakened in my heart. "i returned next day with my sister-in-law, the duchesse d'orleans, who was much esteemed by the queen, and we joined the sledge parties with her majesty. "on the third or fourth day of these excursions i again had the honour to dine with her majesty, when, in the presence of the princesse elizabeth, she asked me if i were still of the same opinion with respect to the person it was her intention to add to her household? "i myself had totally forgotten the topic and entreated her majesty's pardon for my want of memory, and begged she would signify to what subject she alluded. "the princesse elizabeth laughed. 'i thought,' cried she, 'that you had known it long ago! the queen, with his majesty's consent, has nominated you, my dear princess (embracing me), superintendent of her household.' "the queen, also embracing me, said, 'yes; it is very true. you said the individual destined to such a situation could not be otherwise than happy; and i am myself thoroughly happy in being able thus to contribute towards rendering you so.' "i was perfectly at a loss for a moment or two, but, recovering myself from the effect of this unexpected and unlooked for preferment, i thanked her majesty with the best grace i was able for such an unmerited mark of distinction. "the queen, perceiving my embarrassment, observed, 'i knew i should surprise you; but i thought your being established at versailles much more desirable for one of your rank and youth than to be, as you were, with the duc de penthievre; who, much as i esteem his amiable character and numerous great virtues, is by no means the most cheering companion for my charming princess. from this moment let our friendships be united in the common interest of each other's happiness.' "the queen took me by the hand. the princesse elizabeth, joining hers, exclaimed to the queen, 'oh, my dear sister! let me make the trio in this happy union of friends!' "in the society of her adored majesty and of her saint-like sister elizabeth i have found my only balm of consolation! their graciously condescending to sympathise in the grief with which i was overwhelmed from the cruel disappointment of my first love, filled up in some degree the vacuum left by his loss, who was so prematurely ravished from me in the flower of youth, leaving me a widow at eighteen; and though that loss is one i never can replace or forget, the poignancy of its effect has been in a great degree softened by the kindnesses of my excellent father-in-law, the duc de penthievre, and the relations resulting from my situation with, and the never-ceasing attachment of my beloved royal mistress." section vii. [the connexion of the princesse de lamballe with the queen, of which she has herself described the origin in the preceding chapter, proved so important in its influence upon the reputation and fate of both these illustrious victims, that i must once more withdraw the attention of the reader, to explain, from personal observation and confidential disclosures, the leading causes of the violent dislike which was kindled in the public against an intimacy that it would have been most fortunate had her majesty preferred through life to every other. the selection of a friend by the queen, and the sudden elevation of that friend to the highest station in the royal household, could not fail to alarm the selfishness of courtiers, who always feel themselves injured by the favour shown to others. an obsolete office was revived in favour of the princesse de lamballe. in the time of maria leckzinska, wife of louis xv., the office of superintendent, then held by mademoiselle de clermont, was suppressed when its holder died. the office gave a control over the inclinations of queens, by which maria leckzinska was sometimes inconvenienced; and it had lain dormant ever since. its restoration by a queen who it was believed could be guided by no motive but the desire to seek pretexts for showing undue favour, was of course eyed askance, and ere long openly calumniated. the comtesse de noailles, who never could forget the title the queen gave her of madame etiquette, nor forgive the frequent jokes which her majesty passed upon her antiquated formality, availed herself of the opportunity offered by her husband's being raised to the dignity of marshal of france, to resign her situation on the appointment of the princesse de lamballe as superintendent. the countess retired with feelings embittered against her royal mistress, and her annoyance in the sequel ripened into enmity. the countess was attached to a very powerful party, not only at court but scattered throughout the kingdom. her discontent arose from the circumstance of no longer having to take her orders from the queen direct, but from her superintendent. ridiculous as this may seem to an impartial observer, it created one of the most powerful hostilities against which her majesty had afterwards to contend. though the queen esteemed the comtesse de noailles for her many good qualities, yet she was so much put out of her way by the rigour with which the countess enforced forms which to her majesty appeared puerile and absurd, that she felt relieved, and secretly gratified, by her retirement. it will be shown hereafter to what an excess the countess was eventually carried by her malice. one of the popular objections to the revival of the office of superintendent in favour of the princesse de lamballe arose from its reputed extravagance. this was as groundless as the other charges against the queen. the etiquettes of dress, and the requisite increase of every other expense, from the augmentation of every article of the necessaries as well as the luxuries of life, made a treble difference between the expenditure of the circumscribed court of maria leckzinska and that of louis xvi.; yet the princesse de lamballe received no more salary than had been allotted to mademoiselle de clermont in the selfsame situation half a century before. (and even that salary she never appropriated to any private use of her own, being amply supplied through the generous bounty of her father-in-law, the duc de penthievre; and latterly, to my knowledge, so far from receiving any pay, she often paid the queen's and princesse elizabeth's bills out of her own purse.) so far from possessing the slightest propensity either to extravagance in herself or to the encouragement of extravagance in others, the princesse de lamballe was a model of prudence, and upon those subjects, as indeed upon all others, the queen could not have had a more discreet counsellor. she eminently contributed to the charities of the queen, who was the mother of the fatherless, the support of the widow, and the general protectress and refuge of suffering humanity. previously to the purchase of any article of luxury, the princess would call for the list of the pensioners: if anything was due on that account, it was instantly paid, and the luxury dispensed with. she never made her appearance in the queen's apartments except at established hours. this was scrupulously observed till the revolution. circumstances then obliged her to break through forms. the queen would only receive communications, either written or verbal, upon the subjects growing out of that wretched crisis, in the presence of the princess; and hence her apartments were open to all who had occasion to see her majesty. this made their intercourse more constant and unceremonious. but before this, the princess only went to the royal presence at fixed hours, unless she had memorials to present to the king, queen, or ministers, in favour of such as asked for justice or mercy. hence, whenever the princess entered before the stated times, the queen would run and embrace her, and exclaim: "well, my dear princesse de lamballe! what widow, what orphan, what suffering or oppressed petitioner am i to thank for this visit? for i know you never come to me empty-handed when you come unexpectedly!" the princess, on these occasions, often had the petitioners waiting in an adjoining apartment, that they might instantly avail themselves of any inclination the queen might show to see them. once the princess was deceived by a female painter of doubtful character, who supplicated her to present a work she had executed to the queen. i myself afterwards returned that work to its owner. thenceforward, the princess became very rigid in her inquiries, previous to taking the least interest in any application, or consenting to present any one personally to the king or queen. she required thoroughly to be informed of the nature of the request, and of the merit and character of the applicant, before she would attend to either. owing to this caution her highness scarcely ever after met with a negative. in cases of great importance, though the queen's compassionate and good heart needed no stimulus to impel her to forward the means of justice, the princess would call the influence of the princesse elizabeth to her aid; and elizabeth never sued in vain. marie antoinette paid the greatest attention to all memorials. they were regularly collected every week by her majesty's private secretary, the abbe vermond. i have myself seen many of them, when returned from the princesse de lamballe, with the queen's marginal notes in her own handwriting, and the answers dictated by her majesty to the different, officers of the departments relative to the nature of the respective demands. she always recommended the greatest attention to all public documents, and annexed notes to such as passed through her hands to prevent their being thrown aside or lost. one of those who were least satisfied with the appointment of the princesse de lamballe to the office of superintendent was her brother-in-law, the duc d'orleans, who, having attempted her virtue on various occasions and been repulsed, became mortified and alarmed at her situation as a check to his future enterprise. at one time the duc and duchesse d'orleans were most constant and assiduous in their attendance on marie antoinette. they were at all her parties. the queen was very fond of the duchess. it is supposed that the interest her majesty took in that lady, and the steps to which some time afterwards that interest led, planted the first seeds of the unrelenting and misguided hostility which, in the deadliest times of the revolution, animated the orleanists against the throne. the duc d'orleans, then duc de chartres, was never a favourite of the queen. he was only tolerated at court on account of his wife and of the great intimacy which subsisted between him and the comte d'artois. louis xvi. had often expressed his disapprobation of the duke's character, which his conduct daily justified. the princesse de lamballe could have no cause to think of her brother-in-law but with horror. he had insulted her, and, in revenge at his defeat, had, it was said, deprived her, by the most awful means, of her husband. the princess was tenderly attached to her sister-in-law, the duchess. her attachment could not but make her look very unfavourably upon the circumstance of the duke's subjecting his wife to the humiliation of residing in the palace with madame de genlis, and being forced to receive a person of morals so incorrect as the guardian of her children. the duchess had complained to her father, the duc de penthievre, in the presence of the princesse de lamballe, of the very great ascendency madame de genlis exercised over her husband; and had even requested the queen to use her influence in detaching the duke from this connexion. (it was generally understood that the duke had a daughter by madame de genlis. this daughter, when grown up, was married to the late irish lord robert fitzgerald.) but she had too much gentleness of nature not presently to forget her resentment. being much devoted to her husband, rather than irritate him to further neglect by personal remonstrance, she determined to make the best of a bad business, and tolerated madame de genlis, although she made no secret among her friends and relations of the reason why she did so. nay, so far did her wish not to disoblige her husband prevail over her own feelings as to induce her to yield at last to his importunities by frequently proposing to present madame de genlis to the queen. but madame de genilis never could obtain either a public or a private audience. though the queen was a great admirer of merit and was fond of encouraging talents, of which madame de genlis was by no means deficient, yet even the account the duchess herself had given, had her majesty possessed no other means of knowledge, would have sealed that lady's exclusion from the opportunities of display at court which she sought so earnestly. there was another source of exasperation against the duc d'orleans; and the great cause of a new and, though less obtrusive, yet perhaps an equally dangerous foe under all the circumstances, in madame de genlis. the anonymous slander of the one was circulated through all france by the other; and spleen and disappointment feathered the venomed arrows shot at the heart of power by malice and ambition. be the charge true or false, these anonymous libels were generally considered as the offspring of this lady: they were industriously scattered by the duc d'orleans; and their frequent refutation by the queen's friends only increased the malignant industry of their inventor. an event which proved the most serious of all that ever happened to the queen, and the consequences of which were distinctly foreseen by the princesse de lamballe and others of her true friends, was now growing to maturity. the deposed court oracle, the comtesse de noailles, had been succeeded as literary leader by the comtesse diane de polignac. she was a favourite of the comte d'artois, and was the first lady in attendance upon the countess, his wife. (the comtesse diane de polignac had a much better education, and considerably more natural capacity, than her sister-in-law, the duchess, and the queen merely disliked her for her prudish affectation. the comtesse d'artois grew jealous of the count's intimacy with the comtesse diane. while she considered herself as the only one of the royal family likely to be mother of a future sovereign, she was silent, or perhaps too much engrossed by her castles in the air to think of anything but diadems; but when she saw the queen producing heirs, she grew out of humour at her lost popularity, and began to turn her attention to her husband's endymionship to this now diana! when she had made up her mind to get her rival out of her house, she consulted one of the family; but being told that the best means for a wife to keep her husband out of harm's way was to provide him with a domestic occupation for his leisure hours at home, than which nothing could be better than a handmaid under the same roof, she made a merit of necessity and submitted ever after to retain the comtesse diane, as she had been prudently advised. the comtesse diane, in consequence, remained in the family even up to the th october, , when she left versailles in company with the de polignacs and the d'artois, who all emigrated together from france to italy and lived at stria on the brenta, near venice, for some time, till the comtesse d'artois went to turin.) the queen's conduct had always been very cool to her. she deemed her a self-sufficient coquette. however, the comtesse diane was a constant attendant at the gay parties which were then the fashion of the court, though not greatly admired. the reader will scarcely need to be informed that the event to which i have just alluded is the introduction by the comtesse diane of her sister-in-law, the comtesse julie de polignac, to the queen; and having brought the record up to this point i here once more dismiss my own pen for that of the princesse de lamballe. it will be obvious to every one that i must have been indebted to the conversations of my beloved patroness for most of the sentiments and nearly all the facts i have just been stating; and had the period on which she has written so little as to drive me to the necessity of writing for her been less pregnant with circumstances almost entirely personal to herself, no doubt i should have found more upon that period in her manuscript. but the year of which her highness says so little was the year of happiness and exclusive favour; and the princess was above the vanity of boasting, even privately in the self-confessional of her diary. she resumes her records with her apprehensions; and thus proceeds, describing the introduction of the comtesse julie de polignac, regretting her ascendency over the queen, and foreseeing its fatal effects.] "i had been only a twelvemonth in her majesty's service, which i believe was the happiest period of both our lives, when, at one of the court assemblies, the comtesse julie de polignac was first introduced by her sister-in-law, the comtesse diane de polignac, to the queen. "she had lived in the country, quite a retired life, and appeared to be more the motherly woman, and the domestic wife, than the ambitious court lady, or royal sycophant. she was easy of access, and elegantly plain in her dress and deportment. "her appearance at court was as fatal to the queen as it was propitious to herself! "she seemed formed by nature to become a royal favourite, unassuming, remarkably complaisant, possessing a refined taste, with a good-natured disposition, not handsome, but well formed, and untainted by haughtiness or pomposity. "it would appear, from the effect her introduction had on the queen, that her domestic virtues were written in her countenance; for she became a royal favourite before she had time to become a candidate for royal favour. "the queen's sudden attachment to the comtesse julie produced no alteration in my conduct, while i saw nothing extraordinary to alarm me for the consequences of any particular marked partiality, by which the character and popularity of her majesty might be endangered. "but, seeing the progress this lady made in the feelings of the queen's enemies, it became my duty, from the situation i held, to caution her majesty against the risks she ran in making her favourites friends; for it was very soon apparent how highly the court disapproved of this intimacy and partiality: and the same feeling soon found its way to the many-headed monster, the people, who only saw the favourite without considering the charge she held. scarcely had she felt the warm rays of royal favour, when the chilling blasts of envy and malice began to nip it in the bud of all its promised bliss. even long before she touched the pinnacle of her grandeur as governess of the royal children the blackest calumny began to show itself in prints, caricatures, songs, and pamphlets of every description. "a reciprocity of friendship between a queen and a subject, by those who never felt the existence of such a feeling as friendship, could only be considered in a criminal point of view. but by what perversion could suspicion frown upon the ties between two married women, both living in the greatest harmony with their respective husbands, especially when both became mothers and were so devoted to their offspring? this boundless friendship did glow between this calumniated pair calumniated because the sacredness and peculiarity of the sentiment which united them was too pure to be understood by the grovelling minds who made themselves their sentencers. the friend is the friend's shadow. the real sentiment of friendship, of which disinterested sympathy is the sign, cannot exist unless between two of the same sex, because a physical difference involuntarily modifies the complexion of the intimacy where the sexes are opposite, even though there be no physical relations. the queen of france had love in her eyes and heaven in her soul. the duchesse de polignac, whose person beamed with every charm, could never have been condemned, like the friars of la trappe, to the mere memento mori. "when i had made the representations to her majesty which duty exacted from me on perceiving her ungovernable partiality for her new favourite, that i might not importune her by the awkwardness naturally arising from my constant exposure to the necessity of witnessing an intimacy she knew i did not sanction, i obtained permission from my royal mistress to visit my father-in-law, the duc de penthievre, at rambouillet, his country-seat. "soon after i arrived there, i was taken suddenly ill after dinner with the most excruciating pains in my stomach. i thought myself dying. indeed, i should have been so but for the fortunate and timely discovery that i was poisoned certainly, not intentionally, by any one belonging to my dear father's household; but by some execrable hand which had an interest in my death. "the affair was hushed up with a vague report that some of the made dishes had been prepared in a stew-pan long out of use, which the clerk of the duke's kitchen had forgotten to get properly tinned. "this was a doubtful story for many reasons. indeed, i firmly believe that the poison given me had been prepared in the salt, for every one at table had eaten of the same dish without suffering the smallest inconvenience. "the news of this accident had scarcely arrived at versailles, when the queen, astounded, and, in excessive anxiety, instantly sent off her physician, and her private secretary, the abbe vermond, to bring me back to my apartments at versailles, with strict orders not to leave me a moment at the duke's, for fear of a second attempt of the same nature. her majesty had imputed the first to the earnestness i had always shown in support of her interests, and she seemed now more ardent in her kindness towards me from the idea of my being exposed through her means to the treachery of assassins in the dark. the queen awaited our coming impatiently, and, not seeing the carriages return so quickly as she fancied they ought to arrive, she herself set off for rambouillet, and did not leave me till she had prevailed on me to quit my father-in-law's, and we both returned together the same night to versailles, where the queen in person dedicated all her attention to the restoration of my health. "as yet, however, nothing in particular had discovered that splendour for which the de polignacs were afterwards so conspicuous. "indeed, so little were their circumstances calculated for a court life, that when the friends of madame de polignac perceived the growing attachment of the young queen to the palladium of their hopes, in order to impel her majesty's friendship to repair the deficiencies of fortune, they advised the magnet to quit the court abruptly, assigning the want of means as the motive of her retreat. the story got wind, and proved propitious. "the queen, to secure the society of her friend, soon supplied the resources she required and took away the necessity for her retirement. but the die was cast. in gaining one friend she sacrificed a host. by this act of imprudent preference she lost forever the affections of the old nobility. this was the gale which drove her back among the breakers. "i saw the coming storm, and endeavoured to make my sovereign feel its danger. presuming that my example would be followed, i withdrew from the de polignac society, and vainly flattered myself that prudence would impel others not to encourage her majesty's amiable infatuation till the consequences should be irretrievable. but sovereigns are always surrounded by those who make it a point to reconcile them to their follies, however flagrant, and keep them on good terms with themselves, however severely they may be censured by the world. "if i had read the book of fate i could not have seen more distinctly the fatal results which actually took place from this unfortunate connexion. the duchess and myself always lived in the greatest harmony, and equally shared the confidence of the queen; but it was my duty not to sanction her majesty's marked favouritism by my presence. the queen often expressed her discontent to me upon the subject. she used to tell me how much it grieved her to be denied success in her darling desire of uniting her friends with each other, as they were already united in her own heart. finding my resolution unalterable, she was mortified, but gave up her pursuit. when she became assured that all importunity was useless, she ever after avoided wounding my feelings by remonstrance, and allowed me to pursue the system i had adopted, rather than deprive herself of my society, which would have been the consequence had i not been left at liberty to follow the dictates of my own sense of propriety in a course from which i was resolved that even her majesty's displeasure should not make me swerve. "once in particular, at an entertainment given to the emperor joseph at trianon, i remember the queen took the opportunity to repeat how much she felt herself mortified at the course in which i persisted of never making my appearance at the duchesse de polignac's parties. "i replied, 'i believe, madame, we are both of us disappointed; but your majesty has your remedy, by replacing me by a lady less scrupulous.' "'i was too sanguine,' said the queen, 'in having flattered myself that i had chosen two friends who would form, from their sympathising and uniting their sentiments with each other, a society which would embellish my private life as much as they adorn their public stations.' "i said it was by my unalterable friendship and my loyal and dutiful attachment to the sacred person of her majesty that i had been prompted to a line of conduct in which the motives whence it arose would impel me to persist while i had the honour to hold a situation under her majesty's roof. "the queen, embracing me, exclaimed, 'that will be for life, for death alone can separate us!' "this is the last conversation i recollect to have had with the queen upon this distressing subject. "the abbe vermond, who had been her majesty's tutor, but who was now her private secretary, began to dread that his influence over her, from having been her confidential adviser from her youth upwards, would suffer from the rising authority of the all-predominant new favourite. consequently, he thought proper to remonstrate, not with her majesty, but with those about her royal person. the queen took no notice of these side-wind complaints, not wishing to enter into any explanation of her conduct. on this the abbe withdrew from court. but he only retired for a short time, and that to make better terms for the future. here was a new spring for those who were supplying the army of calumniators with poison. happy had it been, perhaps, for france and the queen if vermond had never returned. but the abbe was something like a distant country cousin of an english minister, a man of no talents, but who hoped for employment through the power of his kinsman. 'there is nothing on hand now,' answered the minister, 'but a bishop's mitre or a field-marshal's staff.'--'oh, very well,' replied the countryman; 'either will do for me till something better turns up.' the abbe, in his retirement finding leisure to reflect that there was no probability of anything 'better turning up' than his post of private secretary, tutor, confidant, and counsellor (and that not always the most correct) of a young and amiable queen of france, soon made his reappearance and kept his jealousy of the de polignacs ever after to himself. "the abbe vermond enjoyed much influence with regard to ecclesiastical preferments. he was too fond of his situation ever to contradict or thwart her majesty in any of her plans; too much of a courtier to assail her ears with the language of truth; and by far too much a clergyman to interest himself but for mother church. "in short, he was more culpable in not doing his duty than in the mischief he occasioned, for he certainly oftener misled the queen by his silence than by his advice." section viii. "i have already mentioned that marie antoinette had no decided taste for literature. her mind rather sought its amusements in the ball-room, the promenade, the theatre, especially when she herself was a performer, and the concert-room, than in her library and among her books. her coldness towards literary men may in, some degree be accounted for by the disgust which she took at the calumnies and caricatures resulting from her mother's partiality for her own revered teacher, the great metastasio. the resemblance of most of maria theresa's children to that poet was coupled with the great patronage he received from the empress; and much less than these circumstances would have been quite enough to furnish a tale for the slanderer, injurious to the reputation of any exalted personage. "the taste of marie antoinette for private theatricals was kept up till the clouds of the revolution darkened over all her enjoyments. "these innocent amusements were made subjects of censure against her by the many courtiers who were denied access to them; while some, who were permitted to be present, were too well pleased with the opportunity of sneering at her mediocrity in the art, which those, who could not see her, were ready to criticise with the utmost severity. it is believed that madame de genlis found this too favourable an opportunity to be slighted. anonymous satires upon the queen's performances, which were attributed to the malice of that authoress, were frequently shown to her majesty by good-natured friends. the duc de fronsac also, from some situation he held at court, though not included in the private household of her majesty at trianon, conceiving himself highly injured by not being suffered to interfere, was much exasperated, and took no pains to prevent others from receiving the infection of his resentment. "of all the arts, music was the only one which her majesty ever warmly patronised. for music she was an enthusiast. had her talents in this art been cultivated, it is certain from her judgment in it that she would have made very considerable progress. she sang little french airs with great taste and feeling. she improved much under the tuition of the great composer, her master, the celebrated sacchini. after his death, sapio was named his successor; but, between the death of one master and the appointment of another, the revolutionary horrors so increased that her mind was no longer in a state to listen to anything but the howlings of the tempest. "in her happier days of power, the great gluck was brought at her request from germany to paris. he cost nothing to the public treasury, for her majesty paid all his expenses out of her own purse, leaving him the profits of his operas, which attracted immense sums to the theatre. "marie antoinette paid for the musical education of the french singer, garat, and pensioned him for her private concerts. "her majesty was the great patroness of the celebrated viotti, who was also attached to her private musical parties. before viotti began to perform his concertos, her majesty, with the most amiable condescension, would go round the music saloon, and say, 'ladies and gentlemen, i request you will be silent, and very attentive, and not enter into conversation, while mr. viotti is playing, for it interrupts him in the execution of his fine performance. "gluck composed his armida in compliment to the personal charms of marie antoinette. i never saw her majesty more interested about anything than she was for its success. she became a perfect slave to it. she had the gracious condescension to hear all the pieces through, at gluck's request, before they were submitted to the stage for rehearsal. gluck said he always improved his music after he saw the effect it had upon her majesty. "he was coming out of the queen's apartment one day, after he had been performing one of these pieces for her majesty's approbation, when i followed and congratulated him on the increased success he had met with from the whole band of the opera at every rehearsal. 'o my dear princess!' cried he, 'it wants nothing to make it be applauded up to the seven skies but two such delightful heads as her majesty's and your own.'--'oh, if that be all,' answered i, 'we'll have them painted for you, mr. gluck!'--'no, no, no! you do not understand me,' replied gluck, 'i mean real, real heads. my actresses are very ugly, and armida and her confidential lady ought to be very handsome: "however great the success of the opera of armida, and certainly it was one of the best productions ever exhibited on the french stage, no one had a better opinion of its composition than gluck himself. he was quite mad about it. he told the queen that the air of france had invigorated his musical genius, and that, after having had the honour of seeing her majesty, his ideas were so much inspired that his compositions resembled her, and became alike angelic and sublime! "the first artist who undertook the part of armida was madame saint huberti. the queen was very partial to her. she was principal female singer at the french opera, was a german by birth, and strongly recommended by gluck for her good natural voice. at her majesty's request, gluck himself taught madame saint huberti the part of armida. sacchini, also, at the command of marie antoinette, instructed her in the style and sublimity of the italian school, and mdlle. benin, the queen's dressmaker and milliner, was ordered to furnish the complete dress for the character. "the queen, perhaps, was more liberal to this lady than to any other actress upon the stage. she had frequently paid her debts, which were very considerable, for she dressed like a queen whenever she represented one. "gluck's consciousness of the merit of his own works, and of their dignity, excited no small jealousy, during the getting up of armida, in his rival with the public, the great vestris, to whom he scarcely left space to exhibit the graces of his art; and many severe disputes took place between the two rival sharers of the parisian enthusiasm. indeed, it was at one time feared that the success of armida would be endangered, unless an equal share of the performance were conceded to the dancers. but gluck, whose german obstinacy would not give up a note, told vestris he might compose a ballet in which he would leave him his own way entirely; but that an artist whose profession only taught him to reason with his heels should not kick about works like armida at his pleasure. 'my subject,' added gluck, 'is taken from the immortal tasso. my music has been logically composed, and with the ideas of my head; and, of course, there is very little room left for capering. if tasso had thought proper to make rinaldo a dancer he never would have designated him a warrior.' "rinaldo was the part vestris wished to be allotted to his son. however, through the interference of the queen, vestris prudently took the part as it had been originally finished by gluck. "the queen was a great admirer and patroness of augustus vestris, the god of dance, as he was styled. augustus vestris never lost her majesty's favour, though he very often lost his sense of the respect he owed to the public, and showed airs and refused to dance. once he did so when her majesty was at the opera. upon some frivolous pretext he refused to appear. he was, in consequence, immediately arrested. his father, alarmed at his son's temerity, flew to me, and with the most earnest supplications implored i would condescend to endeavour to obtain the pardon of her majesty. 'my son,' cried he, 'did not know that her majesty had honoured the theatre with her presence. had he been aware of it, could he have refused to dance for his most bounteous benefactress? i, too, am grieved beyond the power of language to describe, by this mal apropos contretemps between the two houses of vestris and bourbon, as we have always lived in the greatest harmony ever since we came from florence to paris. my son is very sorry and will dance most bewitchingly if her majesty will graciously condescend to order his release!' "i repeated the conversation verbatim, to her majesty, who enjoyed the arrogance of the florentine, and sent her page to order young vestris to be set immediately at liberty. "having exerted all the wonderful powers of his art, the queen applauded him very much. when her majesty was about leaving her box, old vestris appeared at the entrance, leading his son to thank the queen. "'ah, monsieur vestris,' said the queen to the father, you never danced as your son has done this evening.' "'that's very natural, madame,' answered old vestris, 'i never had a vestris, please your majesty, for a master.' "'then you have the greater merit,' replied the queen, turning round to old vestris--'ah, i shall never forget you and mademoiselle guimard dancing the minuet de la cour.' "on this old vestris held up his head with that peculiar grace for which he was so much distinguished. the old man, though ridiculously vain, was very much of a gentleman in his manners. the father of vestris was a painter of some celebrity at florence, and originally from tuscany." section ix. "the visit of the favourite brother of marie antoinette, the emperor joseph the second, to france, had been long and anxiously expected, and was welcomed by her with delight. the pleasure her majesty discovered at having him with her is scarcely credible; and the affectionate tenderness with which the emperor frequently expressed himself on seeing his favourite sister evinced that their joys were mutual. "like everything else, however, which gratified and obliged the queen, her evil star converted even this into a misfortune. it was said that the french treasury, which was not overflowing, was still more reduced by the queen's partiality for her brother. she was accused of having given him immense sums of money; which was utterly false. "the finances of joseph were at that time in a situation too superior to those of france to admit of such extravagance, or even to render it desirable. the circumstance which gave a colour to the charge was this: "the emperor, in order to facilitate the trade of his brabant subjects, had it in contemplation to open the navigation of the scheldt. this measure would have been ruinous to many of the skippers, as well as to the internal commerce of france. it was considered equally dangerous to the trade and navigation of the north hollanders. to prevent it, negotiations were carried on by the french minister, though professedly for the mutual interest of both countries, yet entirely at the instigation and on account of the dutch. the weighty argument of the dutch to prevent the emperor from accomplishing a purpose they so much dreaded was a sum of many millions, which passed by means of some monied speculation in the exchange through france to its destination at vienna. it was to see this affair settled that the emperor declared in vienna his intention of taking france in his way from italy, before he should go back to austria. "the certainty of a transmission of money from france to austria was quite enough to awaken the malevolent, who would have taken care, even had they inquired into the source whence the money came, never to have made it public. the opportunity was too favourable not to be made the pretext to raise a clamour against the queen for robbing france to favour and enrich austria. "the emperor, who had never seen me, though he had often heard me spoken of at the court of turin, expressed a wish, soon after his arrival, that i should be presented to him. the immediate cause of this let me explain. "i was very much attached to the princesse clotilde, whom i had caused to be united to prince charles emanuel of piedmont. our family had, indeed, been principally instrumental in the alliances of the two brothers of the king of france with the two piedmontese princesses, as i had been in the marriage of the piedmontese prince with the princess of france. when the emperor joseph visited the court of turin he was requested when he saw me in paris to signify the king of sardinia's satisfaction at my good offices. consequently, the emperor lost no time in delivering his message. "when i was just entering the queen's apartment to be presented, 'here,' said her majesty, leading me to the emperor, 'is the princess,' and, then turning to me, exclaimed, 'mercy, how cold you are!' the emperor answered her majesty in german, 'what heat can you expect from the hand of one whose heart resides with the dead?' and subjoined, in the same language, 'what a pity that so charming a head should be fixed on a dead body.' "i affected to understand the emperor literally, and set him and the queen laughing by thanking his imperial majesty for the compliment. "the emperor was exceedingly affable and full of anecdote. marie antoinette resembled him in her general manners. the similitude in their easy openness of address towards persons of merit was very striking. both always endeavoured to encourage persons of every class to speak their minds freely, with this difference, that her majesty in so doing never forgot her dignity or her rank at court. sometimes, however, i have seen her, though so perfect in her deportment with inferiors, much intimidated and sometimes embarrassed in the presence of the princes and princesses, her equals, who for the first time visited versailles: indeed, so much as to give them a very incorrect idea of her capacity. it was by no means an easy matter to cause her majesty to unfold her real sentiments or character on a first acquaintance. "i remember the emperor one evening at supper when he was exceedingly good-humoured, talkative, and amusing. he had visited all his italian relations, and had a word for each, man, woman, or child--not a soul was spared. the king scarcely once opened his mouth, except to laugh at some of the emperor's jokes upon his italian relations. "he began by asking the queen if she punished her husband by making him keep as many lents in the same year as her sister did the king of naples. the queen not knowing what the emperor meant, he explained himself, and said, 'when the king of naples offends his queen she keeps him on short commons and 'soupe maigre' till he has expiated the offence by the penance of humbling himself; and then, and not till then, permits him to return and share the nuptial rights of her bed.' "'this sister of mine,' said the emperor, 'is a proficient queen in the art of man training. my other sister, the duchess of parma, is equally scientific in breaking-in horses; for she is constantly in the stables with her grooms, by which she 'grooms' a pretty sum yearly in buying, selling, and breaking-in; while the simpleton, her husband, is ringing the bells with the friars of colorno to call his good subjects to mass. "'my brother leopold, grand duke of tuscany, feeds his subjects with plans of economy, a dish that costs nothing, and not only saves him a multitude of troubles in public buildings and public institutions, but keeps the public money in his private coffers; which is one of the greatest and most classical discoveries a sovereign can possibly accomplish, and i give leopold much credit for his ingenuity. "'my dear brother ferdinand, archduke of milan, considering he is only governor of lombardy, is not without industry; and i am told, when out of the glimpse of his dragon the holy beatrice, his archduchess, sells his corn in the time of war to my enemies, as he does to my friends in the time of peace. so he loses nothing by his speculations!' "the queen checked the emperor repeatedly, though she could not help smiling at his caricatures. "'as to you, my dear marie antoinette,' continued the emperor, not heeding her, 'i see you have made great progress in the art of painting. you have lavished more colour on one cheek than rubens would have required for all the figures in his cartoons.' observing one of the ladies of honour still more highly rouged than the queen, he said, 'i suppose i look like a death's head upon a tombstone, among all these high-coloured furies.' "the queen again tried to interrupt the emperor, but he was not to be put out of countenance. "he said he had no doubt, when he arrived at brussels, that he should hear of the progress of his sister, the archduchess maria christina, in her money negotiations with the banker valkeers, who made a good stock for her husband's jobs. "'if maria christina's gardens and palace at lakin could speak,' observed he, 'what a spectacle of events would they not produce! what a number of fine sights my own family would afford! "'when i get to cologne,' pursued the emperor, there i shall see my great fat brother maximilian, in his little electorate, spending his yearly revenue upon an ecclesiastical procession; for priests, like opposition, never bark but to get into the manger; never walk empty-handed; rosaries and good cheer always wind up their holy work; and my good maximilian, as head of his church, has scarcely feet to waddle into it. feasting and fasting produce the same effect. in wind and food he is quite an adept--puffing, from one cause or the other, like a smith's bellows!' "indeed, the elector of cologne was really grown so very fat, that, like his imperial mother, he could scarcely walk. he would so over-eat himself at these ecclesiastical dinners, to make his guests welcome, that, from indigestion, he would be puffing and blowing, an hour afterwards, for breath. "'as i have begun the family visits,' continued the emperor, 'i must not pass by the archduchess mariana and the lady abbess at clagenfurt; or, the lord knows, i shall never hear the end of their klagens.--[a german word which signifies complaining.]--the first, i am told, is grown so ugly, and, of course, so neglected by mankind, that she is become an utter stranger to any attachment, excepting the fleshy embraces of the disgusting wen that encircles her neck and bosom, and makes her head appear like a black spot upon a large sheet of white paper. therefore klagen is all i can expect from that quarter of female flesh, and i dare say it will be levelled against the whole race of mankind for their want of taste in not admiring her exuberance of human craw! "'as to the lady abbess, she is one of my best recruiting sergeants. she is so fond of training cadets for the benefit of the army that they learn more from her system in one month than at the military academy at neustadt in a whole year. she is her mother's own daughter. she understands military tactics thoroughly. she and i never quarrel, except when i garrison her citadel with invalids. she and the canoness, mariana, would rather see a few young ensigns than all the staffs of the oldest field-marshals!' "the queen often made signs to the emperor to desist from thus exposing every member of his family, and seemed to feel mortified; but the more her majesty endeavoured to check his freedom, and make him silent, the more he enlarged upon the subject. he did not even omit maria theresa, who, he said, in consequence of some papers found on persons arrested as spies from the prussian camp, during the seven years' war, was reported to have been greatly surprised to have discovered that her husband, the emperor francis i., supplied the enemy's army with all kinds of provision from her stores. "the king scarcely ever answered excepting when the emperor told the queen that her staircase and antechamber at versailles resembled more the turkish bazars of constantinople [it was an old custom, in the passages and staircase of all the royal palaces, for tradespeople to sell their merchandise for the accommodation of the court.] than a royal palace. 'but,' added he, laughing, 'i suppose you would not allow the nuisance of hawkers and pedlars almost under your nose, if the sweet perfumes of a handsome present did not compensate for the disagreeable effluvia exhaling from their filthy traffic.' "on this, louis xvi., in a tone of voice somewhat varying from his usual mildness, assured the emperor that neither himself nor the queen derived any advantage from the custom, beyond the convenience of purchasing articles inside the palace at any moment they were wanted, without being forced to send for them elsewhere. "'that is the very reason, my dear brother,' replied joseph, 'why i would not allow these shops to be where they are. the temptation to lavish money to little purpose is too strong; and women have not philosophy enough to resist having things they like, when they can be obtained easily, though they may not be wanted.' "'custom,' answered the king-- "'true,' exclaimed the queen, interrupting him; custom, my dear brother, obliges us to tolerate in france many things which you, in austria, have. long since abolished; but the french are not to be: treated like the germans. a frenchman is a slave to habit. his very caprice in the change of fashion proceeds more from habit than genius or invention. his very restlessness of character is systematic; and old customs and national habits in a nation virtually spirituelle must not be trifled with. the tree torn up by the roots dies for want of nourishment; but, on the contrary, when lopped carefully only of its branches the pruning makes it more valuable to the cultivator and more pleasing to the beholder. so it is with national prejudices, which are often but the excrescences of national virtues. root them out and you root out virtue and all. they must only be: pruned and turned to profit. a frenchman is more easily killed than subdued. even his follies generally spring from a high sense of national dignity and honour, which foreigners cannot but respect.' "the emperor joseph while in france mixed in all sorts of society, to gain information with respect, to the popular feeling towards his sister, and instruction as to the manners and modes of life and thinking of the french. to this end he would often associate with the lowest of the common people, and generally gave them a louis for their loss of time in attending to him. "one day, when he was walking with the young princesse elizabeth and myself in the public gardens at versailles and in deep conversation with us, two or three of these louis ladies came up to my side and, not knowing who i was, whispered, 'there's no use in paying such attention to the stranger: after all, when he has got what he wants, he'll only give you a louis apiece and then send you about your business.'" section x. "i remember an old lady who could not bear to be told of deaths. 'psha! pshaw!' she would exclaim. 'bring me no tales of funerals! talk of births and of those who are likely to be blest with them! these are the joys which gladden old hearts and fill youthful ones with ecstasy! it is our own reproduction in children which makes us quit the world happy and contented; because then we only retire to make room for another race, bringing with them all those faculties which are in us decayed; and capable, which we ourselves have ceased to be, of taking our parts and figuring on the stage of life so long as it may please the supreme manager to busy them in earthly scenes! then talk no more to me of weeds and mourning, but show me christenings and all those who give employ to the baptismal font!' "such also was the exulting feeling of marie antoinette when she no longer doubted of her wished-for pregnancy. the idea of becoming a mother filled her soul with an exuberant delight, which made the very pavement on which she trod vibrate with the words, 'i shall be a mother! i shall be a mother!' she was so overjoyed that she not only made it public throughout france but despatches were sent off to all her royal relatives. and was not her rapture natural? so long as she had waited for the result of every youthful union, and so coarsely as she had been reproached with her misfortune! now came her triumph. she could now prove to the world, like all the descendants of the house of austria, that there was no defect with her. the satirists and the malevolent were silenced. louis xvi., from the cold, insensible bridegroom, became the infatuated admirer of his long-neglected wife. the enthusiasm with which the event was hailed by all france atoned for the partial insults she had received before it. the splendid fetes, balls, and entertainments, indiscriminately lavished by all ranks throughout the kingdom on this occasion, augmented those of the queen and the court to a pitch of magnificence surpassing the most luxurious and voluptuous times of the great and brilliant louis xiv. entertainments were given even to the domestics of every description belonging to the royal establishments. indeed, so general was the joy that, among those who could do no more, there could scarcely be found a father or mother in france who, before they took their wine, did not first offer up a prayer for the prosperous pregnancy of their beloved queen. "and yet, though the situation of marie antoinette was now become the theme of a whole nation's exultation, she herself, the owner of the precious burthen, selected by heaven as its special depositary, was the only one censured for expressing all her happiness! "those models of decorum, the virtuous princesses, her aunts, deemed it highly indelicate in her majesty to have given public marks of her satisfaction to those deputed to compliment her on her prosperous situation. to avow the joy she felt was in their eyes indecent and unqueenly. where was the shrinking bashfulness of that one of these princesses who had herself been so clamorous to louis xv. against her husband, the duke of modena, for not having consummated her own marriage? "the party of the dismissed favourite du barry were still working underground. their pestiferous vapours issued from the recesses of the earth, to obscure the brightness of the rising sun, which was now rapidly towering to its climax, to obliterate the little planets which had once endeavoured to eclipse its beautiful rays, but were now incapable of competition, and unable to endure its lustre. this malignant nest of serpents began to poison the minds of the courtiers, as soon as the pregnancy was obvious, by innuendoes on the partiality of the comte d'artois for the queen; and at length, infamously, and openly, dared to point him out as the cause? "thus, in the heart of the court itself, originated this most atrocious slander, long before it reached the nation, and so much assisted to destroy her majesty's popularity with a people, who now adored her amiableness, her general kind-heartedness, and her unbounded charity. "i have repeatedly seen the queen and the comte d'artois together under circumstances in which there could have been no concealment of her real feelings; and i can firmly and boldly assert the falsehood of this allegation against my royal mistress. the only attentions marie antoinette received in the earlier part of her residence in france were from her grandfather and her brothers-in-law. of these, the comte d'artois was the only one who, from youth and liveliness of character, thoroughly sympathised with his sister. but, beyond the little freedoms of two young and innocent playmates, nothing can be charged upon their intimacy,--no familiarity whatever farther than was warranted by their relationship. i can bear witness that her majesty's attachment for the comte d'artois never differed in its nature from what she felt for her brother the emperor joseph. [when the king thought proper to be reconciled to the queen after the death of his grandfather, louis xv., and when she became a mother, she really was very much attached to louis xvi., as may be proved from her never quitting him, and suffering all the horrid sacrifices she endured, through the whole period of the revolution, rather than leave her husband, her children, or her sister. marie antoinette might have saved her life twenty times, had not the king's safety, united with her own and that of her family, impelled her to reject every proposition of self-preservation.] "it is very likely that the slander of which i speak derived some colour of probability afterwards with the million, from the queen's thoughtlessness, relative to the challenge which passed between the comte d'artois and the duc de bourbon. in right of my station, i was one of her majesty's confidential counsellors, and it became my duty to put restraint upon her inclinations, whenever i conceived they led her wrong. in this instance, i exercised my prerogative decidedly, and even so much so as to create displeasure; but i anticipated the consequences, which actually ensued, and preferred to risk my royal mistress's displeasure rather than her reputation. the dispute, which led to the duel, was on some point of etiquette; and the baron de besenval was to attend as second to one of the parties. from the queen's attachment for her royal brother, she wished the affair to be amicably arranged, without the knowledge either of the king, who was ignorant of what had taken place, or of the parties; which could only be effected by her seeing the baron in the most private manner. i opposed her majesty's allowing any interview with the baron upon any terms, unless sanctioned by the king. this unexpected and peremptory refusal obliged the queen to transfer her confidence to the librarian, who introduced the baron into one of the private apartments of her majesty's women, communicating with that of the queen, where her majesty could see the baron without the exposure of passing any of the other attendants. the baron was quite gray, and upwards of sixty years of age! but the self-conceited dotard soon caused the queen to repent her misplaced confidence, and from his unwarrantable impudence on that occasion, when he found himself alone with the queen, her majesty, though he was a constant member of the societies of the de polignacs, ever after treated him with sovereign contempt. "the queen herself afterwards described to me the baron's presumptuous attack upon her credulity. from this circumstance i thenceforward totally excluded him from my parties, where her majesty was always a regular visitor. "the coolness to which my determination not to allow the interview gave rise between her majesty and myself was but momentary. the queen had too much discernment not to appreciate the basis upon which my denial was grounded, even before she was convinced by the result how correct had been my reflection. she felt her error, and, by the mediation of the duke of dorset, we were reunited more closely than ever, and so, i trust, we shall remain till death! "there was much more attempted to be made of another instance, in which i exercised the duty of my office, than the truth justified--the nightly promenades on the terrace at versailles, or at trianon. though no amusement could have been more harmless or innocent for a private individual, yet i certainly, disapproved it for a queen, and therefore withheld the sanction of my attendance. my sole objection was on the score of dignity. i well knew that du barry and her infamous party were constant spies upon the queen on every occasion of such a nature; and that they would not fail to exaggerate her every movement to her prejudice. though du barry could not form one of the party, which was a great source of heartburning, it was easy for her, under the circumstances, to mingle with the throng. when i suggested these objections to the queen, her majesty, feeling no inward cause of reproach, and being sanctioned in what she did by the king himself, laughed at the idea of these little excursions affording food for scandal. i assured her majesty that i had every reason to be convinced that du barry was often in disguise, not far from the seat where her majesty and the princesse elizabeth could be overheard in their most secret conversations with each other. 'listeners,' replied the queen, 'never hear any good of themselves.' "'my dear lamballe,' she continued, 'you have taken such a dislike to this woman that you cannot conceive she can be occupied but in mischief. this is uncharitable. she certainly has no reason to be dissatisfied with either the king or myself. we have both left her in the full enjoyment of all she possessed, except the right of appearing at court or continuing in the society her conduct had too long disgraced.' "i said it was very true, but that i should be happier to find her majesty so scrupulous as never to give an opportunity even for the falsehoods of her enemies. "her majesty turned the matter off, as usual, by saying she had no idea of injuring others, and could not believe that any one would wantonly injure her, adding, 'the duchess and the princesse elizabeth, my two sisters, and all the other ladies, are coming to hear the concert this evening, and you will be delighted.' "i excused myself under the plea of the night air disagreeing with my health, and returned to versailles without ever making myself one of the nocturnal members of her majesty's society, well knowing she could dispense with my presence, there being more than enough ever ready to hurry her by their own imprudence into the folly of despising criticisms, which i always endeavoured to avoid, though i did not fear them. of these i cannot but consider her secretary as one. the following circumstance connected with the promenades is a proof: "the abbe vermond was present one day when marie antoinette observed that she felt rather indisposed. i attributed it to her majesty's having lightened her dress and exposed herself too much to the night air. 'heavens, madame!' cried the abbe, 'would you always have her majesty cased up in steel armour, and not take the fresh air, without being surrounded by a troop of horse and foot, as a field-marshal is when going to storm a fortress? pray, princess, now that her majesty, has freed herself from the annoying shackles of madame etiquette (the comtesse de noailles), let her enjoy the pleasure of a simple robe and breathe freely the fresh morning dew, as has been her custom all her life (and as her mother before her, the empress maria theresa, has done and continues to do, even to this day), unfettered by antiquated absurdities! let me be anything rather than a queen of france, if i must be doomed to the slavery of such tyrannical rules!' "'true; but, sir,' replied i, 'you should reflect that if you were a queen of france, france, in making you mistress of her destinies, and placing you at the head of her nation, would in return look for respect from you to her customs and manners. i am born an italian, but i renounced all national peculiarities of thinking and acting the moment i set my foot on french ground.' "'and so did i,' said marie antoinette. "'i know you did, madame,' i answered; but i am replying to your preceptor; and i only wish he saw things in the same light i do. when we are at rome, we should do as rome does. you have never had a regicide bertrand de gurdon, a ravillac or a damiens in germany; but they have been common in france, and the sovereigns of france cannot be too circumspect in their maintenance of ancient etiquette to command the dignified respect of a frivolous and versatile people.' "the queen, though she did not strictly adhere to my counsels or the abbe's advice, had too much good sense to allow herself to be prejudiced against me by her preceptor; but the abbe never entered on the propriety or impropriety of the queen's conduct before me, and from the moment i have mentioned studiously avoided, in my presence, anything which could lead to discussion on the change of dress and amusements introduced by her majesty. "although i disapproved of her majesty's deviations from established forms in this, or, indeed, any respect, yet i never, before or after, expressed my opinion before a third person. "never should i have been so firmly and so long attached to marie antoinette, had i not known that her native thorough goodness of heart had been warped and misguided, though acting at the same time with the best intentions, by a false notion of her real innocence being a sufficient shield against the public censure of such innovations upon national prejudices, as she thought prayer to introduce,--the fatal error of conscious rectitude, encouraged in its regardlessness of appearances by those very persons who well knew that it is only by appearances a nation can judge of its rulers. "i remember a ludicrous circumstance arising from the queen's innocent curiosity, in which, if there were anything to blame, i myself am to be censured for lending myself to it so heartily to satisfy her majesty. "when the chevalier d'eon was allowed to return to france, her majesty expressed a particular inclination to see this extraordinary character. from prudential as well as political motives, she was at first easily persuaded to repress her desire. however, by a most ludicrous occurrence, it was revived, and nothing would do but she must have a sight of the being who had for some time been the talk of every society, and at the period to which i allude was become the mirth of all paris. "the chevalier being one day in a very large party of both sexes, in which, though his appearance had more of the old soldier in it than of the character he was compelled 'malgre lui', [it may be necessary to observe here that the chevalier, having for some particular motives been banished from france, was afterwards permitted to return only on condition of never appearing but in the disguised dress of a female, though he was always habited in the male costume underneath it.] to adopt, many of the guests having no idea to what sex this nondescript animal really belonged, the conversation after dinner happened to turn on the manly exercise of fencing. heated by a subject to him so interesting, the chevalier, forgetful of the respect due to his assumed garb, started from his seat, and, pulling up his petticoats, threw himself on guard. though dressed in male attire underneath, this sudden freak sent all the ladies--and many of the gentlemen out of the room in double--quick time. the chevalier, however, instantly recovering from the first impulse, quietly pat down his, upper garment, and begged pardon in, a gentlemanly manner for having for a moment deviated from the forma of his imposed situation. all, the gossips of paris were presently amused with the story, which, of coarse, reached the court, with every droll particular of the pulling up and clapping down the cumbrous paraphernalia of a hoop petticoat. "the king and queen, from the manner in which they enjoyed the tale when told them (and certainly it lost nothing in the report), would not have been the least amused of the party had they been present. his majesty shook the room with laughing, and the queen, the princesse elizabeth, and the other ladies were convulsed at the description. "when we were alone, 'how i should like,' said the queen, 'to see this curious man-woman!'--'indeed,' replied i, 'i have not less curiosity than yourself, and i think we may contrive to let your majesty have a peep at him--her, i mean!--without compromising your dignity, or offending the minister who interdicted the chevalier from appearing in your presence. i know he has expressed the greatest mortification, and that his wish to see your majesty is almost irrepressible.' "'but how will you be able to contrive this without its being known to the king, or to the comte de vergennes, who would never forgive me?' exclaimed her majesty. "'why, on sunday, when you go to chapel, i will cause him, by some means or other, to make his appearance, en grande costume, among the group of ladies who are generally waiting there to be presented to your majesty.' "'oh, you charming creature!' said the queen. 'but won't the minister banish or exile him for it?' "'no, no! he has only been forbidden an audience of your majesty at court,' i replied. "in good earnest, on the sunday following, the chevalier was dressed en costume, with a large hoop, very long train, sack, five rows of ruffles, an immensely high powdered female wig, very beautiful lappets, white gloves, an elegant fan in his hand, his beard closely shaved, his neck and ears adorned with diamond rings and necklaces, and assuming all the airs and graces of a fine lady! "but, unluckily, his anxiety was so great, the, moment the queen made her appearance, to get a sight of her majesty, that, on rushing before the other ladies, his wig and head-dress fell off his head; and, before they could be well replaced, he made so, ridiculous a figure, by clapping them, in his confusion, hind part before, that the king, the queen, and the whole suite, could scarcely refrain from laughing; aloud in the church. "thus ended the long longed for sight of this famous man-woman! "as to me, it was a great while before i could recover myself. even now, i laugh whenever i think of this great lady deprived of her head ornaments, with her bald pate laid bare, to the derision of such a multitude of parisians, always prompt to divert themselves at the expense of others. however, the affair passed off unheeded, and no one but the queen and myself ever knew that we ourselves had been innocently the cause of this comical adventure. when we met after mass, we were so overpowered, that neither of us could speak for laughing. the bishop who officiated said it was lucky he had no sermon to preach that day, for it would have been difficult for him to have recollected himself, or to have maintained his gravity. the ridiculous appearance of the chevalier, he added, was so continually presenting itself before him during the service that it was as much as he could do to restrain himself from laughing, by keeping his eyes constantly riveted on the book. indeed, the oddity of the affair was greatly heightened when, in the middle of the mass, some charitable hand having adjusted the wig of the chevalier, he re-entered the chapel as if nothing had happened, and, placing himself exactly opposite the altar, with his train upon his arm, stood fanning himself, a la coquette, with an inflexible self-possession which only rendered it the more difficult for those around him to maintain their composure. "thus ended the queen's curiosity. the result only made the chevalier's company in greater request, for every one became more anxious than ever to know the masculine lady who had lost her wig!" etext editor's bookmarks: fatal error of conscious rectitude feel themselves injured by the favour shown to others listeners never hear any good of themselves only retire to make room for another race regardlessness of appearances memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe list of illustrations louis the fifteenth "it was an indigestion madame du hausset madame de pompadour madame adelaide madame sophie madame elizabeth mirabeau and the queen princess de lamballe marie antoinette in the temple interviewing little louis marie antoinette to the guillotine advertisement. [from the london magazine, no. iii. new series p. .] we were obliged by circumstances, at one time, to read all the published memoirs relative to the reign of louis xv., and had the opportunity of reading many others which may not see the light for a long time yet to come, as their publication at present would materially militate against the interest of the descendants of the writers; and we have no hesitation in saying that the memoirs of madame du hausset are the only perfectly sincere ones amongst all those we know. sometimes, madame du hausset mistakes, through ignorance, but never does she wilfully mislead, like madame campan, nor keep back a secret, like madame roland, and mm. bezenval and ferreires; nor is she ever betrayed by her vanity to invent, like the due de lauzun, mm. talleyrand, bertrand de moleville, marmontel, madame d'epinay, etc. when madame du hausset is found in contradiction with other memoirs of the same period, we should never hesitate to give her account the preference. whoever is desirous of accurately knowing the reign of louis xv. should run over the very wretched history of lacretelle, merely for the, dates, and afterwards read the two hundred pages of the naive du hausset, who, in every half page, overturns half a dozen misstatements of this hollow rhetorician. madame du hausset was often separated from the little and obscure chamber in the palace of versailles, where resided the supreme power, only by a slight door or curtain, which permitted her to hear all that was said there. she had for a 'cher ami' the greatest practical philosopher of that period, dr. quesnay, the founder of political economy. he was physician to madame de pompadour, and one of the sincerest and most single-hearted of men probably in paris at the time. he explained to madame du hausset many things that, but for his assistance, she would have witnessed without understanding. introduction. a friend of m. de marigny (the brother of madame de pompadour) called on him one day and found him burning papers. taking up a large packet which he was going to throw into the fire "this," said he, "is the journal of a waiting-woman of my sister's. she was a very estimable person, but it is all gossip; to the fire with it!" he stopped, and added, "don't you think i am a little like the curate and the barber burning don quixote's romances?"--"i beg for mercy on this," said his friend. "i am fond of anecdotes, and i shall be sure to find some here which will interest me." "take it, then," said m. de marigny, and gave it him. the handwriting and the spelling of this journal are very bad. it abounds in tautology and repetitions. facts are sometimes inverted in the order of time; but to remedy all these defects it would have been necessary to recast the whole, which would have completely changed the character of the work. the spelling and punctuation were, however, corrected in the original, and some explanatory notes added. madame de pompadour had two waiting-women of good family. the one, madame du hausset, who did not change her name; and another, who assumed a name, and did not publicly announce her quality. this journal is evidently the production of the former. the amours of louis xv. were, for a long time, covered with the veil of mystery. the public talked of the parc-aux-cerfs, but were acquainted with none of its details. louis xiv., who, in the early part of his reign, had endeavoured to conceal his attachments, towards the close of it gave them a publicity which in one way increased the scandal; but his mistresses were all women of quality, entitled by their birth to be received at court. nothing can better describe the spirit of the time and the character of the monarch than these words of madame de montespan: "he does not love me," said she, "but he thinks he owes it to his subjects and to his own greatness to have the most beautiful woman in his kingdom as his mistress." secret memoirs of louis xv., and memoirs of madame du hausset. an early friend of mine, who married well at paris, and who has the reputation of being a very clever woman, has often asked me to write down what daily passed under my notice; to please her, i made little notes, of three or four lines each, to recall to my memory the most singular or interesting facts; as, for instance--attempt to assassinate the king; he orders madame de pompadour to leave the court; m. de machaudt's ingratitude, etc.--i always promised my friend that i would, some time or other, reduce all these materials into the form of a regular narrative. she mentioned the "recollections of madame de caylus," which were, however, not then printed; and pressed me so much to produce a similar work, that i have taken advantage of a few leisure moments to write this, which i intend to give her, in order that she may arrange it and correct the style. i was for a long time about the person of madame de pompadour, and my birth procured for me respectful treatment from herself, and from some distinguished persons who conceived a regard for me. i soon became the intimate friend of doctor quesnay, who frequently came to pass two or three hours with me. his house was frequented by people of all parties, but the number was small, and restricted to those who were on terms of greatest intimacy with him. all subjects were handled with the utmost freedom, and it is infinitely to his honour and theirs that nothing was ever repeated. the countess d----- also visited me. she was a frank and lively woman, and much liked by madame de pompadour. the baschi family paid me great attention. m. de marigny had received some little services from me, in the course of the frequent quarrels between him and his sister, and he had a great friendship for me. the king was in the constant habit of seeing me; and an accident, which i shall have occasion to relate, rendered him very familiar with me. he talked without any constraint when i was in the room. during madame de pompadour's illness i scarcely ever left her chamber, and passed the night there. sometimes, though rarely, i accompanied her in her carriage with doctor quesnay, to whom she scarcely spoke a word, though he was--a man of great talents. when i was alone with her, she talked of many affairs which nearly concerned her, and she once said to me, "the king and i have such implicit confidence in you, that we look upon you as a cat, or a dog, and go on talking as if you were not there." there was a little nook, adjoining her chamber, which has since been altered, where she knew i usually sat when i was alone, and where i heard everything that was said in the room, unless it was spoken in a low voice. but when the king wanted to speak to her in private, or in the presence of any of his ministers, he went with her into a closet, by the side of the chamber, whither she also retired when she had secret business with the ministers, or with other important persons; as, for instance, the lieutenant of police, the postmaster-general, etc. all these circumstances brought to my knowledge a great many things which probity will neither allow me to tell or to record. i generally wrote without order of time, so that a fact may be related before others which preceded it. madame de pompadour had a great friendship for three ministers; the first was m. de machault, to whom she was indebted for the regulation of her income, and the payment of her debts. she gave him the seals, and he retained the first place in her regard till the attempt to assassinate the king. many people said that his conduct on that occasion was not attributable to bad intentions; that he thought it his duty to obey the king without making himself in any way a party to the affair, and that his cold manners gave him the appearance of an indifference which he did not feel. madame de pompadour regarded him in the light of a faithless friend; and, perhaps, there was some justice on both sides. but for the abbe de bernis; m. de machault might, probably, have retained his place. the second minister, whom madame de pompadour liked, was the abbe de bernis. she was soon disgusted with him when she saw the absurdity of his conduct. he gave a singular specimen of this on the very day of his dismissal. he had invited a great many people of distinction to a splendid entertainment, which was to have taken place on the very day when he received his order of banishment, and had written in the notes of invitation--m. le comte de lusace will be there. this count was the brother of the dauphine, and this mention of him was deservedly thought impertinent. the king said, wittily enough, "lambert and moliere will be there." she scarcely ever spoke of the cardinal de bernis after his dismissal from the court. he was extremely ridiculous, but he was a good sort of man. madame, the infanta, died a little time before, and, by the way, of such a complication of putrid and malignant diseases, that the capuchins who bore the body, and the men who committed it to the grave, were overcome by the effluvia. her papers appeared no less impure in the eyes of the king. he discovered that the abbe de bernis had been intriguing with her, and that they had deceived him, and had obtained the cardinal's hat by making use of his name. the king was so indignant that he was very near refusing him the barrette. he did grant it--but just as he would have thrown a bone to a dog. the abbe had always the air of a protege when he was in the company of madame de pompadour. she had known him in positive distress. the due de choiseul was very differently situated; his birth, his air, his manners, gave him claims to consideration, and he far exceeded every other man in the art of ingratiating himself with madame de pompadour. she looked upon him as one of the most illustrious nobles of the court, as the most able minister, and the most agreeable man. m. de choiseul had a sister and a wife, whom he had introduced to her, and who sedulously cultivated her favourable sentiments towards him. from the time he was minister, she saw only with his eyes; he had the talent of amusing her, and his manners to women, generally, were extremely agreeable. two persons--the lieutenant of police and the postmaster-general--were very much in madame de pompadour's confidence; the latter, however, became less necessary to her from the time that the king communicated to m. de choiseul the secret of the post-office, that is to say, the system of opening letters and extracting matter from them: this had never been imparted to m. d'argenson, in spite of the high favour he enjoyed. i have heard that m. de choiseul abused the confidence reposed in him, and related to his friends the ludicrous stories, and the love affairs, contained in the letters which were broken open. the plan they pursued, as i have heard, was very simple. six or seven clerks of the post-office picked out the letters they were ordered to break open, and took the impression of the seals with a ball of quicksilver. then they put each letter, with the seal downwards, over a glass of hot water, which melted the wax without injuring the paper. it was then opened, the desired matter extracted, and it was sealed again, by means of the impression. this is the account of the matter i have heard. the postmaster-general carried the extracts to the king on sundays. he was seen coming and going on this noble errand as openly as the ministers. doctor quesnay often, in my presence, flew in such a rage about that infamous minister, as he called him, that he foamed at the mouth. "i would as soon dine with the hangman as with the postmaster-general," said the doctor. it must be acknowledged that this was astonishing language to be uttered in the apartments of the king's mistress; yet it went on for twenty years without being talked of. "it was probity speaking with earnestness," said m. de marigny, "and not a mere burst of spite or malignity." the duc de gontaut was the brother-in-law and friend of m. de choiseul, and was assiduous in his attendance on madame de pompadour. the sister of m. de choiseul, madame de grammont, and his wife were equally constant in their attentions. this will sufficiently account for the ascendency of m. de choiseul, whom nobody would have ventured to attack. chance, however, discovered to me a secret correspondence of the king, with a man in a very obscure station. this man, who had a place in the farmers general, of from two to three hundred a year, was related to one of the young ladies of the parc-aux-cerfs, by whom he was recommended to the king. he was also connected in some way with m. de broglie, in whom the king placed great confidence. wearied with finding that this correspondence procured him no advancement, he took the resolution of writing to me, and requesting an interview, which i granted, after acquainting madame de pompadour with the circumstance. after a great deal of preamble and of flattery, he said to me, "can you give me your word of honour, and that of madame de pompadour, that no mention whatever of what i am going to tell you will be made to the king?"--"i think i can assure you that, if you require such a promise from madame de pompadour, and if it can produce no ill consequence to the king's service, she will give it you." he gave me his word that what he requested would have no bad effect; upon which i listened to what he had to say. he shewed me several memorials, containing accusations of m. de choiseul, and revealed some curious circumstances relative to the secret functions of the comte de broglie. these, however, led rather to conjectures than to certainty, as to the nature of the services he rendered to the king. lastly, he shewed me several letters in the king's handwriting. "i request," said he, "that the marquise de pompadour will procure for me the place of receiver-general of finances; i will give her information of whatever i send the king; i will write according to her instructions, and i will send her his answers." as i did not choose to take liberties with the king's papers, i only undertook to deliver the memorials. madame de pompadour having given me her word according to the conditions on which i had received the communication, i revealed to her everything i had heard. she sent the memorials to m. de choiseul, who thought them very maliciously and very cleverly written. madame de pompadour and he had a long conference as to the reply that was to be given to the person by whom those disclosures were made. what i was commissioned to say was this: that the place of receiver-general was at present too important, and would occasion too much surprise and speculation; that it would not do to go beyond a place worth fifteen thousand to twenty thousand francs a year; that they had no desire to pry into the king's secrets; and that his correspondence ought not to be communicated to any one; that this did not apply to papers like those of which i was the bearer, which might fall into his hands; that he would confer an obligation by communicating them, in order that blows aimed in the dark, and directed by malignity and imposture, might be parried. the answer was respectful and proper, in what related to the king; it was, however, calculated to counteract the schemes of the comte de broglie, by making m. de choiseul acquainted with his attacks, and with the nature of the weapons he employed. it was from the count that he received statements relating to the war and to the navy; but he had no communication with him concerning foreign affairs, which the count, as it was said, transacted immediately with the king. the duc de choiseul got the man who spoke to me recommended to the controller-general, without his appearing in the business; he had the place which was agreed upon, and the hope of a still better, and he entrusted to me the king's correspondence, which i told him i should not mention to madame de pompadour, according to her injunctions. he sent several memorials to m. de choiseul, containing accusations of him, addressed to the king. this timely information enabled him to refute them triumphantly. the king was very fond of having little private correspondences, very often unknown to madame de pompadour: she knew, however, of the existence of some, for he passed part of his mornings in writing to his family, to the king of spain, to cardinal tencin, to the abbe de broglie, and also to some obscure persons. "it is, doubtless, from such people as these," said she to me, one day, "that the king learns expressions which perfectly surprise me. for instance, he said to me yesterday, when he saw a man pass with an old coat on, 'il y a la un habit bien examine.' he once said to me, when he meant to express that a thing was probable, 'il y a gros'; i am told this is a saying of the common people, meaning, 'il y a gros a parier'." i took the liberty to say, "but is it not more likely from his young ladies at the parc, that he learns these elegant expressions? "she laughed, and said, "you are right; 'il y a gros'." the king, however, used these expressions designedly, and with a laugh. the king knew a great many anecdotes, and there were people enough who furnished him with such as were likely to mortify the self-love of others. one day, at choisy, he went into a room where some people were employed about embroidered furniture, to see how they were going on; and looking out of the window, he saw at the end of a long avenue two men in the choisy uniform. "who are those two noblemen?" said he. madame de pompadour took up her glass, and said, "they are the duc d'aumont, and ------" "ah!" said the king; "the duc d'aumont's grandfather would be greatly astonished if he could see his grandson arm in arm with the grandson of his valet de chambre, l------, in a dress which may be called a patent of nobility!" he went on to tell madame de pompadour a long history, to prove the truth of what he said. the king went out to accompany her into the garden; and, soon after, quesnay and m. de marigny came in. i spoke with contempt of some one who was very fond of money. at this the doctor laughed, and said, "i had a curious dream last night: i was in the country of the ancient germans; i had a large house, stacks of corn, herds of cattle, a great number of horses, and huge barrels of ale; but i suffered dreadfully from rheumatism, and knew not how to manage to go to a fountain, at fifty leagues' distance, the waters of which would cure me. i was to go among a strange people. an enchanter appeared before me, and said to me, 'i pity your distress; here, i will give you a little packet of the powder of "prelinpinpin"; whoever receives a little of this from you will lodge you, feed you, and pay you all sorts of civilities.' i took the powder, and thanked him." "ah!" said i, "how i should like to have some powder of prelinpinpin! i wish i had a chest full."--"well," said the doctor, "that powder is money, for which you have so great a contempt. tell me who, of all the men who come hither, receives the greatest attentions?"--"i do not know," said i. "why," said he, "it is m. de monmartel, who comes four or five times a year."--"why does he enjoy so much consideration?"--"because his coffers are full of the powder of prelinpinpin. everything in existence," said he, taking a handful of louis from his pocket, "is contained in these little pieces of metal, which will convey you commodiously from one end of the world to the other. all men obey those who possess this powder, and eagerly tender them their services. to despise money, is to despise happiness, liberty, in short, enjoyments of every kind." a cordon bleu passed under the window. "that nobleman," said i, "is much more delighted with his cordon bleu than he would be with ten thousand of your pieces of metal."--"when i ask the king for a pension," replied quesnay, "i say to him, 'give me the means of having a better dinner, a warmer coat, a carriage to shelter me from the weather, and to transport me from place to place without fatigue.' but the man who asks him for that fine blue ribbon would say, if he had the courage and the honesty to speak as he feels, 'i am vain, and it will give me great satisfaction to see people look at me, as i pass, with an eye of stupid admiration, and make way, for me; i wish, when i enter a room, to produce an effect, and to excite the attention of those who may, perhaps, laugh at me when i am gone; i wish to be called monseigneur by the multitude.' is not all this mere empty air? in scarcely any country will this ribbon be of the slightest use to him; it will give him no power. my pieces of metal will give me the power of assisting the unfortunate everywhere. long live the omnipotent powder of prelinpinpin!" at these last words, we heard a burst of laughter from the adjoining room, which was only separated by a door from the one we were in. the door opened, and in came the king, madame de pompadour, and m. de gontaut. "long live the powder of prelinpinpin!" said the king. "doctor, can you get me any of it?" it happened that, when the king returned from his walk, he was struck with a fancy to listen to our conversation. madame de pompadour was extremely kind to the doctor, and the king went out laughing, and talking with great admiration of the powder. i went away, and so did the doctor. i immediately sat down to commit this conversation to writing. i was afterwards told that m. quesnay was very learned in certain matters relating to finance, and that he was a great 'economiste'. but i do not know very well what that means. what i do know for certain is, that he was very clever, very gay and witty, and a very able physician. the illness of the little duke of burgundy, whose intelligence was much talked of, for a long time occupied the attention of the court. great endeavours were made to find out the cause of his malady, and ill-nature went so far as to assert that his nurse, who had an excellent situation at versailles, had communicated to him a nasty disease. the king shewed madame de pompadour the information he had procured from the province she came from, as to her conduct. a silly bishop thought proper to say she had been very licentious in her youth. the poor nurse was told of this, and begged that he might be made to explain himself. the bishop replied, that she had been at several balls in the town in which she lived, and that she had gone with her neck uncovered. the poor man actually thought this the height of licentiousness. the king, who had been at first uneasy, when he came to this, called out, "what a fool!" after having long been a source of anxiety to the court, the duke died. nothing produces a stronger impression upon princes, than the spectacle of their equals dying. everybody is occupied about them while ill--but as soon as they are dead, nobody mentions them. the king frequently talked about death--and about funerals, and places of burial. nobody could be of a more melancholy temperament. madame de pompadour once told me that he experienced a painful sensation whenever he was forced to laugh, and that he had often begged her to break off a droll story. he smiled, and that was all. in general, he had the most gloomy ideas concerning almost all events. when there was a new minister, he used to say, "he displays his wares like all the rest, and promises the finest things in the world, not one of which will be fulfilled. he does not know this country--he will see." when new projects for reinforcing the navy were laid before him, he said, "this is the twentieth time i have heard this talked of--france never will have a navy, i think." this i heard from m. de marigny. i never saw madame de pompadour so rejoiced as at the taking of mahon. the king was very glad, too, but he had no belief in the merit of his courtiers--he looked upon their success as the effect of chance. marechal saxe was, as i have been told, the only man who inspired him with great esteem. but he had scarcely ever seen him in his closet, or playing the courtier. m. d'argenson picked a quarrel with m. de richelieu, after his victory, about his return to paris. this was intended to prevent his coming to enjoy his triumph. he tried to throw the thing upon madame de pompadour, who was enthusiastic about him, and called him by no other name than the "minorcan." the chevalier de montaign was the favourite of the dauphin, and much beloved by him for his great devotion. he fell ill, and underwent an operation called 'l'empieme', which is performed by making an incision between the ribs, in order to let out the pus; it had, to all appearance, a favourable result, but the patient grew worse, and could not breathe. his medical attendants could not conceive what occasioned this accident and retarded his cure. he died almost in the arms of the dauphin, who went every day to see him. the singularity of his disease determined the surgeons to open the body, and they found, in his chest, part of the leaden syringe with which decoctions had, as was usual, been injected into the part in a state of suppuration. the surgeon, who committed this act of negligence, took care not to boast of his feat, and his patient was the victim. this incident was much talked of by the king, who related it, i believe, not less than thirty times, according to his custom; but what occasioned still more conversation about the chevalier de montaign, was a box, found by his bed's side, containing haircloths, and shirts, and whips, stained with blood. this circumstance was spoken of one evening at supper, at madame de pompadour's, and not one of the guests seemed at all tempted to imitate the chevalier. eight or ten days afterwards, the following tale was sent to the king, to madame de pompadour, to the baschi, and to the duc d'ayen. at first nobody could understand to what it referred: at last, the duc d'ayen exclaimed, "how stupid we are; this is a joke on the austerities of the chevalier de montaign!" this appeared clear enough--so much the more so, as the copies were sent to the dauphin, the dauphine, the abbe de st. cyr, and to the duc de v---. the latter had the character of a pretender to devotion, and, in his copy, there was this addition, "you would not be such a fool, my dear duke, as to be a 'faquir'--confess that you would be very glad to be one of those good monks who lead such a jolly life." the duc de richelieu was suspected of having employed one of his wits to write the story. the king was scandalised at it, and ordered the lieutenant of police to endeavour to find out the author, but either he could not succeed or he would not betray him. japanese tale. at a distance of three leagues from the capital of japan, there is a temple celebrated for the concourse of persons, of both sexes, and of all ranks, who crowd thither to worship an idol believed to work miracles. three hundred men consecrated to the service of religion, and who can give proofs of ancient and illustrious descent, serve this temple, and present to the idol the offerings which are brought from all the provinces of the empire. they inhabit a vast and magnificent edifice, belonging to the temple, and surrounded with gardens where art has combined with nature to produce enchantment. i obtained permission to see the temple, and to walk in the gardens. a monk advanced in years, but still full of vigour and vivacity, accompanied me. i saw several others, of different ages, who were walking there. but what surprised me was to see a great many of them amusing themselves by various agreeable and sportive games with young girls elegantly dressed, listening to their songs, and joining in their dances. the monk, who accompanied me, listened with great civility and kindness to the questions i put to him concerning his order. the following is the sum of his answers to my numerous interrogations. the god faraki, whom we worship, is so called from a word which signifies the fabricator. he made all that we behold--the earth, the stars, the sun, etc. he has endowed men with senses, which are so many sources of pleasure, and we think the only way of shewing our gratitude is to use them. this opinion will, doubtless, appear to you much more rational than that of the faquirs of india, who pass their lives in thwarting nature, and who inflict upon themselves the most melancholy privations and the most severe sufferings. as soon as the sun rises, we repair to the mountain you see before us, at the foot of which flows a stream of the most limpid water, which meanders in graceful windings through that meadow-enamelled with the loveliest flowers. we gather the most fragrant of them, which we carry and lay upon the altar, together with various fruits, which we receive from the bounty of faraki. we then sing his praises, and execute dances expressive of our thankfulness, and of all the enjoyments we owe to this beneficent deity. the highest of these is that which love produces, and we testify our ardent gratitude by the manner in which we avail ourselves of this inestimable gift of faraki. having left the temple, we go into several shady thickets, where we take a light repast; after which, each of us employs himself in some unoppressive labour. some embroider, others apply themselves to painting, others cultivate flowers or fruits, others turn little implements for our use. many of these little works are sold to the people, who purchase them with eagerness. the money arising from this sale forms a considerable part of our revenue. our morning is thus devoted to the worship of god and to the exercise of the sense of sight, which begins with the first rays of the sun. the sense of taste is gratified by our dinner, and we add to it the pleasure of smell. the most delicious viands are spread for us in apartments strewed with flowers. the table is adorned with them, and the most exquisite wines are handed to us in crystal goblets. when we have glorified god, by the agreeable use of the palate, and the olfactory nerve, we enjoy a delightful sleep of two hours, in bowers of orange trees, roses, and myrtles. having acquired a fresh store of strength and spirits, we return to our occupations, that we may thus mingle labour with pleasure, which would lose its zest by long continuance. after our work, we return to the temple, to thank god, and to offer him incense. from thence we go to the most delightful part of the garden, where we find three hundred young girls, some of whom form lively dances with the younger of our monks; the others execute serious dances, which require neither strength nor agility, and which only keep time to the sound of musical instruments. we talk and laugh with our companions, who are dressed in a light gauze, and whose tresses are adorned with flowers; we press them to partake of exquisite sherbets, differently prepared. the hour of supper being arrived, we repair to rooms illuminated with the lustre of a thousand tapers fragrant with amber. the supper-room is surrounded by three vast galleries, in which are placed musicians, whose various instruments fill the mind with the most pleasurable and the softest emotions. the young girls are seated at table with us, and, towards the conclusion of the repast, they sing songs, which are hymns in honour of the god who has endowed us with senses which shed such a charm over existence, and which promise us new pleasure from every fresh exercise of them. after the repast is ended, we return to the dance, and, when the hour of repose arrives, we draw from a kind of lottery, in which every one is sure of a prize; that is, a young girl as his companion for the night. they are allotted thus by chance, in order to avoid jealousy, and to prevent exclusive attachments. thus ends the day, and gives place to a night of delights, which we sanctify by enjoying with due relish that sweetest of all pleasures, which faraki has so wisely attached to the reproduction of our species. we reverently admire the wisdom and the goodness of faraki, who, desiring to secure to the world a continued population, has implanted in the sexes an invincible mutual attraction, which constantly draws them towards each other. fecundity is the end he proposes, and he rewards with intoxicating delights those who contribute to the fulfilment of his designs. what should we say to the favourite of a king from whom he had received a beautiful house, and fine estates, and who chose to spoil the house, to let it fall in ruins, to abandon the cultivation of the land, and let it become sterile, and covered with thorns? such is the conduct of the faquirs of india, who condemn themselves to the most melancholy privations, and to the most severe sufferings. is not this insulting faraki? is it not saying to him, i despise your gifts? is it not misrepresenting him and saying, you are malevolent and cruel, and i know that i can no otherwise please you than by offering you the spectacle of my miseries? "i am told," added he, "that you have, in your country, faquirs not less insane, not less cruel to themselves." i thought, with some reason, that he meant the fathers of la trappe. the recital of the matter afforded me much matter for reflection, and i admired how strange are the systems to which perverted reason gives birth. the duc de v----- was a nobleman of high rank and great wealth. he said to the king one evening at supper, "your majesty does me the favour to treat me with great kindness: i should be inconsolable if i had the misfortune to fall under your displeasure. if such a calamity were to befall me, i should endeavour to divert my grief by improving some beautiful estates of mine in such and such a province;" and he thereupon gave a description of three or four fine seats. about a month after, talking of the disgrace of a minister, he said, "i hope your majesty will not withdraw your favour from me; but if i had the misfortune to lose it, i should be more to be pitied than anybody, for i have no asylum in which to hide my head." all those present, who had heard the description of the beautiful country houses, looked at each other and laughed. the king said to madame de pompadour, who sat next to him at table, "people are very right in saying that a liar ought to have a good memory." an event, which made me tremble, as well as madame, procured me the familiarity of the king. in the middle of the night, madame came into my chamber, en chemise, and in a state of distraction. "here! here!" said she, "the king is dying." my alarm may be easily imagined. i put on a petticoat, and found the king in her bed, panting. what was to be done?--it was an indigestion. we threw water upon him, and he came to himself. i made him swallow some hoffman's drops, and he said to me, "do not make any noise, but go to quesnay; say that your mistress is ill; and tell the doctor's servants to say nothing about it." quesnay, who lodged close by, came immediately, and was much astonished to see the king in that state. he felt his pulse, and said, "the crisis is over; but, if the king were sixty years old, this might have been serious." he went to seek some drug, and, on his return, set about inundating the king with perfumed water. i forget the name of the medicine he made him take, but the effect was wonderful. i believe it was the drops of general lamotte. i called up one of the girls of the wardrobe to make tea, as if for myself. the king took three cups, put on his robe de chambre and his stockings, and went to his own room, leaning upon the doctor. what a sight it was to see us all three half naked! madame put on a robe as soon as possible, and i did the same, and the king changed his clothes behind the curtains, which were very decently closed. he afterwards spoke of this short attack, and expressed his sense of the attentions shown him. an hour after, i felt the greatest possible terror in thinking that the king might have died in our hands. happily, he quickly recovered himself, and none of the domestics perceived what had taken place. i merely told the girl of the wardrobe to put everything to rights, and she thought it was madame who had been indisposed. the king, the next morning, gave secretly to quesnay a little note for madame, in which he said, 'ma chere amie' must have had a great fright, but let her reassure herself--i am now well, which the doctor will certify to you. from that moment the king became accustomed to me, and, touched by the interest i had shown for him, he often gave me one of his peculiarly gracious glances, and made me little presents, and, on every new year's day, sent me porcelain to the amount of twenty louis d'or. he told madame that he looked upon me in the apartment as a picture or statue, and never put any constraint upon himself on account of my presence. doctor quesnay received a pension of a thousand crowns for his attention and silence, and the promise of a place for his son. the king gave me an order upon the treasury for four thousand francs, and madame had presented to her a very handsome chiming-clock and the king's portrait in a snuffbox. the king was habitually melancholy, and liked everything which recalled the idea of death, in spite of the strongest fears of it. of this, the following is an instance: madame de pompadour was on her way to crecy, when one of the king's grooms made a sign to her coachman to stop, and told him that the king's carriage had broken down, and that, knowing her to be at no great distance, his majesty had sent him forward to beg her to wait for him. he soon overtook us, and seated himself in madame de pompadour's carriage, in which were, i think, madame de chateau-renaud, and madame de mirepoix. the lords in attendance placed themselves in some other carriages. i was behind, in a chaise, with gourbillon, madame de pompadour's valet de chambre. we were surprised in a short time by the king stopping his carriage. those which followed, of course stopped also. the king called a groom, and said to him, "you see that little eminence; there are crosses; it must certainly be a burying-ground; go and see whether there are any graves newly dug." the groom galloped up to it, returned, and said to the king, "there are three quite freshly made." madame de pompadour, as she told me, turned away her head with horror; and the little marechale [the marechale de mirepois died at brussels in , at a very advanced age, but preserving her wit and gaiety to the last. the day of her death, after she had received the sacrament, the physician told her that he thought her a good deal better. she replied, "you tell me bad news: having packed up, i had rather go." she was sister of the prince de beauveau. the prince de ligne says, in one of his printed letters: "she had that enchanting talent which supplies the means of pleasing everybody. you would have sworn that she had thought of nothing but you all her life."--en.] gaily said, "this is indeed enough to make one's mouth water." madame de pompadour spoke of it when i was undressing her in the evening. "what a strange pleasure," said she, "to endeavour to fill one's mind with images which one ought to endeavour to banish, especially when one is surrounded by so many sources of happiness! but that is the king's way; he loves to talk about death. he said, some days ago, to m. de fontanieu, who was, seized with a bleeding at the nose, at the levee: 'take care of yourself; at your age it is a forerunner of apoplexy.' the poor man went home frightened, and absolutely ill." i never saw the king so agitated as during the illness of the dauphin. the physicians came incessantly to the apartments of madame de pompadour, where the king interrogated them. there was one from paris, a very odd man, called pousse, who once said to him, "you are a good papa; i like you for that. but you know we are all your children, and share your distress. take courage, however; your son will recover." everybody's eyes were upon the duc d'orleans, who knew not how to look. he would have become heir to the crown, the queen being past the age to have children. madame de ----- said to me, one day, when i was expressing my surprise at the king's grief, "it would annoy him beyond measure to have a prince of the blood heir apparent. he does not like them, and looks upon their relationship to him as so remote, that he would feel humiliated by it." and, in fact, when his son recovered, he said, "the king of spain would have had a fine chance." it was thought that he was right in this, and that it would have been agreeable to justice; but that, if the duc d'orleans had been supported by a party, he might have supported his pretensions to the crown. it was, doubtless, to remove this impression that he gave a magnificent fete at st. cloud on the occasion of the dauphin's recovery. madame de pompadour said to madame de brancas, speaking of this fete, "he wishes to make us forget the chateau en espagne he has been dreaming of; in spain, however, they build them of solider materials." the people did not shew so much joy at the dauphin's recovery. they looked upon him as a devotee, who did nothing but sing psalms. they loved the duc d'orleans, who lived in the capital, and had acquired the name of the king of paris. these sentiments were not just; the dauphin only sang psalms when imitating the tones of one of the choristers of the chapel. the people afterwards acknowledged their error, and did justice to his virtues. the duc d'orleans paid the most assiduous court to madame de pompadour: the duchess, on the contrary, detested her. it is possible that words were put into the duchess's mouth which she never uttered; but she, certainly, often said most cutting things. the king would have sent her into exile, had he listened only to his resentment; but he feared the eclat of such a proceeding, and he knew that she would only be the more malicious. the duc d'orleans was, just then, extremely jealous of the comte de melfort; and the lieutenant of police told the king he had strong reasons for believing that the duke would stick at nothing to rid himself of this gallant, and that he thought it his duty to give the count notice, that he ought to be upon his guard. the king said, "he would not dare to attempt any such violence as you seem to apprehend; but there is a better way: let him try to surprise them, and he will find me very well inclined to have his cursed wife shut up; but if he got rid of this lover, she would have another to-morrow. "nay, she has others at this moment; for instance, the chevalier de colbert, and the comte de l'aigle." madame de pompadour, however, told me these two last affairs were not certain. an adventure happened about the same time, which the lieutenant of police reported to the king. the duchesse d'orleans had amused herself one evening, about eight o'clock, with ogling a handsome young dutchman, whom she took a fancy to, from a window of the palais royal. the young man, taking her for a woman of the town, wanted to make short work, at which she was very much shocked. she called a swiss, and made herself known. the stranger was arrested; but he defended himself by affirming that she had talked very loosely to him. he was dismissed, and the duc d'orleans gave his wife a severe reprimand. the king (who hated her so much that he spoke of her without the slightest restraint) one day said to madame de pompadour, in my presence, "her mother knew what she was, for, before her marriage, she never suffered her to say more than yes and no. do you know her joke on the nomination of moras? she sent to congratulate him upon it: two minutes after, she called back the messenger she had sent, and said, before everybody present, 'before you speak to him, ask the swiss if he still has the place.'" madame de pompadour was not vindictive, and, in spite of the malicious speeches of the duchesse d'orleans, she tried to excuse her conduct. "almost all women," she said, "have lovers; she has not all that are imputed to her: but her free manners, and her conversation, which is beyond all bounds, have brought her into general disrepute." my companion came into my room the other day, quite delighted. she had been with m. de chenevieres, first clerk in the war-office, and a constant correspondent of voltaire, whom she looks upon as a god. she was, by the bye, put into a great rage one day, lately, by a print-seller in the street, who was crying, "here is voltaire, the famous prussian; here you see him, with a great bear-skin cap, to keep him from the cold! here is the famous prussian, for six sous!"--"what a profanation!" said she. to return to my story: m. de chenevieres had shewn her some letters from voltaire, and m. marmontel had read an 'epistle to his library'. m. quesnay came in for a moment; she told him all this: and, as he did not appear to take any great interest in it, she asked him if he did not admire great poets. "oh, yes; just as i admire great bilboquet players," said he, in that tone of his, which rendered everything he said diverting. "i have written some verses, however," said he, "and i will repeat them to you; they are upon a certain m. rodot, an intendant of the marine, who was very fond of abusing medicine and medical men. i made these verses to revenge aesculapius and hippocrates. "what do you say to them?" said the doctor. my companion thought them very pretty, and the doctor gave me them in his handwriting, begging me, at the same time, not to give any copies. madame de pompadour joked my companion about her 'bel-esprit', but sometimes she reposed confidence in her. knowing that she was often writing, she said to her, "you are writing a novel, which will appear some day or other; or, perhaps, the age of louis xv.: i beg you to treat me well." i have no reason to complain of her. it signifies very little to me that she can talk more learnedly than i can about prose and verse. she never told me her real name; but one day i was malicious enough to say to her, "some one was maintaining, yesterday, that the family of madame de mar---- was of more importance than many of good extraction. they say it is the first in cadiz. she had very honourable alliances, and yet she has thought it no degradation to be governess to madame de pompadour's daughter. one day you will see her sons or her nephews farmers general, and her granddaughters married to dukes." i had remarked that madame de pompadour for some days had taken chocolate, 'a triple vanille et ambre', at her breakfast; and that she ate truffles and celery soup: finding her in a very heated state, i one day remonstrated with her about her diet, to which she paid no attention. i then thought it right to speak to her friend, the duchesse de brancas. "i had remarked the same thing," said she, "and i will speak to her about it before you." after she was dressed, madame de brancas, accordingly, told her she was uneasy about her health. "i have just been talking to her about it," said the duchess, pointing to me, "and she is of my opinion." madame de pompadour seemed a little displeased; at last, she burst into tears. i immediately went out, shut the door, and returned to my place to listen. "my dear friend," she said to madame de brancas, "i am agitated by the fear of losing the king's heart by ceasing to be attractive to him. men, you know, set great value on certain things, and i have the misfortune to be of a very cold temperament. i, therefore, determined to adopt a heating diet, in order to remedy this defect, and for two days this elixir has been of great service to me, or, at least, i have thought i felt its good effects." the duchesse de brancas took the phial which was upon the toilet, and after having smelt at it, "fie!" said she, and threw it into the fire. madame de pompadour scolded her, and said, "i don't like to be treated like a child." she wept again, and said, "you don't know what happened to me a week ago. the king, under pretext of the heat of the weather, lay down upon my sofa, and passed half the night there. he will take a disgust to me and have another mistress."--"you will not avoid that," replied the duchess, "by following your new diet, and that diet will kill you; render your company more and more precious to the king by your gentleness: do not repulse him in his fond moments, and let time do the rest; the chains of habit will bind him to you for ever." they then embraced; madame de pompadour recommended secrecy to madame de brancas, and the diet was abandoned. a little while after, she said to me, "our master is better pleased with me. this is since i spoke to quesnay, without, however, telling him all. he told me, that to accomplish my end, i must try to be in good health, to digest well, and, for that purpose, take exercise. i think the doctor is right. i feel quite a different creature. i adore that man (the king), i wish so earnestly to be agreeable to him! but, alas! sometimes he says i am a macreuse (a cold-blooded aquatic bird). i would give my life to please him." one day, the king came in very much heated. i withdrew to my post, where i listened. "what is the matter?" said madame de pompadour. "the long robes and the clergy," replied he, "are always at drawn daggers, they distract me by their quarrels. but i detest the long robes the most. my clergy, on the whole, is attached and faithful to me; the others want to keep me in a state of tutelage."--"firmness," said madame de pompadour, "is the only thing that can subdue them."--"robert saint vincent is an incendiary, whom i wish i could banish, but that would make a terrible tumult. on the other hand, the archbishop is an iron-hearted fellow, who tries to pick quarrels. happily, there are some in the parliament upon whom i can rely, and who affect to be very violent, but can be softened upon occasion. it costs me a few abbeys, and a few secret pensions, to accomplish this. there is a certain v--- who serves me very well, while he appears to be furious on the other side."--"i can tell you some news of him, sire," said madame de pompadour. "he wrote to me yesterday, pretending that he is related to me, and begging for an interview."--"well," said the king, "let him come. see him; and if he behaves well, we shall have a pretext for giving him something." m. de gontaut came in, and seeing that they were talking seriously, said nothing. the king walked about in an agitated manner, and suddenly exclaimed, "the regent was very wrong in restoring to them the right of remonstrating; they will end in ruining the state."--"all, sire," said m. de gontaut, "it is too strong to be shaken by a set of petty justices." "you don't know what they do, nor what they think. they are an assembly of republicans; however, here is enough of the subject. things will last as they are as long as i shall. talk about this on sunday, madame, with m. berrien." madame d'amblimont and madame d'esparbes came in. "ah! here come my kittens," said madame de pompadour; "all that we are about is greek to them; but their gaiety restores my tranquility, and enables me to attend again to serious affairs. you, sire, have the chase to divert you--they answer the same purpose to me." the king then began to talk about his morning's sport, and lansmatte. [see the "memoirs of madame campan," vol. iii., p. . many traits of original and amusing bluntness are related of lansmatte, one of the king's grooms.] it was necessary to let the king go on upon these subjects, and even, sometimes, to hear the same story three or four times over, if new persons came into the room. madame de pompadour never betrayed the least ennui. she even sometimes persuaded him to begin his story anew. i one day said to her, "it appears to me, madame, that you are fonder than ever of the comtesse d'amblimont."--"i have reason to be so," said she. "she is unique, i think, for her fidelity to her friends, and for her honour. listen, but tell nobody--four days ago, the king, passing her to go to supper, approached her, under the pretence of tickling her, and tried to slip a note into her hand. d'amblimont, in her madcap way, put her hands behind her back, and the king was obliged to pick up the note, which had fallen on the ground. gontaut was the only person who saw all this, and, after supper, he went up to the little lady, and said, 'you are an excellent friend.'--'i did my duty,' said she, and immediately put her finger on her lips to enjoin him to be silent. he, however, informed me of this act of friendship of the little heroine, who had not told me of it herself." i admired the countess's virtue, and madame de pompadour said, "she is giddy and headlong; but she has more sense and more feeling than a thousand prudes and devotees. d'esparbes would not do as much most likely she would meet him more than half-way. the king appeared disconcerted, but he still pays her great attentions."--"you will, doubtless, madame," said i, "show your sense of such admirable conduct."--"you need not doubt it," said she, "but i don't wish her to think that i am informed of it." the king, prompted either by the remains of his liking, or from the suggestions of madame de pompadour, one morning went to call on madame d'amblimont, at choisy, and threw round her neck a collar of diamonds and emeralds, worth between fifty thousand and seventy-five thousand francs. this happened a long time after the circumstance i have just related. there was a large sofa in a little room adjoining madame de pompadour's, upon which i often reposed. one evening, towards midnight, a bat flew into the apartment where the court was; the king immediately cried out, "where is general crillon?" (he had just left the room.) "he is the general to command against the bats." this set everybody calling out, "ou etais tu, crillon?" m. de crillon soon after came in, and was told where the enemy was. he immediately threw off his coat, drew his sword, and commenced an attack upon the bat, which flew into the closet where i was fast asleep. i started out of sleep at the noise, and saw the king and all the company around me. this furnished amusement for the rest of the evening. m. de crillon was a very excellent and agreeable man, but he had the fault of indulging in buffooneries of this kind, which, however, were the result of his natural gaiety, and not of any subserviency of character. such, however, was not the case with another exalted nobleman, a knight of the golden fleece, whom madame saw one day shaking hands with her valet de chambre. as he was one of the vainest men at court, madame could not refrain from telling the circumstance to the king; and, as he had no employment at court, the king scarcely ever after named him on the supper list. i had a cousin at saint cyr, who was married. she was greatly distressed at having a relation waiting woman to madame de pompadour, and often treated me in the most mortifying manner. madame knew this from colin, her steward, and spoke of it to the king. "i am not surprised at it," said he; "this is a specimen of the silly women of saint cyr. madame de maintenon had excellent intentions, but she made a great mistake. these girls are brought up in such a manner, that, unless they are all made ladies of the palace, they are unhappy and impertinent." some time after, this relation of mine was at my house. colin, who knew her, though she did not know him, came in. he said to me, "do you know that the prince de chimay has made a violent attack upon the chevalier d'henin for being equerry to the marquise." at these words, my cousin looked very much astonished, and said, "was he not right?"--"i don't mean to enter into that question," said colin--"but only to repeat his words, which were these: 'if you were only a man of moderately good family and poor, i should not blame you, knowing, as i do, that there are hundreds such, who would quarrel for your place, as young ladies of family would, to be about your mistress. but, recollect, that your relations are princes of the empire, and that you bear their name."--"what, sir," said my relation, "the marquise's equerry of a princely house?"--"of the house of chimay," said he; "they take the name of alsace "--witness the cardinal of that name. colin went out delighted at what he had said. "i cannot get over my surprise at what i have heard," said my relation. "it is, nevertheless, very true," replied i; "you may see the chevalier d'henin (that is the family name of the princes de chimay), with the cloak of madame upon his arm, and walking alongside her sedan-chair, in order that he may be ready, on her getting in, to cover her shoulders with her cloak, and then remain in the antechamber, if there is no other room, till her return." from that time, my cousin let me alone; nay, she even applied to me to get a company of horse for her husband, who was very loath to come and thank me. his wife wished him to thank madame de pompadour; but the fear he had lest she should tell him, that it was in consideration of his relationship to her waiting-woman that he commanded fifty horse, prevented him. it was, however, a most surprising thing that a man belonging to the house of chimay should be in the service of any lady whatever; and, the commander of alsace returned from malta on purpose to get him out of madame de pompadour's household. he got him a pension of a hundred louis from his family, and the marquise gave him a company of horse. the chevalier d'henin had been page to the marechal de luxembourg, and one can hardly imagine how he could have put his relation in such a situation; for, generally speaking, all great houses keep up the consequence of their members. m. de machault, the keeper of the seals, had, at the same time, as equerry, a knight of st. louis, and a man of family--the chevalier de peribuse--who carried his portfolio, and walked by the side of the chair. whether it was from ambition, or from tenderness, madame de pompadour had a regard for her daughter,--[the daughter of madame de pompadour and her husband, m. d'atioles. she was called alexandrine.]--which seemed to proceed from the bottom of her heart. she was brought up like a princess, and, like persons of that rank, was called by her christian name alone. the first persons at court had an eye to this alliance, but her mother had, perhaps, a better project. the king had a son by madame de vintimille, who resembled him in face, gesture, and manners. he was called the comte du -----. madame de pompadour had him brought: to bellevue. colin, her steward, was employed to find means to persuade his tutor to bring him thither. they took some refreshment at the house of the swiss, and the marquise, in the course of her walk, appeared to meet them by accident. she asked the name of the child, and admired his beauty. her daughter came up at the same moment, and madame de pompadour led them into a part of the garden where she knew the king would come. he did come, and asked the child's name. he was told, and looked embarrassed when madame, pointing to them, said they would be a beautiful couple. the king played with the girl, without appearing to take any notice of the boy, who, while he was eating some figs and cakes which were brought, his attitudes and gestures were so like those of the king, that madame de pompadour was in the utmost astonishment. "ah!" said she, "sire, look at --------." --"at what?" said he. "nothing," replied madame, "except that one would think one saw his father." "i did not know," said the king, smiling, "that you were so intimately acquainted with the comte du l------ ."--"you ought to embrace him," said she, "he is very handsome."--"i will begin, then, with the young lady," said the king, and embraced them in a cold, constrained manner. i was present, having joined mademoiselle's governess. i remarked to madame, in the evening, that the king had not appeared very cordial in his caresses. "that is his way," said she; "but do not those children appear made for each other? if it was louis xiv., he would make a duc du maine of the little boy; i do not ask so much; but a place and a dukedom for his son is very little; and it is because he is his son that i prefer him to all the little dukes of the court. my grandchildren would blend the resemblance of their grandfather and grandmother; and this combination, which i hope to live to see, would, one day, be my greatest delight." the tears came into her eyes as she spoke. alas! alas! only six months elapsed, when her darling daughter, the hope of her advanced years, the object of her fondest wishes, died suddenly. madame de pompadour was inconsolable, and i must do m. de marigny the justice to say that he was deeply afflicted. his niece was beautiful as an angel, and destined to the highest fortunes, and i always thought that he had formed the design of marrying her. a dukedom would have given him rank; and that, joined to his place, and to the wealth which she would have had from her mother, would have made him a man of great importance. the difference of age was not sufficient to be a great obstacle. people, as usual, said the young lady was poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons who command a large portion of public attention always gives birth to these rumours. the king shewed great regret, but more for the grief of madame than on account of the loss itself, though he had often caressed the child, and loaded her with presents. i owe it, also, to justice, to say that m. de marigny, the heir of all madame de pompadour's fortune, after the death of her daughter, evinced the sincerest and deepest regret every time she was seriously ill. she, soon after, began to lay plans for his establishment. several young ladies of the highest birth were thought of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a duke, but his turn of mind indisposed him for schemes either of marriage or ambition. ten times he might have been made prime minister, yet he never aspired to it. "that is a man," said quesnay to me, one day, "who is very little known; nobody talks of his talents or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient patronage of the arts: no man, since colbert, has done so much in his situation: he is, moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will not see in him anything but the brother of the favourite; and, because he is fat, he is thought dull and heavy." this was all perfectly true. m. de marigny had travelled in italy with very able artists, and had acquired taste, and much more information than any of his predecessors had possessed. as for the heaviness of his air, it only came upon him when he grew fat; before that, he had a delightful face. he was then as handsome as his sister. he paid court to nobody, had no vanity, and confined himself to the society of persons with whom he was at his ease. he went rather more into company at court after the king had taken him to ride with him in his carriage, thinking it then his duty to shew himself among the courtiers. madame called me, one day, into her closet, where the king was walking up and down in a very serious mood. "you must," said she, "pass some days in a house in the avenue de st. cloud, whither i shall send you. you will there find a young lady about to lie in." the king said nothing, and i was mute from astonishment. "you will be mistress of the house, and preside, like one of the fabulous goddesses, at the accouchement. your presence is necessary, in order that everything may pass secretly, and according to the king's wish. you will be present at the baptism, and name the father and mother." the king began to laugh, and said, "the father is a very honest man;" madame added, "beloved by every one, and adored by those who know him." madame then took from a little cupboard a small box, and drew from it an aigrette of diamonds, at the same time saying to the king, "i have my reasons for it not being handsomer."--"it is but too much so," said the king; "how kind you are;" and he then embraced madame, who wept with emotion, and, putting her hand upon the king's heart, said, "this is what i wish to secure." the king's eyes then filled with tears, and i also began weeping, without knowing why. afterwards, the king said, "guimard will call upon you every day, to assist you with his advice, and at the critical moment you will send for him. you will say that you expect the sponsors, and a moment after you will pretend to have received a letter, stating that they cannot come. you will, of course, affect to be very much embarrassed; and guimard will then say that there is nothing for it but to take the first comers. you will then appoint as godfather and godmother some beggar, or chairman, and the servant girl of the house, and to whom you will give but twelve francs, in order not to attract attention."--"a louis," added madame, "to obviate anything singular, on the other hand."--"it is you who make me economical, under certain circumstances," said the king. "do you remember the driver of the fiacre? i wanted to give him a louis, and duc d'ayen said, 'you will be known;' so that i gave him a crown." he was going to tell the whole story. madame made a sign to him to be silent, which he obeyed, not without considerable reluctance. she afterwards told me that at the time of the fetes given on occasion of the dauphin's marriage, the king came to see her at her mother's house in a hackney-coach. the coachman would not go on, and the king would have given him a louis. "the police will hear of it, if you do," said the duc d'ayen, "and its spies will make inquiries, which will, perhaps, lead to a discovery." "guimard," continued the king, "will tell you the names of the father and mother; he will be present at the ceremony, and make the usual presents. it is but fair that you also should receive yours;" and, as he said this, he gave me fifty louis, with that gracious air that he could so well assume upon certain occasions, and which no person in the kingdom had but himself. i kissed his hand and wept. "you will take care of the accouchee, will you not? she is a good creature, who has not invented gunpowder, and i confide her entirely to your direction; my chancellor will tell you the rest," he said, turning to madame, and then quitted the room. "well, what think you of the part i am playing?" asked madame. "it is that of a superior woman, and an excellent friend," i replied. "it is his heart i wish to secure," said she; "and all those young girls who have no education will not run away with it from me. i should not be equally confident were i to see some fine woman belonging to the court, or the city, attempt his conquest." i asked madame, if the young lady knew that the king was the father of her child? "i do not think she does," replied she; "but, as he appeared fond of her, there is some reason to fear that those about her might be too ready to tell her; otherwise," said she, shrugging her shoulders, "she, and all the others, are told that he is a polish nobleman, a relation of the queen, who has apartments in the castle." this story was contrived on account of the cordon bleu, which the king has not always time to lay aside, because, to do that, he must change his coat, and in order to account for his having a lodging in the castle so near the king. there were two little rooms by the side of the chapel, whither the king retired from his apartment, without being seen by anybody but a sentinel, who had his orders, and who did not know who passed through those rooms. the king sometimes went to the parc-aux-cerfs, or received those young ladies in the apartments i have mentioned. i must here interrupt my narrative, to relate a singular adventure, which is only known to six or seven persons, masters or valets. at the time of the attempt to assassinate the king, a young girl, whom he had seen several times, and for whom he had manifested more tenderness than for most, was distracted at this horrible event. the mother-abbess of the parc-aux-cerfs perceived her extraordinary grief, and managed so as to make her confess that she knew the polish count was the king of france. she confessed that she had taken from his pocket two letters, one of which was from the king of spain, the other from the abbe de brogue. this was discovered afterwards, for neither she nor the mother-abbess knew the names of the writers. the girl was scolded, and m. lebel, first valet de chambre, who had the management of all these affairs, was called; he took the letters, and carried them to the king, who was very much embarrassed in what manner to meet a person so well informed of his condition. the girl in question, having perceived that the king came secretly to see her companion, while she was neglected, watched his arrival, and, at the moment he entered with the abbess, who was about to withdraw, she rushed distractedly into the room where her rival was. she immediately threw herself at the king's feet. "yes," said she, "you are king of all france; but that would be nothing to me if you were not also monarch of my heart: do not forsake me, my beloved sovereign; i was nearly mad when your life was attempted!" the mother-abbess cried out, "you are mad now." the king embraced her, which appeared to restore her to tranquility. they succeeded in getting her out of the room, and a few days afterwards the unhappy girl was taken to a madhouse, where she was treated as if she had been insane, for some days. but she knew well enough that she was not so, and that the king had really been her lover. this lamentable affair was related to me by the mother-abbess, when i had some acquaintance with her at the time of the accouchement i have spoken of, which i never had before, nor since. to return to my history: madame de pompadour said to me, "be constantly with the 'accouchee', to prevent any stranger, or even the people of the house, from speaking to her. you will always say that he is a very rich polish nobleman, who is obliged to conceal himself on account of his relationship to the queen, who is very devout. you will find a wet-nurse in the house, to whom you will deliver the child. guimard will manage all the rest. you will go to church as a witness; everything must be conducted as if for a substantial citizen. the young lady expects to lie in in five or six days; you will dine with her, and will not leave her till she is in a state of health to return to the parc-aux-cerfs, which she may do in a fortnight, as i imagine, without running any risk." i went, that same evening, to the avenue de saint cloud, where i found the abbess and guimard, an attendant belonging to the castle, but without his blue coat. there were, besides, a nurse, a wet-nurse, two old men-servants, and a girl, who was something between a servant and a waiting-woman. the young lady was extremely pretty, and dressed very elegantly, though not too remarkably. i supped with her and the mother-abbess, who was called madame bertrand. i had presented the aigrette madame de pompadour gave me before supper, which had greatly delighted the young lady, and she was in high spirits. madame bertrand had been housekeeper to m. lebel, first valet de chambre to the king. he called her dominique, and she was entirely in his confidence. the young lady chatted with us after supper; she appeared to be very naive. the next day, i talked to her in private. she said to me, "how is the count?" (it was the king whom she called by this title.) "he will be very sorry not to be with me now; but he was obliged to set off on a long journey." i assented to what she said. "he is very handsome," said she, "and loves me with all his heart. he promised me an allowance; but i love him disinterestedly; and, if he would let me, i would follow him to poland." she afterwards talked to me about her parents, and about m. lebel, whom she knew by the name of durand. "my mother," said she, "kept a large grocer's shop, and my father was a man of some consequence; he belonged to the six corps, and that, as everybody knows, is an excellent thing. he was twice very near being head-bailiff." her mother had become bankrupt at her father's death, but the count had come to her assistance, and settled upon her fifteen hundred francs a year, besides giving her six thousand francs down. on the sixth day, she was brought to bed, and, according to my instructions, she was told the child was a girl, though in reality it was a boy; she was soon to be told that it was dead, in order that no trace of its existence might remain for a certain time. it was eventually to be restored to its mother. the king gave each of his children about ten thousand francs a year. they inherited after each other as they died off, and seven or eight were already dead. i returned to madame de pompadour, to whom i had written every day by guimard. the next day, the king sent for me into the room; he did not say a word as to the business i had been employed upon; but he gave me a large gold snuff-box, containing two rouleaux of twenty-five louis each. i curtsied to him, and retired. madame asked me a great many questions of the young lady, and laughed heartily at her simplicity, and at all she had said about the polish nobleman. "he is disgusted with the princess, and, i think, will return to poland for ever, in two months."--"and the young lady?" said i. "she will be married in the country," said she, "with a portion of forty thousand crowns at the most and a few diamonds." this little adventure, which initiated me into the king's secrets, far from procuring for me increased marks of kindness from him, seemed to produce a coldness towards me; probably because he was ashamed of my knowing his obscure amours. he was also embarrassed by the services madame de pompadour had rendered him on this occasion. besides the little mistresses of the parc-aux-cerfs, the king had sometimes intrigues with ladies of the court, or from paris, who wrote to him. there was a madame de l-----, who, though married to a young and amiable man, with two hundred thousand francs a year, wished absolutely to become his mistress. she contrived to have a meeting with him: and the king, who knew who she was, was persuaded that she was really madly in love with him. there is no knowing what might have happened, had she not died. madame was very much alarmed, and was only relieved by her death from inquietude. a circumstance took place at this time which doubled madame's friendship for me. a rich man, who had a situation in the revenue department, called on me one day very secretly, and told me that he had something of importance to communicate to madame la marquise, but that he should find himself very much embarrassed in communicating it to her personally, and that he should prefer acquainting me with it. he then told me, what i already knew, that he had a very beautiful wife, of whom he was passionately fond; that having on one occasion perceived her kissing a little 'porte feuille', he endeavoured to get possession of it, supposing there was some mystery attached to it. one day that she suddenly left the room to go upstairs to see her sister, who had been brought to bed, he took the, opportunity of opening the porte feuille, and was very much surprised to find in it a portrait of the king, and a very tender letter written by his majesty. of the latter he took a copy, as also of an unfinished letter of his wife, in which she vehemently entreated the king to allow her to have the pleasure of an interview--the means she pointed out. she was to go masked to the public ball at versailles, where his majesty could meet her under favour of a mask. i assured m. de ------ that i should acquaint madame with the affair, who would, no doubt, feel very grateful for the communication. he then added, "tell madame la marquise that my wife is very clever and very intriguing. i adore her, and should run distracted were she to be taken from me." i lost not a moment in acquainting madame with the affair, and gave her the letter. she became serious and pensive, and i since learned that she consulted m. berrier, lieutenant of police, who, by a very simple but ingeniously conceived plan, put an end to the designs of this lady. he demanded an audience of the king, and told him that there was a lady in paris who was making free with his majesty's name; that he had been given the copy of a letter, supposed to have been written by his majesty to the lady in question. the copy he put into the king's hands, who read it in great confusion, and then tore it furiously to pieces. m. berrier added, that it was rumoured that this lady was to meet his majesty at the public ball, and, at this very moment, it so happened that a letter was put into the king's hand, which proved to be from the lady, appointing the meeting; at least, m. berrier judged so, as the king appeared very much surprised on reading it, and said, "it must be allowed, m. le lieutenant of police, that you are well informed." m. berrier added, "i think it my duty to tell your majesty that this lady passes for a very intriguing person." "i believe," replied the king, "that it is not without deserving it that she has got that character." madame de pompadour had many vexations in the midst of all her grandeur. she often received anonymous letters, threatening her with poison or assassination: her greatest fear, however, was that of being supplanted by a rival. i never saw her in a greater agitation than, one evening, on her return from the drawing-room at marly. she threw down her cloak and muff, the instant she came in, with an air of ill-humour, and undressed herself in a hurried manner. having dismissed her other women, she said to me, "i think i never saw anybody so insolent as madame de coaslin. i was seated at the same table with her this evening, at a game of 'brelan', and you cannot imagine what i suffered. the men and women seemed to come in relays to watch us. madame de coaslin said two or three times, looking at me, 'va tout', in the most insulting manner. i thought i should have fainted, when she said, in a triumphant tone, i have the 'brelan' of kings. i wish you had seen her courtesy to me on parting."--"did the king," said i, "show her particular attention?" "you don't know him," said she; "if he were going to lodge her this very night in my apartment, he would behave coldly to her before people, and would treat me with the utmost kindness. this is the effect of his education, for he is, by nature, kind-hearted and frank." madame de pompadour's alarms lasted for some months, when she, one day, said to me, "that haughty marquise has missed her aim; she frightened the king by her grand airs, and was incessantly teasing him for money. now you, perhaps, may not know that the king would sign an order for forty thousand louis without a thought, and would give a hundred out of his little private treasury with the greatest reluctance. lebel, who likes me better than he would a new mistress in my place, either by chance or design had brought a charming little sultana to the parc-aux-cerfs, who has cooled the king a little towards the haughty vashti, by giving him occupation, has received a hundred thousand francs, some jewels, and an estate. jannette--[the intendant of police.]--has rendered me great service, by showing the king extracts from the letters broken open at the post-office, concerning the report that madame de coaslin was coming into favour: the king was much impressed by a letter from an old counsellor of the parliament, who wrote to one of his friends as follows: 'it is quite as reasonable that the king should have a female friend and confidante--as that we, in our several degrees, should so indulge ourselves; but it is desirable that he should keep the one he has; she is gentle, injures nobody, and her fortune is made. the one who is now talked of will be as haughty as high birth can make her. she must have an allowance of a million francs a year, since she is said to be excessively extravagant; her relations must be made dukes, governors of provinces, and marshals, and, in the end, will surround the king, and overawe the ministers.'" madame de pompadour had this passage, which had been sent to her by m. jannette, the intendant of the police, who enjoyed the king's entire confidence. he had carefully watched the king's look, while he read the letter, and he saw that the arguments of this counsellor, who was not a disaffected person, made a great impression upon him. some time afterwards, madame de pompadour said to me, "the haughty marquise behaved like mademoiselle deschamps, [a courtesan, distinguished for her charms, and still more so for an extraordinary proof of patriotism. at a time when the public treasury was exhausted, mademoiselle deschamps sent all her plate to the mint. louis xiv. boasted of this act of generous devotion to her country. the duc d'ayen made it the subject of a pleasantry, which detracted nothing from the merit of the sacrifice--but which is rather too gay for us to venture upon.] and she is turned off." this was not madame's only subject of alarm. a relation of madame d'estrades, [the comtesse d'estrades, a relative of m. normand, and a flatterer of madame de pompadour, who brought her to court, was secretly in the pay of the comte d'argenson. that minister, who did not disdain la fillon, from whom he extracted useful information, knew all that passed at the court of the favourite, by means of madame d'estrades, whose ingratitude and perfidiousness he liberally paid.] wife to the marquis de c----, had made the most pointed advances to the king, much more than were necessary for a man who justly thought himself the handsomest man in france, and who was, moreover, a king. he was perfectly persuaded that every woman would yield to the slightest desire he might deign to manifest. he, therefore, thought it a mere matter of course that women fell in love with him. m. de stainville had a hand in marring the success of that intrigue; and, soon afterwards, the marquise de c-----, who was confined to her apartments at marly, by her relations, escaped through a closet to a rendezvous, and was caught with a young man in a corridor. the spanish ambassador, coming out of his apartments with flambeaux, was the person who witnessed this scene. madame d'estrades affected to know nothing of her cousin's intrigues, and kept up an appearance of the tenderest attachment to madame de pompadour, whom she was habitually betraying. she acted as spy for m. d'argenson, in the cabinets, and in madame de pompadour's apartments; and, when she could discover nothing, she had recourse to her invention, in order that she might not lose her importance with her lover. this madame d'estrades owed her whole existence to the bounties of madame, and yet, ugly as she was, she had tried to get the king away from her. one day, when he, had got rather drunk at choisy (i think, the only time that, ever happened to him), he went on board a beautiful barge, whither madame, being ill of an indigestion, could not accompany him. madame d'estrades seized this opportunity. she got into the barge, and, on their return, as it was dark, she followed the king into a private closet, where he was believed to be sleeping on a couch, and there went somewhat beyond any ordinary advances to him. her account of the matter to madame was, that she had gone into the closet upon her own affairs, and that the king, had followed her, and had tried to ravish her. she was at full liberty to make what story she pleased, for the king knew neither what he had said, nor what he had done. i shall finish this subject by a short history concerning a young lady. i had been, one day, to the theatre at compiegne. when i returned, madame asked me several questions about the play; whether there was much company, and whether i did not see a very beautiful girl. i replied, "that there was, indeed, a girl in a box near mine, who was surrounded by all the young men about the court." she smiled, and said, "that is mademoiselle dorothee; she went, this evening, to see the king sup in public, and to-morrow she is to be taken to the hunt. you are surprised to find me so well informed, but i know a great deal more about her. she was brought here by a gascon, named dubarre or dubarri, who is the greatest scoundrel in france. he founds all his hopes of advancement on mademoiselle dorothee's charms, which he thinks the king cannot resist. she is, really, very beautiful.. she was pointed out to me in my little garden, whither she was taken to walk on purpose. she is the daughter of a water-carrier, at strasbourg, and her charming lover demands to be sent minister to cologne, as a beginning."--"is it possible, madame, that you can have been rendered uneasy by such a creature as that?"--"nothing is impossible," replied she; "though i think the king would scarcely dare to give such a scandal. besides, happily, lebel, to quiet his conscience, told the king that the beautiful dorothee's lover is infected with a horrid disease;" and, added he, "your majesty would not get rid of that as you have done of the scrofula." this was quite enough to keep the young lady at a distance. "i pity you sincerely, madame," said i, "while everybody else envies you." "ah!" replied she, "my life is that of the christian, a perpetual warfare. this was not the case with the woman who enjoyed the favour of louis xiv. madame de la valliere suffered herself to be deceived by madame de montespan, but it was her own fault, or, rather, the effect of her extreme good nature. she was entirely devoid of suspicion at first, because she could not believe her friend perfidious. madame de montespan's empire was shaken by madame de fontanges, and overthrown by madame de maintenon; but her haughtiness, her caprices, had already alienated the king. he had not, however, such rivals as mine; it is true, their baseness is my security. i have, in general, little to fear but casual infidelities, and the chance that they may not all be sufficiently transitory for my safety. the king likes variety, but he is also bound by habit; he fears eclats, and detests manoeuvring women. the little marechale (de mirepoig) one day said to me, 'it is your staircase that the king loves; he is accustomed to go up and down it. but, if he found another woman to whom he could talk of hunting and business as he does to you, it would be just the same to him in three days.'" i write without plan, order, or date, just as things come into my mind; and i shall now go to the abbe de bernis, whom i liked very much, because he was good-natured, and treated me kindly. one day, just as madame de pompadour had finished dressing, m. de noailles asked to speak to her in private. i, accordingly, retired. the count looked full of important business. i heard their conversation, as there was only the door between us. "a circumstance has taken place," said he, "which i think it my duty to communicate to the king; but i would not do so without first informing you of it, since it concerns one of your friends for whom i have the utmost regard and respect. the abbe de bernis had a mind to shoot, this morning, and went, with two or three of his people, armed with guns, into the little park, where the dauphin would not venture to shoot without asking the king's permission. the guards, surprised at hearing the report of guns, ran to the spot, and were greatly astonished at the sight of m. de bernis. they very respectfully asked to see his permission, when they found, to their astonishment, that he had none. they begged of him to desist, telling him that, if they did their duty, they should arrest him; but they must, at all events, instantly acquaint me with the circumstance, as ranger of the park of versailles. they added, that the king must have heard the firing, and that they begged of him to retire. the abbe apologized, on the score of ignorance, and assured them that he had my permission. 'the comte de noailles,' said they, 'could only grant permission to shoot in the more remote parts, and in the great park.'" the count made a great merit of his eagerness to give the earliest information to madame. she told him to leave the task of communicating it to the king to her, and begged of him to say nothing about the matter. m. de marigny, who did not like the abbe, came to see me in the evening; and i affected to know nothing of the story, and to hear it for the first time from him. "he must have been out of his senses," said he, "to shoot under the king's windows,"--and enlarged much on the airs he gave himself. madame de pompadour gave this affair the best colouring she could the king was, nevertheless, greatly disgusted at it, and twenty times, since the abbe's disgrace, when he passed over that part of the park, he said, "this is where the abbe took his pleasure." the king never liked him; and madame de pompadour told me one night, after his disgrace, when i was sitting up with her in her illness, that she saw, before he had been minister a week, that he was not fit for his office. "if that hypocritical bishop," said she, speaking of the bishop of mirepoix, "had not prevented the king from granting him a pension of four hundred louis a year, which he had promised me, he would never have been appointed ambassador. i should, afterwards, have been able to give him an income of eight hundred louis a year, perhaps the place of master of the chapel. thus he would have been happier, and i should have had nothing to regret." i took the liberty of saying that i did not agree with her. that he had yet remaining advantages, of which he could not be deprived; that his exile would terminate; and that he would then be a cardinal, with an income of eight thousand louis a year. "that is true," she replied; "but i think of the mortifications he has undergone, and of the ambition which devours him; and, lastly, i think of myself. i should have still enjoyed his society, and should have had, in my declining years, an old and amiable friend, if he had not been minister." the king sent him away in anger, and was strongly inclined to refuse him the hat. m. quesnay told me, some months afterwards, that the abbe wanted to be prime minister; that he had drawn up a memorial, setting forth that in difficult crises the public good required that there should be a central point (that was his expression), towards which everything should be directed. madame de pompadour would not present the memorial; he insisted, though she said to him, "you will rain yourself." the king cast his eyes over it, and said "'central point,'--that is to say himself, he wants to be prime minister." madame tried to apologize for him, and said, "that expression might refer to the marechal de belle-isle."--"is he not just about to be made cardinal?" said the king. "this is a fine manoeuvre; he knows well enough that, by means of that dignity, he would compel the ministers to assemble at his house, and then m. l'abbe would be the central point. wherever there is a cardinal in the council, he is sure, in the end, to take the lead. louis xiv., for this reason, did not choose to admit the cardinal de janson into the council, in spite of his great esteem for him. the cardinal de fleury told me the same thing. he had some desire that the cardinal de tencin should succeed him; but his sister was such an intrigante that cardinal de fleury advised me to have nothing to do with the matter, and i behaved so as to destroy all his hopes, and to undeceive others. m. d'argenson has strongly impressed me with the same opinion, and has succeeded in destroying all my respect for him." this is what the king said, according to my friend quesnay, who, by the bye, was a great genius, as everybody said, and a very lively, agreeable man. he liked to chat with me about the country. i had been bred up there, and he used to set me a talking about the meadows of normandy and poitou, the wealth of the farmers, and the modes of culture. he was the best-natured man in the world, and the farthest removed from petty intrigue. while he lived at court, he was much more occupied with the best manner of cultivating land than with anything that passed around him. the man whom he esteemed the most was m. de la riviere, a counsellor of parliament, who was also intendant of martinique; he looked upon him as a man of the greatest genius, and thought him the only person fit for the financial department of administration. the comtesse d'estrades, who owed everything to madame de pompadour, was incessantly intriguing against her. she was clever enough to destroy all proofs of her manoeuvres, but she could not so easily prevent suspicion. her intimate connection with m. d'argenson gave offence to madame, and, for some time, she was more reserved with her. she, afterwards, did a thing which justly irritated the king and madame. the king, who wrote a great deal, had written to madame de pompadour a long letter concerning an assembly of the chambers of parliament, and had enclosed a letter of m. berrien. madame was ill, and laid those letters on a little table by her bedside. m. de gontaut came in, and gossipped about trifles, as usual. madame d'amblimont also came, and stayed but very little time. just as i was going to resume a book which i had been reading to madame, the comtesse d'estrades entered, placed herself near madame's bed, and talked to her for some time. as soon as she was gone, madame called me, asked what was o'clock, and said, "order my door to be shut, the king will soon be here." i gave the order, and returned; and madame told me to give her the king's letter, which was on the table with some other papers. i gave her the papers, and told her there was nothing else. she was very uneasy at not finding the letter, and, after enumerating the persons who had been in the room, she said, "it cannot be the little countess, nor gontaut, who has taken this letter. it can only be the comtesse d'estrades;--and that is too bad." the king came, and was extremely angry, as madame told me. two days afterwards, he sent madame d'estrades into exile. there was no doubt that she took the letter; the king's handwriting had probably awakened her curiosity. this occurrence gave great pain to m. d'argenson, who was bound to her, as madame de pompadour said, by his love of intrigue. this redoubled his hatred of madame, and she accused him of favouring the publication of a libel, in which she was represented as a worn-out mistress, reduced to the vile occupation of providing new objects to please her lover's appetite. she was characterised as superintendent of the parc-aux-cerfs, which was said to cost hundreds of thousands of louis a year. madame de pompadour did, indeed, try to conceal some of the king's weaknesses, but she never knew one of the sultanas of that seraglio. there were, however, scarcely ever more than two at once, and often only one. when they married, they received some jewels, and four thousand louis. the parc-aux-cerfs was sometimes vacant for five or six months. i was surprised, some time after, at seeing the duchesse de luynes, lady of honour to the queen, come privately to see madame de pompadour. she afterwards came openly. one evening, after madame was in bed, she called me, and said, "my dear, you will be delighted; the queen has given me the place of lady of the palace; tomorrow i am to be presented to her: you must make me look well." i knew that the king was not so well pleased at this as she was; he was afraid that it would give rise to scandal, and that it might be thought he had forced this nomination upon the queen. he had, however, done no such thing. it had been represented to the queen that it was an act of heroism on her part to forget the past; that all scandal would be obliterated when madame de pompadour was seen to belong to the court in an honourable manner; and that it would be the best proof that nothing more than friendship now subsisted between the king and the favourite. the queen received her very graciously. the devotees flattered themselves they should be protected by madame, and, for some time, were full of her praises. several of the dauphin's friends came in private to see her, and some obtained promotion. the chevalier du muy, however, refused to come. the king had the greatest possible contempt for them, and granted them nothing with a good grace. he, one day, said of a man of great family, who wished to be made captain of the guards, "he is a double spy, who wants to be paid on both sides." this was the moment at which madame de pompadour seemed to me to enjoy the most complete satisfaction. the devotees came to visit her without scruple, and did not forget to make use of every opportunity of serving themselves. madame de lu----- had set them the example. the doctor laughed at this change in affairs, and was very merry at the expense of the saints. "you must allow, however, that they are consistent," said i, "and may be sincere." "yes," said he; "but then they should not ask for anything." one day, i was at doctor quesnay's, whilst madame de pompadour was at the theatre. the marquis de mirabeau [the author of "l'ami des hommes," one of the leaders of the sect of economistes, and father of the celebrated mirabeau. after the death of quesnay, the grand master of the order, the marquis de mirabeau was unanimously elected his successor. mirabeau was not deficient in a certain enlargement of mind, nor in acquirements, nor even in patriotism; but his writings are enthusiastical, and show that he had little more than glimpses of the truth. the friend of man was the enemy of all his family. he beat his servants, and did not pay them. the reports of the lawsuit with his wife, in , prove that this philosopher possessed, in the highest possible degree, all the anti-conjugal qualities. it is said that his eldest son wrote two contradictory depositions, and was paid by both sides.] came in, and the conversation was, for some time, extremely tedious to me, running entirely on 'net produce'; at length, they talked of other things. mirabeau said, "i think the king looks ill, he grows old."--"so much the worse, a thousand times so much the worse," said quesnay; "it would be the greatest possible loss to france if he died;" and he raised his hands, and sighed deeply. "i do not doubt that you are attached to the king, and with reason," said mirabeau: "i am attached to him too; but i never saw you so much moved."--"ah!" said quesnay, "i think of what would follow."--"well, the dauphin is virtuous."--"yes; and full of good intentions; nor is he deficient in understanding; but canting hypocrites would possess an absolute empire over a prince who regards them as oracles. the jesuits would govern the kingdom, as they did at the end of louis xiv.'s reign: and you would see the fanatical bishop of verdun prime minister, and la vauguyon all-powerful under some other title. the parliaments must then mind how they behave; they will not be better treated than my friends the philosophers."--"but they go too far," said mirabeau; "why openly attack religion?"--"i allow that," replied the doctor; "but how is it possible not to be rendered indignant by the fanaticism of others, and by recollecting all the blood that has flowed during the last two hundred years? you must not then again irritate them, and revive in france the time of mary in england. but what is done is done, and i often exhort them to be moderate; i wish they would follow the example of our friend duclos."--"you are right," replied mirabeau; "he said to me a few days ago, 'these philosophers are going on at such a rate that they will force me to go to vespers and high mass;' but, in fine, the dauphin is virtuous, well-informed, and intellectual."--"it is the commencement of his reign, i fear," said quesnay, "when the imprudent proceedings of our friends will be represented to him in the most unfavourable point of view; when the jansenists and molinists will make common cause, and be strongly supported by the dauphine. i thought that m. de muy was moderate, and that he would temper the headlong fury of the others; but i heard him say that voltaire merited condign punishment. be assured, sir, that the times of john huss and jerome of prague will return; but i hope not to live to see it. i approve of voltaire having hunted down the pompignans: were it not for the ridicule with which he covered them, that bourgeois marquis would have been preceptor to the young princes, and, aided by his brother, would have succeeded in again lighting the faggots of persecution."--"what ought to give you confidence in the dauphin," said mirabeau, "is, that, notwithstanding the devotion of pompignan, he turns him into ridicule. a short time back, seeing him strutting about with an air of inflated pride, he said to a person, who told it to me, 'our friend pompignan thinks that he is something.'" on returning home, i wrote down this conversation. i, one day, found quesnay in great distress. "mirabeau," said he, "is sent to vincennes, for his work on taxation. the farmers general have denounced him, and procured his arrest; his wife is going to throw herself at the feet of madame de pompadour to-day." a few minutes afterwards, i went into madame's apartment, to assist at her toilet, and the doctor came in. madame said to him, "you must be much concerned at the disgrace of your friend mirabeau. i am sorry for it too, for i like his brother." quesnay replied, "i am very far from believing him to be actuated by bad intentions, madame; he loves the king and the people." "yes," said she; "his 'ami des hommes' did him great honour." at this moment the lieutenant of police entered, and madame said to him, "have you seen m. de mirabeau's book?"--"yes, madame; but it was not i who denounced it?"--"what do you think of it?"--"i think he might have said almost all it contains with impunity, if he had been more circumspect as to the manner; there is, among other objectionable passages, this, which occurs at the beginning: your majesty has about twenty millions of subjects; it is only by means of money that you can obtain their services, and there is no money."--"what, is there really that, doctor?" said madame. "it is true, they are the first lines in the book, and i confess that they are imprudent; but, in reading the work, it is clear that he laments that patriotism is extinct in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, and that he desires to rekindle it." the king entered: we went out, and i wrote down on quesnay's table what i had just heard. i them returned to finish dressing madame de pompadour: she said to me, "the king is extremely angry with mirabeau; but i tried to soften him, and so did the lieutenant of police. this will increase quesnay's fears. do you know what he said to me to-day? the king had been talking to him in my room, and the doctor appeared timid and agitated. after the king was gone, i said to him, 'you always seem so embarrassed in the king's presence, and yet he is so good-natured.'--'i madame,' said he, 'i left my native village at the age of forty, and i have very little experience of the world, nor can i accustom myself to its usages without great difficulty. when i am in a room with the king, i say to myself, this is a man who can order my head to be cut off; and that idea embarrasses me.'--'but do not the king's justice and kindness set you at ease?'--'that is very true in reasoning,' said he; 'but the sentiment is more prompt, and inspires me with fear before i have time to say to myself all that is calculated to allay it.'" i got her to repeat this conversation, and wrote it down immediately, that i might not forget it. an anonymous letter was addressed to the king and madame de pompadour; and, as the author was very anxious that it should not miscarry, he sent copies to the lieutenant of police, sealed and directed to the king, to madame de pompadour, and to m. de marigny. this letter produced a strong impression on madame, and on the king, and still more, i believe, on the duc de choiseul, who had received a similar one. i went on my knees to m. de marigny, to prevail on him to allow me to copy it, that i might show it to the doctor. it is as follows: "sire--it is a zealous servant who writes to your majesty. truth is always better, particularly to kings; habituated to flattery, they see objects only under those colours most likely to please them. i have reflected, and read much; and here is what my meditations have suggested to me to lay before your majesty. they have accustomed you to be invisible, and inspired you with a timidity which prevents you from speaking; thus all direct communication is cut off between the master and his subjects. shut up in the interior of your palace, you are becoming every day like the emperors of the east; but see, sire, their fate! 'i have troops,' your majesty will say; such, also, is their support: but, when the only security of a king rests upon his troops; when he is only, as one may say, a king of the soldiers, these latter feel their own strength, and abuse it. your finances are in the greatest disorder, and the great majority of states have perished through this cause. a patriotic spirit sustained the ancient states, and united all classes for the safety of their country. in the present times, money has taken the place of this spirit; it has become the universal lever, and you are in want of it. a spirit of finance affects every department of the state; it reigns triumphant at court; all have become venal; and all distinction of rank is broken up. your ministers are without genius and capacity since the dismissal of mm. d'argenson and de machault. you alone cannot judge of their incapacity, because they lay before you what has been prepared by skilful clerks, but which they pass as their own. they provide only for the necessity of the day, but there is no spirit of government in their acts. the military changes that have taken place disgust the troops, and cause the most deserving officers to resign; a seditious flame has sprung up in the very bosom of the parliaments; you seek to corrupt them, and the remedy is worse than the disease. it is introducing vice into the sanctuary of justice, and gangrene into the vital parts of the commonwealth. would a corrupted parliament have braved the fury of the league, in order to preserve the crown for the legitimate sovereign? forgetting the maxims of louis xiv., who well understood the danger of confiding the administration to noblemen, you have chosen m. de choiseul, and even given him three departments; which is a much heavier burden than that which he would have to support as prime minister, because the latter has only to oversee the details executed by the secretaries of state. the public fully appreciate this dazzling minister. he is nothing more than a 'petit-maitre', without talents or information, who has a little phosphorus in his mind. there is a thing well worthy of remark, sire; that is, the open war carried on against religion. henceforward there can spring up no new sects, because the general belief has been shaken, that no one feels inclined to occupy himself with difference of sentiment upon some of the articles. the encyclopedists, under pretence of enlightening mankind, are sapping the foundations of religion. all the different kinds of liberty are connected; the philosophers and the protestants tend towards republicanism, as well as the jansenists. the philosophers strike at the root, the others lop the branches; and their efforts, without being concerted, will one day lay the tree low. add to these the economists; whose object is political liberty, as that of the others is liberty of worship, and the government may find itself, in twenty or thirty years, undermined in every direction, and will then fall with a crash. if your majesty, struck by this picture, but too true, should ask me for a remedy, i should say, that it is necessary to bring back the government to its principles, and, above all, to lose no time in restoring order to the state of the finances, because the embarrassments incident to a country in a state of debt necessitate fresh taxes, which, after grinding the people, induce them towards revolt. it is my opinion that your majesty would do well to appear more among your people; to shew your approbation of useful services, and your displeasure of errors and prevarications, and neglect of duty: in a word, to let it be seen that rewards and punishments, appointments and dismissals, proceed from yourself. you will then inspire gratitude by your favours, and fear by your reproaches; you will then be the object of immediate and personal attachment, instead of which, everything is now referred to your ministers. the confidence in the king, which is habitual to your people, is shewn by the exclamation, so common among them, 'ah! if the king knew it' they love to believe that the king would remedy all their evils, if he knew of them. but, on the other hand, what sort of ideas must they form of kings, whose duty it is to be informed of everything, and to superintend everything, that concerns the public, but who are, nevertheless, ignorant of everything which the discharge of their functions requires them to know? 'rex, roi, regere, regar, conduire'--to rule, to conduct--these words sufficiently denote their duties. what would be said of a father who got rid of the charge of his children as of a burthen? "a time will come, sire, when the people shall be enlightened--and that time is probably approaching. resume the reins of government, hold them with a firm hand, and act, so that it cannot be said of you, 'faeminas et scorta volvit ammo et haec principatus praemia putat':--sire, if i see that my sincere advice should have produced any change, i shall continue it, and enter into more details; if not, i shall remain silent." now that i am upon the subject of anonymous letters to the king, i must just mention that it is impossible to conceive how frequent they were. people were extremely assiduous in telling either unpleasant truths, or alarming lies, with a view to injure others. as an instance, i shall transcribe one concerning voltaire, who paid great court to madame de pompadour when he was in france. this letter was written long after the former. "madame--m. de voltaire has just dedicated his tragedy of tancred to you; this ought to be an offering of respect and gratitude; but it is, in fact, an insult, and you will form the same opinion of it as the public has done if you read it with attention. you will see that this distinguished writer appears to betray a consciousness that the subject of his encomiums is not worthy of them, and to endeavour to excuse himself for them to the public. these are his words: 'i have seen your graces and talents unfold themselves from your infancy. at all periods of your life i have received proofs of your uniform and unchanging kindness. if any critic be found to censure the homage i pay you, he must have a heart formed for ingratitude. i am under great obligations to you, madame, and these obligations it is my duty to proclaim.' "what do these words really signify, unless that voltaire feels it may be thought extraordinary that he should dedicate his work to a woman who possesses but a small share of the public esteem, and that the sentiment of gratitude must plead his excuse? why should he suppose that the homage he pays you will be censured, whilst we daily see dedications addressed to silly gossips who have neither rank nor celebrity, or to women of exceptional conduct, without any censure being attracted by it?" m. de marigny, and colin, madame de pompadour's steward, were of the same opinion as quesnay, that the author of this letter was extremely malicious; that he insulted madame, and tried to injure voltaire; but that he was, in fact, right. voltaire, from that moment, was entirely out of favour with madame, and with the king, and he certainly never discovered the cause. the king, who admired everything of the age of louis xiv., and recollected that the boileaus and racines had been protected by that monarch, who was indebted to them, in part, for the lustre of his reign, was flattered at having such a man as voltaire among his subjects. but still he feared him, and had but little esteem for him. he could not help saying, "moreover, i have treated him as well as louis xiv. treated racine and boileau. i have given him, as louis xiv. gave to racine, some pensions, and a place of gentleman in ordinary. it is not my fault if he has committed absurdities, and has had the pretension to become a chamberlain, to wear an order, and sup with a king. it is not the fashion in france; and, as there are here a few more men of wit and noblemen than in prussia, it would require that i should have a very large table to assemble them all at it." and then he reckoned upon his fingers, maupertuis, fontenelle, la mothe, voltaire, piron, destouches, montesquieu, the cardinal polignac. "your majesty forgets," said some one, "d'alembert and clairaut."--"and crebillon," said he. "and la chaussee, and the younger crebillon," said some one. "he ought to be more agreeable than his father."--"and there are also the abbes prevot and d'olivet."--"pretty well," said the king; "and for the last twenty years all that (tout cela) would have dined and supped at my table." madame de pompadour repeated to me this conversation, which i wrote down the same evening. m. de marigny, also, talked to me about it. "voltaire," said he, "has always had a fancy for being ambassador, and he did all he could to make the people believe that he was charged with some political mission, the first time he visited prussia." the people heard of the attempt on the king's life with transports of fury, and with the greatest distress. their cries were heard under the windows of madame de pompadour's apartment. mobs were collected, and madame feared the fate of madame de chateauroux. her friends came in, every minute, to give her intelligence. her room was, at all times, like a church; everybody seemed to claim a right to go in and out when he chose. some came, under pretence of sympathising, to observe her countenance and manner. she did nothing but weep and faint away. doctor quesnay never left her, nor did i. m. de st. florentin came to see her several times, so did the comptroller-general, and m. rouilld; but m. de machault did not come. the duchesse de brancas came very frequently. the abbe de bernis never left us, except to go to enquire for the king. the tears came in his eyes whenever he looked at madame. doctor quesnay saw the king five or six times a day. "there is nothing to fear," said he to madame. "if it were anybody else, he might go to a ball." my son went the next day, as he had done the day the event occurred, to see what was going on at the castle. he told us, on his return, that the keeper of the seals was with the king. i sent him back, to see what course he took on leaving the king. he came running back in half an hour, to tell me that the keeper of the seals had gone to his own house, followed by a crowd of people. when i told this to madame, she burst into tears, and said, "is that a friend?" the abbe de bernis said, "you must not judge him hastily, in such a moment as this." i returned into the drawing-room about an hour after, when the keeper of the seals entered. he passed me, with his usual cold and severe look. "how is madame de pompadour?" said he. "alas!" replied i, "as you may imagine!" he passed on to her closet. everybody retired, and he remained for half an hour. the abbe returned and madame rang. i went into her room, the abbe following me. she was in tears. "i must go, my dear abbe," said she. i made her take some orange-flower water, in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered. she then told me to call her equerry. he came in, and she calmly gave him her orders, to have everything prepared at her hotel, in paris; to tell all her people to get ready to go; and to desire her coachman not to be out of the way. she then shut herself up, to confer with the abbe de bernis, who left her, to go to the council. her door was then shut, except to the ladies with whom she was particularly intimate, m. de soubise, m. de gontaut, the ministers, and some others. several ladies, in the greatest distress, came to talk to me in my room: they compared the conduct of m. de machault with that of m. de richelieu, at metz. madame had related to them the circumstances extremely to the honour of the duke, and, by contrast, the severest satire on the keeper of the seals. "he thinks, or pretends to think," said she, "that the priests will be clamorous for my dismissal; but quesnay and all the physicians declare that there is not the slightest danger." madame having sent for me, i saw the marechale de mirepoix coming in. while she was at the door, she cried out, "what are all those trunks, madame? your people tell me you are going."--"alas! my dear friend, such is our master's desire, as m. de machault tells me."--"and what does he advise?" said the marechale. "that i should go without delay." during this conversation, i was undressing madame, who wished to be at her ease on her chaise-longue. "your beeper of the seals wants to get the power into his own hands, and betrays you; he who quits the field loses it." i went out. m. de soubise entered, then the abbe and m. de marigny. the latter, who was very kind to me, came into my room an hour afterwards. i was alone. "she will remain," said he; "but, hush!--she will make an appearance of going, in order not to set her enemies at work. it is the little marechale who prevailed upon her to stay: her keeper (so she called m. de machault) will pay for it." quesnay came in, and, having heard what was said, with his monkey airs, began to relate a fable of a fox, who, being at dinner with other beasts, persuaded one of them that his enemies were seeking him, in order that he might get possession of his share in his absence. i did not see madame again till very late, at her going to bed. she was more calm. things improved, from day to day, and de machault, the faithless friend, was dismissed. the king returned to madame de pompadour, as usual. i learnt, by m. de marigny, that the abbe had been, one day, with m. d'argenson, to endeavour to persuade him to live on friendly terms with madame, and that he had been very coldly received. "he is the more arrogant," said he, "on account of machault's dismissal, which leaves the field clear for him, who has more experience, and more talent; and i fear that he will, therefore, be disposed to declare war till death." the next day, madame having ordered her chaise, i was curious to know where she was going, for she went out but little, except to church, and to the houses of the ministers. i was told that she was gone to visit m. d'argenson. she returned in an hour, at farthest, and seemed very much out of spirits. she leaned on the chimneypiece, with her eyes fixed on the border of it. m. de bernis entered. i waited for her to take off her cloak and gloves. she had her hands in her muff. the abbe stood looking at her for some minutes; at last he said, "you look like a sheep in a reflecting mood." she awoke from her reverie, and, throwing her muff on the easy-chair, replied, "it is a wolf who makes the sheep reflect." i went out: the king entered shortly after, and i heard madame de pompadour sobbing. the abbe came into my room, and told me to bring some hoffman's drops: the king himself mixed the draught with sugar, and presented it to her in the kindest manner possible. she smiled, and kissed the king's hands. i left the room. two days after, very early in the morning, i heard of m. d'argenson's exile. it was her doing, and was, indeed, the strongest proof of her influence that could be given. the king was much attached to m. d'argenson, and the war, then carrying on, both by sea and land, rendered the dismissal of two such ministers extremely imprudent. this was the universal opinion at the time. many people talk of the letter of the comte d'argenson to madame d'esparbes. i give it, according to the most correct version: "the doubtful is, at length, decided. the keeper of the seals is dismissed. you will be recalled, my dear countess, and we shall be masters of the field." it is much less generally known that arboulin, whom madame calls bou-bou, was supposed to be the person who, on the very day of the dismissal of the keeper of the seals, bribed the count's confidential courier, who gave him this letter. is this report founded on truth? i cannot swear that it is; but it is asserted that the letter is written in the count's style. besides, who could so immediately have invented it? it, however, appeared certain, from the extreme displeasure of the king, that he had some other subject of complaint against m. d'argenson, besides his refusing to be reconciled with madame. nobody dares to show the slightest attachment to the disgraced minister. i asked the ladies who were most intimate with madame de pompadour, as well as my own friends, what they knew of the matter; but they knew nothing. i can understand why madame did not let them into her confidence at that moment. she will be less reserved in time. i care very little about it, since i see that she is well, and appears happy. the king said a thing, which did him honour, to a person whose name madame withheld from me. a nobleman, who had been a most assiduous courtier of the count, said, rubbing his hands with an air of great joy, "i have just seen the comte d'argenson's baggage set out." when the king heard him, he went up to madame, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "and immediately the cock crew." "i believe this is taken from scripture, where peter denies our lord. i confess, this circumstance gave me great pleasure. it showed that the king is not the dupe of those around him, and that he hates treachery and ingratitude." etext editor's bookmarks: a liar ought to have a good memory because he is fat, he is thought dull and heavy danger of confiding the administration to noblemen do not repulse him in his fond moments he who quits the field loses it money the universal lever, and you are in want of it offering you the spectacle of my miseries sentiment is more prompt, and inspires me with fear sworn that she had thought of nothing but you all her life to despise money, is to despise happiness, liberty... we look upon you as a cat, or a dog, and go on talking when the only security of a king rests upon his troops you tell me bad news: having packed up, i had rather go memoirs of louis xv. and xvi. being secret memoirs of madame du hausset, lady's maid to madame de pompadour, and of an unknown english girl and the princess lamballe book . secret court memoirs of louis xvi. and the royal family of france introduction. i should consider it great presumption to intrude upon the public anything respecting myself, were there any other way of establishing the authenticity of the facts and papers i am about to present. to the history of my own peculiar situation, amid the great events i record, which made me the depositary of information and documents so important, i proceed, therefore, though reluctantly, without further preamble. i was for many years in the confidential service of the princesse de lamballe, and the most important materials which form my history have been derived not only from the conversations, but the private papers of my lamented patroness. it remains for me to show how i became acquainted with her highness, and by what means the papers i allude to came into my possession. though, from my birth, and the rank of those who were the cause of it (had it not been from political motives kept from my knowledge), in point of interest i ought to have been very independent, i was indebted for my resources in early life to his grace the late duke of norfolk and lady mary duncan. by them i was placed for education in the irish convent, rue du bacq, faubourg st. germain, at paris, where the immortal sacchini, the instructor of the queen, gave me lessons in music. pleased with my progress, the celebrated composer, when one day teaching marie antoinette, so highly overrated to that illustrious lady my infant natural talents and acquired science in his art, in the presence of her very shadow, the princesse de lamballe, as to excite in her majesty an eager desire for the opportunity of hearing me, which the princess volunteered to obtain by going herself to the convent next morning with sacchini. it was enjoined upon the composer, as i afterwards learned, that he was neither to apprise me who her highness was, nor to what motive i was indebted for her visit. to this sacchini readily agreed, adding, after disclosing to them my connections and situation, "your majesty will be, perhaps, still more surprised, when i, as an italian, and her german master, who is a german, declare that she speaks both these languages like a native, though born in england; and is as well disposed to the catholic faith, and as well versed in it, as if she had been a member of that church all her life." this last observation decided my future good fortune: there was no interest in the minds of the queen and princess paramount to that of making proselytes to their creed. the princess, faithful to her promise, accompanied sacchini. whether it was chance, ability, or good fortune, let me not attempt to conjecture; but from that moment i became the protege of this ever-regretted angel. political circumstances presently facilitated her introduction of me to the queen. my combining a readiness in the italian and german languages, with my knowledge of english and french, greatly promoted my power of being useful at that crisis, which, with some claims to their confidence of a higher order, made this august, lamented, injured pair more like mothers to me than mistresses, till we were parted by their murder. the circumstances i have just mentioned show that to mere curiosity, the characteristic passion of our sex and so often its ruin, i am to ascribe the introduction, which was only prevented by events unparalleled in history from proving the most fortunate in my life as it is the most cherished in my recollection. it will be seen, in the course of the following pages, how often i was employed on confidential missions, frequently by myself, and, in some instances, as the attendant of the princess. the nature of my situation, the trust reposed in me, the commissions with which i was honoured, and the affecting charges of which i was the bearer, flattered my pride and determined me to make myself an exception to the rule that "no woman can keep a secret." few ever knew exactly where i was, what i was doing, and much less the importance of my occupation. i had passed from england to france, made two journeys to italy and germany, three to the archduchess maria christiana, governess of the low countries, and returned back to france, before any of my friends in england were aware of my retreat, or of my ever having accompanied the princess. though my letters were written and dated at paris, they were all forwarded to england by way of holland or germany, that no clue should be given for annoyances from idle curiosity. it is to this discreetness, to this inviolable secrecy, firmness, and fidelity, which i so early in life displayed to the august personages who stood in need of such a person, that i owe the unlimited confidence of my illustrious benefactress, through which i was furnished with the valuable materials i am now submitting to the public. i was repeatedly a witness, by the side of the princesse de lamballe, of the appalling scenes of the bonnet rouge, of murders a la lanterne, and of numberless insults to the unfortunate royal family of louis xvi., when the queen was generally selected as the most marked victim of malicious indignity. having had the honour of so often beholding this much injured queen, and never without remarking how amiable in her manners, how condescendingly kind in her deportment towards every one about her, how charitably generous, and withal, how beautiful she was,--i looked upon her as a model of perfection. but when i found the public feeling so much at variance with my own, the difference became utterly unaccountable. i longed for some explanation of the mystery. one day i was insulted in the tuileries, because i had alighted from my horse to walk there without wearing the national ribbon. on this i met the princess: the conversation which grew out of my adventure emboldened me to question her on a theme to me inexplicable. "what," asked i, "can it be which makes the people so outrageous against the queen?" her highness condescended to reply in the complimentary terms which i am about to relate, but without answering my question. "my dear friend!" exclaimed she, "for from this moment i beg you will consider me in that light, never having been blessed with children of my own, i feel there is no way of acquitting myself of the obligations you have heaped upon me, by the fidelity with which you have executed the various commissions entrusted to your charge, but by adopting you as one of my own family. i am satisfied with you, yes, highly satisfied with you, on the score of your religious principles; and as soon as the troubles subside, and we have a little calm after them, my father-in-law and myself will be present at the ceremony of your confirmation." the goodness of my benefactress silenced me gratitude would not allow me to persevere for the moment. but from what i had already seen of her majesty the queen, i was too much interested to lose sight of my object,--not, let me be believed, from idle womanish curiosity, but from that real, strong, personal interest which i, in common with all who ever had the honour of being in her presence, felt for that much-injured, most engaging sovereign. a propitious circumstance unexpectedly occurred, which gave me an opportunity, without any appearance of officious earnestness, to renew the attempt to gain the end i had in view. i was riding in the carriage with the princesse de lamballe, when a lady drove by, who saluted my benefactress with marked attention and respect. there was something in the manner of the princess, after receiving the salute, which impelled me, spite of myself, to ask who the lady was. "madame de genlis," exclaimed her highness, with a shudder of disgust, "that lamb's face with a wolf's heart, and a fog's cunning." or, to quote her own italian phrase which i have here translated, "colla faccia d'agnello, il cuore dun lupo, a la dritura della volpe." in the course of these pages the cause of this strong feeling against madame de genlis will be explained. to dwell on it now would only turn me aside from my narrative. to pursue my story, therefore: when we arrived at my lodgings (which were then, for private reasons, at the irish convent, where sacchini and other masters attended to further me in the accomplishments of the fine arts), "sing me something," said the princess, "'cantate mi qualche cosa', for i never see that woman" (meaning madame de genlis) "but i feel ill and out of humour. i wish it may not be the foreboding of some great evil!" i sang a little rondo, in which her highness and the queen always delighted, and which they would never set me free without making me sing, though i had given them twenty before it. [the rondo i allude to was written by sarti for the celebrated marches! lungi da to ben mio, and is the same in which he was so successful in england, when he introduced it in london in the opera of giulo sabino.] her highness honoured me with even more than usual praise. i kissed the hand which had so generously applauded my infant talents, and said, "now, my dearest princess, as you are so kind and good-humoured, tell me something about the queen!" she looked at me with her eyes full of tears. for an instant they stood in their sockets as if petrified: and then, after a pause, "i cannot," answered she in italian, as she usually did, "i cannot refuse you anything. 'non posso neyarti niente'. it would take me an age to tell you the many causes which have conspired against this much-injured queen! i fear none who are near her person will escape the threatening storm that hovers over our heads. the leading causes of the clamour against her have been, if you must know, nature; her beauty; her power of pleasing; her birth; her rank; her marriage; the king himself; her mother; her imperfect education; and, above all, her unfortunate partialities for the abbe vermond; for the duchesse de polignac; for myself, perhaps; and last, but not least, the thorough, unsuspecting goodness of her heart! "but, since you seem to be so much concerned for her exalted, persecuted majesty, you shall have a journal i myself began on my first coming to france, and which i have continued ever since i have been honoured with the confidence of her majesty, in graciously giving me that unlooked-for situation at the head of her household, which honour and justice prevent my renouncing under any difficulties, and which i never will quit but with my life!" she wept as she spoke, and her last words were almost choked with sobs. seeing her so much affected, i humbly begged pardon for having unintentionally caused her tears, and begged permission to accompany her to the tuileries. "no," said she, "you have hitherto conducted yourself with a profound prudence, which has insured you my confidence. do not let your curiosity change your system. you shall have the journal. but be careful. read it only by yourself, and do not show it to any one. on these conditions you shall have it." i was in the act of promising, when her highness stopped me. "i want no particular promises. i have sufficient proofs of your adherence to truth. only answer me simply in the affirmative." i said i would certainly obey her injunctions most religiously. she then left me, and directed that i should walk in a particular part of the private alleys of the tuileries, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon. i did so; and from her own hand i there received her private journal. in the following september of this same year ( ) she was murdered! journalising copiously, for the purpose of amassing authentic materials for the future historian, was always a favourite practice of the french, and seems to have been particularly in vogue in the age i mention. the press has sent forth whole libraries of these records since the revolution, and it is notorious that louis xv. left secret memoirs, written by his own hand, of what passed before this convulsion; and had not the papers of the tuileries shared in the wreck of royalty, it would have been seen that louis xvi. had made some progress in the memoirs of his time; and even his beautiful and unfortunate queen had herself made extensive notes and collections for the record of her own disastrous career. hence it must be obvious how one so nearly connected in situation and suffering with her much-injured mistress, as the princesse de lamballe, would naturally fall into a similar habit had she even no stronger temptation than fashion and example. but self-communion, by means of the pen, is invariably the consolation of strong feeling, and reflecting minds under great calamities, especially when their intercourse with the world has been checked or poisoned by its malice. the editor of these pages herself fell into the habit of which she speaks; and it being usual with her benefactress to converse with all the unreserve which every honest mind shows when it feels it can confide, her humble attendant, not to lose facts of such importance, commonly made notes of what she heard. in any other person's hands the journal of the princess would have been incomplete; especially as it was written in a rambling manner, and was never intended for publication. but connected by her confidential conversations with me, and the recital of the events to which i personally bear testimony, i trust it will be found the basis of a satisfactory record, which i pledge myself to be a true one. i do not know, however, that, at my time of life, and after a lapse of thirty years, i should have been roused to the arrangement of the papers which i have combined to form this narrative, had i not met with the work of madame campan upon the same subject. this lady has said much that is true respecting the queen; but she has omitted much, and much she has misrepresented: not, i dare say, purposely, but from ignorance, and being wrongly informed. she was often absent from the service, and on such occasions must have been compelled to obtain her knowledge at second-hand. she herself told me, in , at rouen, that at a very important epoch the peril of her life forced her from the seat of action. with the princesse de lamballe, who was so much about the queen, she never had any particular connexion. the princess certainly esteemed her for her devotedness to the queen; but there was a natural reserve in the princess's character, and a mistrust resulting from circumstances of all those who saw much company, as madame campan did. hence no intimacy was encouraged. madame campan never came to the princess without being sent for. an attempt has been made since the revolution utterly to destroy faith in the alleged attachment of madame campan to the queen, by the fact of her having received the daughters of many of the regicides for education into her establishment at rouen. far be it from me to sanction so unjust a censure. although what i mention hurt her character very much in the estimation of her former friends, and constituted one of the grounds of the dissolution of her establishment at rouen, on the restoration of the bourbons, and may possibly in some degree have deprived her of such aids from their adherents as might have made her work unquestionable, yet what else, let me ask, could have been done by one dependent upon her exertions for support, and in the power of napoleon's family and his emissaries? on the contrary, i would give my public testimony in favour of the fidelity of her feelings, though in many instances i must withhold it from the fidelity of her narrative. her being utterly isolated from the illustrious individual nearest to the queen must necessarily leave much to be desired in her record. during the whole term of the princesse de lamballe's superintendence of the queen's household, madame campan never had any special communication with my benefactress, excepting once, about the things which were to go to brussels, before the journey to varennes; and once again, relative to a person of the queen's household, who had received the visits of petion, the mayor of paris, at her private lodgings. this last communication i myself particularly remember, because on that occasion the princess, addressing me in her own native language, madame campan, observing it, considered me as an italian, till, by a circumstance i shall presently relate, she was undeceived. i should anticipate the order of events, and incur the necessity of speaking twice of the same things, were i here to specify the express errors in the work of madame campan. suffice it now that i observe generally her want of knowledge of the princesse de lamballe; her omission of many of the most interesting circumstances of the revolution; her silence upon important anecdotes of the king, the queen, and several members of the first assembly; her mistakes concerning the princesse de lamballe's relations with the duchesse de polignac, comte de fersan, mirabeau, the cardinal de rohan, and others; her great miscalculation of the time when the queen's confidence in barnave began, and when that of the empress-mother in rohan ended; her misrepresentation of particulars relating to joseph ii.; and her blunders concerning the affair of the necklace, and regarding the libel madame lamotte published in england, with the connivance of calonne:--all these will be considered, with numberless other statements equally requiring correction in their turn. what she has omitted i trust i shall supply; and where she has gone astray i hope to set her right; that, between the two, the future biographer of my august benefactresses may be in no want of authentic materials to do full justice to their honoured memories. i said in a preceding paragraph that i should relate a circumstance about madame campan, which happened after she had taken me for an italian and before she was aware of my being in the service of the princess. madame campan, though she had seen me not only at the time i mention but before and after, had always passed me without notice. one sunday, when in the gallery of the tuileries with madame de stael, the queen, with her usual suite, of which madame campan formed one, was going, according to custom, to hear mass, her majesty perceived me and most graciously addressed me in german. madame campan appeared greatly surprised at this, but walked on and said nothing. ever afterwards, however, she treated me whenever we met with marked civility. another edition of boswell to those who got a nod from dr. johnson! the reader will find in the course of this work that on the nd of august, , from the kindness and humanity of my, august benefactresses, i was compelled to accept a mission to italy, devised merely to send me from the sanguinary scenes of which they foresaw they and theirs must presently become victims. early in the following month the princesse de lamballe was murdered. as my history extends beyond the period i have mentioned, it is fitting i should explain the indisputable authorities whence i derived such particulars as i did not see. a person, high in the confidence of the princess, through the means of the honest coachman of whom i shall have occasion to speak, supplied me with regular details of whatever took place, till she herself, with the rest of the ladies and other attendants, being separated from the royal family, was immured in the prison of la force. when i returned to paris after this dire tempest, madame clery and her friend, madame de beaumont, a natural daughter of louis xv., with monsieur chambon of rheims, who never left paris during the time, confirmed the correctness of my papers. the madame clery i mention is the same who assisted her husband in his faithful attendance upon the royal family in the temple; and this exemplary man added his testimony to the rest, in the presence of the duchesse de guiche grammont, at pyrmont in germany, when i there met him in the suite of the late sovereign of france, louis xviii., at a concert. after the th of august, i had also a continued correspondence: with many persons at paris, who supplied me with thorough accounts of the succeeding horrors, in letters directed to sir william hamilton, at naples, and by him forwarded to me. and in addition to all these high sources, many particular circumstances: have been disclosed to me by individuals, whose authority, when i have used it, i have generally affixed to the facts they have enabled me to communicate. it now only remains for me to mention that i have endeavoured to arrange everything, derived either from the papers of the princesse de lamballe, or from her remarks, my own observation, or the intelligence of others, in chronological order. it will readily be seen by the reader where the princess herself speaks, as i have invariably set apart my own recollections and remarks in paragraphs and notes, which are not only indicated by the heading of each chapter, but by the context of the passages themselves. i have also begun and ended what the princess says with inverted commas. all the earlier part, of the work preceding her personal introduction proceeds principally from her pen or her lips: i have done little more than change it from italian into english, and embody thoughts and sentiments that were often disjointed and detached. and throughout, whether she or others speak, i may safely say this work will be found the most circumstantial, and assuredly the most authentic, upon the subject of which it treats, of all that have yet been presented to the public of great britain. the press has been prolific in fabulous writings upon these times, which have been devoured with avidity. i hope john bull is not so devoted to gilded foreign fictions as to spurn the unadorned truth from one of his downright countrywomen: and let me advise him en passant, not to treat us beauties of native growth with indifference at home; for we readily find compensation in the regard, patronage, and admiration of every nation in europe. i am old now, and may speak freely. i have no interest whatever in the work i submit but that of endeavouring to redeem the character of so many injured victims. would to heaven my memory were less acute, and that i could obliterate from the knowledge of the world and posterity the names of their infamous destroyers; i mean, not the executioners who terminated their mortal existence for in their miserable situation that early martyrdom was an act of grace--but i mean some, perhaps still living, who with foul cowardice, stabbing like assassins in the dark, undermined their fair fame, and morally murdered them, long before their deaths, by daily traducing virtues the slanderers never possessed, from mere jealousy of the glory they knew themselves incapable of deserving. montesquieu says, "if there be a god, he must be just!" that divine justice, after centuries, has been fully established on the descendants of the cruel, sanguinary conquerers of south america and its butchered harmless emperor montezuma and his innocent offspring, who are now teaching spain a moral lesson in freeing themselves from its insatiable thirst for blood and wealth, while god himself has refused that blessing to the spaniards which they denied to the americans! oh, france! what hast thou not already suffered, and what hast thou not yet to suffer, when to thee, like spain, it shall visit their descendants even unto the fourth generation? to my insignificant losses in so mighty a ruin perhaps i ought not to allude. i should not presume even to mention that fatal convulsion which shook all europe and has since left the nations in that state of agitated undulation which succeeds a tempest upon the ocean, were it not for the opportunity it gives me to declare the bounty of my benefactresses. all my own property went down in the wreck; and the mariner who escapes only with his life can never recur to the scene of his escape without a shudder. many persons are still living, of the first respectability, who well remember my quitting this country, though very young, on the budding of a brilliant career. had those prospects been followed up they would have placed me beyond the caprice of fickle fortune. but the dazzling lustre of crown favours and princely patronage outweighed the slow, though more solid hopes of self-achieved independence. i certainly was then almost a child, and my vanity, perhaps, of the honour of being useful to two such illustrious personages got the better of every other sentiment. but now when i reflect, i look back with consternation on the many risks i ran, on the many times i stared death in the face with no fear but that of being obstructed in my efforts to serve, even with my life, the interests dearest to my heart--that of implicit obedience to these truly benevolent and generous princesses, who only wanted the means to render me as happy and independent as their cruel destiny has since made me wretched and miserable! had not death deprived me of their patronage i should have had no reason to regret any sacrifice i could have made for them, for through the princess, her majesty, unasked, had done me the honour to promise me the reversion of a most lucrative as well as highly respectable post in her employ. in these august personages i lost my best friends; i lost everything--except the tears, which bathe the paper as i write tears of gratitude, which will never cease to flow to the memory of their martyrdom. section ii. journal commnenced: "the character of maria theresa, the empress-mother of marie antoinette, is sufficiently known. the same spirit of ambition and enterprise which had already animated her contentions with france in the latter part of her career impelled her to wish for its alliance. in addition to other hopes she had been encouraged to imagine that louis xv. might one day aid her in recovering the provinces which the king of prussia had violently wrested from her ancient dominions. she felt the many advantages to be derived from a union with her ancient enemy, and she looked for its accomplishment by the marriage of her daughter. "policy, in sovereigns, is paramount to every other consideration. they regard beauty as a source of profit, like managers of theatres, who, when a female candidate is offered, ask whether she is young and handsome,--not whether she has talent. maria theresa believed that her daughter's beauty would prove more powerful over france than her own armies. like catharine ii., her envied contemporary, she consulted no ties of nature in the disposal of her children,--a system more in character where the knout is the logician than among nations boasting higher civilization: indeed her rivalry with catharine even made her grossly neglect their education. jealous of the rising power of the north, she saw that it was the purpose of russia to counteract her views in poland and turkey through france, and so totally forgot her domestic duties in the desire to thwart the ascendency of catharine that she often suffered eight or ten days to go by without even seeing her children, allowing even the essential sources of instruction to remain unprovided. her very caresses were scarcely given but for display, when the children were admitted to be shown to some great personage; and if they were overwhelmed with kindness, it was merely to excite a belief that they were the constant care and companions of her leisure hours. when they grew up they became the mere instruments of her ambition. the fate of one of them will show how their mother's worldliness was rewarded. "a leading object of maria theresa's policy was the attainment of influence over italy. for this purpose she first married one of the archduchesses to the imbecile duke of parma. her second manoeuvre was to contrive that charles iii. should seek the archduchess josepha for his younger son, the king of naples. when everything had been settled, and the ceremony by proxy had taken place, it was thought proper to sound the princess as to how far she felt inclined to aid her mother's designs in the court of naples. 'scripture says,' was her reply, 'that when a woman is married she belongs to the country of her husband.' "'but the policy of state?' exclaimed maria theresa. "'is that above religion?' cried the princess. "this unexpected answer of the archduchess was so totally opposite to the views of the empress that she was for a considerable time undecided whether she would allow her daughter to depart, till, worn out by perplexities, she at last consented, but bade the archduchess, previous to setting off for this much desired country of her new husband, to go down to the tombs, and in the vaults of her ancestors offer up to heaven a fervent prayer for the departed souls of those she was about to leave. "only a few days before that a princess had been buried in the vaults--i think joseph the second's second wife, who had died of the small-pox. "the archduchess josepha obeyed her imperial mother's cruel commands, took leave of all her friends and relatives, as if conscious of the result, caught the same disease, and in a few days died! "the archduchess carolina was now tutored to become her sister's substitute, and when deemed adequately qualified was sent to naples, where she certainly never forgot she was an austrian nor the interest of the court of vienna. one circumstance concerning her and her mother fully illustrates the character of both. on the marriage, the archduchess found that spanish etiquette did not allow the queen to have the honour of dining at the same table as the king. she apprised her mother. maria theresa instantly wrote to the marchese tenucei, then prime minister at the court of naples, to say that, if her daughter, now queen of naples, was to be considered less than the king her husband, she would send an army to fetch her back to vienna, and the king might purchase a georgian slave, for an austrian princess should not be thus humbled. maria theresa need not have given herself all this trouble, for before, the letter arrived the queen of naples had dismissed all the ministry, upset the cabinet of naples, and turned out even the king himself from her bedchamber! so much for the overthrow of spanish etiquette by austrian policy. the king of spain became outrageous at the influence of maria theresa, but there was no alternative. "the other daughter of the empress was married, as i have observed already, to the duke of parma for the purpose of promoting the austrian strength in italy against that of france, to which the court of, parma, as well as that of modena, had been long attached. "the fourth archduchess, marie antoinette, being the youngest and most beautiful of the family, was destined for france. there were three older than marie antoinette; but she, being much lovelier than her sisters, was selected on account of her charms. her husband was never considered by the contrivers of the scheme: he was known to have no sway whatever, not even in the choice of his own wife! but the character of louis xv. was recollected, and calculations drawn from it, upon the probable power which youth and beauty might obtain over such a king and court. "it was during the time when madame de pompadour directed, not only the king, but all france with most despotic sway, that the union of the archduchess marie antoinette with the grandson of louis xv. was proposed. the plan received the warmest support of choiseul, then minister, and the ardent co-operation of pompadour. indeed it was to her, the duc de choiseul, and the comte de mercy, the whole affair may be ascribed. so highly was she flattered by the attention with which maria theresa distinguished her, in consequence of her zeal, by presents and by the title 'dear cousin,' which she used in writing to her, that she left no stone unturned till the proxy of the dauphin was sent to vienna, to marry marie antoinette in his name. "all the interest by which this union was supported could not, however, subdue a prejudice against it, not only among many of the court, the cabinet, and the nation, but in the royal family itself. france has never looked with complacency upon alliances with the house of austria: enemies to this one avowed themselves as soon as it was declared. the daughters of louis xv. openly expressed their aversion; but the stronger influence prevailed, and marie antoinette became the dauphine. "brienne, archbishop of toulouse, and afterwards of sens, suggested the appointment of the librarian of the college des quatre nations, the abbe vermond, as instructor to the dauphine in french. the abbe vermond was accordingly despatched by louis xv. to vienna. the consequences of this appointment will be seen in the sequel. perhaps not the least fatal of them arose from his gratitude to the archbishop, who recommended him. some years afterwards, in influencing his pupil, when queen, to help brienne to the ministry, he did her and her kingdom more injury than their worst foes. of the abbe's power over marie antoinette there are various opinions; of his capacity there is but one--he was superficial and cunning. on his arrival at vienna he became the tool of maria theresa. while there, he received a salary as the daughter's tutor, and when he returned to france, a much larger one as the mother's spy. he was more ambitious to be thought a great man, in his power over his pupil, than a rich one. he was too jesuitical to wish to be deemed rich. he knew that superfluous emoluments would soon have overthrown the authority he derived from conferring, rather than receiving favours; and hence he never soared to any higher post. he was generally considered to be disinterested. how far his private fortunes benefited by his station has never appeared; nor is it known whether, by the elevation of his friend and patron to the ministry in the time of louis xvi., he gained anything beyond the gratification of vanity, from having been the cause: it is probable he did not, for if he had, from the general odium against that promotion, no doubt it would have been exposed, unless the influence of the queen was his protection, as it proved in so many cases where he grossly erred. from the first he was an evil to marie antoinette; and ultimately habit rendered him a necessary evil. "the education of the dauphine was circumscribed; though very free in her manners, she was very deficient in other respects; and hence it was she so much avoided all society of females who were better informed than herself, courting in preference the lively tittle-tattle of the other sex, who were, in turn, better pleased with the gaieties of youth and beauty than the more substantial logical witticisms of antiquated court-dowagers. to this may be ascribed her ungovernable passion for great societies, balls, masquerades, and all kinds of public and private amusements, as well as her subsequent attachment to the duchesse de polignac, who so much encouraged them for the pastime of her friend and sovereign. though naturally averse to everything requiring study or application, marie antoinette was very assiduous in preparing herself for the parts she performed in the various comedies, farces, and cantatas given at her private theatre; and their acquirement seemed to cost her no trouble. these innocent diversions became a source of calumny against her; yet they formed almost the only part of her german education, about which maria theresa had been particular: the empress-mother deemed them so valuable to her children that she ordered the celebrated metastasio to write some of his most sublime cantatas for the evening recreations of her sisters and herself. and what can more conduce to elegant literary knowledge, or be less dangerous to the morals of the young, than domestic recitation of the finest flights of the intellect? certain it is that marie antoinette never forgot her idolatry of her master metastasio; and it would have been well for her had all concerned in her education done her equal justice. the abbe vermond encouraged these studies; and the king himself afterwards sanctioned the translation of the works of his queen's revered instructor, and their publication at her own expense, in a superb edition, that she might gratify her fondness the more conveniently by reciting them in french. when marie antoinette herself became a mother, and oppressed from the change of circumstances, she regretted much that she had not in early life cultivated her mind more extensively. 'what a resource,' would she exclaim, is a mind well stored against human casualties!' she determined to avoid in her own offspring the error, of which she felt herself the victim, committed by her imperial mother, for whose fault, though she suffered, she would invent excuses. 'the empress,' she would say, was left a young widow with ten or twelve children; she had been accustomed, even during the emperor's life, to head her vast empire, and she thought it would be unjust to sacrifice to her own children the welfare of the numerous family which afterwards devolved upon her exclusive government and protection.' "most unfortunately for marie antoinette, her great supporter, madame de pompadour, died before the archduchess came to france. the pilot who was to steer the young mariner safe into port was no more, when she arrived at it. the austrian interest had sunk with its patroness. the intriguers of the court no sooner saw the king without an avowed favourite than they sought to give him one who should further their own views and crush the choiseul party, which had been sustained by pompadour. the licentious duc de richelieu was the pander on this occasion. the low, vulgar du barry was by him introduced to the king, and richelieu had the honour of enthroning a successor to pompadour, and supplying louis xv. with the last of his mistresses. madame de grammont, who had been the royal confidante during the interregnum, gave up to the rising star. the effect of a new power was presently seen in new events. all the ministers known to be attached to the austrian interest were dismissed; and the time for the arrival of the young bride, the archduchess of austria, who was about to be installed dauphine of france, was at hand, and she came to meet scarcely a friend, and many foes--of whom even her beauty, her gentleness, and her simplicity, were doomed to swell the phalanx." section iii. "on the marriage night, louis xv. said gaily to the dauphin, who was supping with his usual heartiness, 'don't overcharge your stomach to-night' "'why, i always sleep best after a hearty supper,' replied the dauphin, with the greatest coolness. "the supper being ended, he accompanied his dauphine to her chamber, and at the door, with the greatest politeness, wished her a good night. next morning, upon his saying, when he met her at breakfast, that he hoped she had slept well, marie antoinette replied, 'excellently well, for i had no one to disturb me!' "the princesse de guemenee, who was then at the head of the household, on hearing the dauphine moving very early in her apartment, ventured to enter it, and, not seeing the dauphin, exclaimed, 'bless me! he is risen as usual!'--'whom do you mean?' asked marie antoinette. the princess misconstruing the interrogation, was going to retire, when the dauphine said, 'i have heard a great deal of french politeness, but i think i am married to the most polite of the nation!'--'what, then, he is risen?'--'no, no, no!' exclaimed the dauphine, 'there has been no rising; he has never lain down here. he left me at the door of my apartment with his hat in his hand, and hastened from me as if embarrassed with my person!' "after marie antoinette became a mother she would often laugh and tell louis xvi. of his bridal politeness, and ask him if in the interim between that and the consummation he had studied his maiden aunts or his tutor on the subject. on this he would laugh most excessively. "scarcely was marie antoinette seated in her new country before the virulence of court intrigue against her became active. she was beset on all sides by enemies open and concealed, who never slackened their persecutions. all the family of louis xv., consisting of those maiden aunts of the dauphin just adverted to (among whom madame adelaide was specially implacable), were incensed at the marriage, not only from their hatred to austria, but because it had accomplished the ambition of an obnoxious favourite to give a wife to the dauphin of their kingdom. on the credulous and timid mind of the prince, then in the leading strings of this pious sisterhood, they impressed the misfortunes to his country and to the interest of the bourbon family, which must spring from the austrian influence through the medium of his bride. no means were left unessayed to steel him against her sway. i remember once to have heard her majesty remark to louis xvi., in answer to some particular observations he made, 'these, sire, are the sentiments of our aunts, i am sure.' and, indeed, great must have been their ascendency over him in youth, for up to a late date he entertained a very high respect for their capacity and judgment. great indeed must it have been to have prevailed against all the seducing allurements of a beautiful and fascinating young bride, whose amiableness, vivacity, and wit became the universal admiration, and whose graceful manner of address few ever equalled and none ever surpassed; nay, even so to have prevailed as to form one of the great sources of his aversion to consummate the marriage! since the death of the late queen, their mother, these four princesses (who, it was said, if old maids, were not so from choice) had received and performed the exclusive honours of the court. it could not have diminished their dislike for the young and lovely new-comer to see themselves under the necessity of abandoning their dignities and giving up their station. so eager were they to contrive themes of complaint against her, that when she visited them in the simple attire in which she so much delighted, 'sans ceremonie', unaccompanied by a troop of horse and a squadron of footguards, they complained to their father, who hinted to marie antoinette that such a relaxation of the royal dignity would be attended with considerable injury to french manufactures, to trade, and to the respect due to her rank. 'my state and court dresses,' replied she, 'shall not be less brilliant than those of any former dauphine or queen of france, if such be the pleasure of the king,--but to my grandpapa i appeal for some indulgence with respect to my undress private costume of the morning. "it was dangerous for one in whose conduct so many prying eyes were seeking for sources of accusation to gratify herself even by the overthrow of an absurdity, when that overthrow might incur the stigma of innovation. the court of versailles was jealous of its spanish inquisitorial etiquette. it had been strictly wedded to its pageantries since the time of the great anne of austria. the sagacious and prudent provisions of this illustrious contriver were deemed the ne plus ultra of royal female policy. a cargo of whalebone was yearly obtained by her to construct such stays for the maids of honour as might adequately conceal the court accidents which generally--poor ladies!--befell them in rotation every nine months. "but marie antoinette could not sacrifice her predilection for a simplicity quite english, to prudential considerations. indeed, she was too young to conceive it even desirable. so much did she delight in being unshackled by finery that she would hurry from court to fling off her royal robes and ornaments, exclaiming, when freed from them, 'thank heaven, i am out of harness!' "but she had natural advantages, which gave her enemies a pretext for ascribing this antipathy to the established fashion to mere vanity. it is not impossible that she might have derived some pleasure from displaying a figure so beautiful, with no adornment except its native gracefulness; but how great must have been the chagrin of the princesses, of many of the court ladies, indeed, of all in any way ungainly or deformed, when called to exhibit themselves by the side of a bewitching person like hers, unaided by the whalebone and horse-hair paddings with which they had hitherto been made up, and which placed the best form on a level with the worst? the prudes who practised illicitly, and felt the convenience of a guise which so well concealed the effect of their frailties, were neither the least formidable nor the least numerous of the enemies created by this revolution of costume; and the dauphine was voted by common consent--for what greater crime could there be in france?--the heretic martin luther of female fashions! the four princesses, her aunts, were as bitter against the disrespect with which the dauphine treated the armour, which they called dress, as if they themselves had benefited by the immunities it could, confer. "indeed, most of the old court ladies embattled themselves against marie antoinette's encroachments upon their habits. the leader of them was a real medallion, whose costume, character, and notions spoke a genealogy perfectly antediluvian; who even to the latter days of louis xv., amid a court so irregular, persisted in her precision. so systematic a supporter of the antique could be no other than the declared foe of any change, and, of course, deemed the desertion of large sack gowns, monstrous court hoops, and the old notions of appendages attached to them, for tight waists and short petticoats, an awful demonstration of the depravity of the time!--[the editor needs scarcely add, that the allusion of the princess is to madame de noailles.] "this lady had been first lady to the sole queen of louis xv. she was retained in the same station for marie antoinette. her motions were regulated like clock-work. so methodical was she in all her operations of mind and body, that, from the beginning of the year to its end, she never deviated a moment. every hour had its peculiar occupation. her element was etiquette, but the etiquette of ages before the flood. she had her rules even for the width of petticoats, that the queens and princesses might have no temptation to straddle over a rivulet, or crossing, of unroyal size. "the queen of louis xv. having been totally subservient in her movements night and day to the wishes of the comtesse de noailles, it will be readily conceived how great a shock this lady must have sustained on being informed one morning that the dauphine had actually risen in the night, and her ladyship not by to witness a ceremony from which most ladies would have felt no little pleasure in being spared, but which, on this occasion, admitted of no delay! notwithstanding the dauphine excused herself by the assurance of the urgency allowing no time to call the countess, she nearly fainted at not having been present at that, which others sometimes faint at, if too near! this unaccustomed watchfulness so annoyed marie antoinette, that, determined to laugh her out of it, she ordered an immense bottle of hartshorn to be placed upon her toilet. being asked what use was to be made of the hartshorn, she said it was to prevent her first lady of honour from falling into hysterics when the calls of nature were uncivil enough to exclude her from being of the party. this, as may be presumed, had its desired effect, and marie antoinette was ever afterwards allowed free access at least to one of her apartments, and leave to perform that in private which few individuals except princesses do with parade and publicity. "these things, however, planted the seeds of rancour against marie antoinette, which madame de noailles carried with her to the grave. it will be seen that she declared against her at a crisis of great importance. the laughable title of madame etiquette, which the dauphine gave her, clung to her through life; though conferred only in merriment, it never was forgiven. "the dauphine seemed to be under a sort of fatality with regard to all those who had any power of doing her mischief either with her husband or the court. the duc de vauguyon, the dauphin's tutor, who both from principle and interest hated everything austrian, and anything whatever which threatened to lessen his despotic influence so long exercised over the mind of his pupil, which he foresaw would be endangered were the prince once out of his leading-strings and swayed by a young wife, made use of all the influence which old courtiers can command over the minds they have formed (more generally for their own ends than those of uprightness) to poison that of the young prince against his bride. "never were there more intrigues among the female slaves in the seraglio of constantinople for the grand signior's handkerchief than were continually harassing one party against the other at the court of versailles. the dauphine was even attacked through her own tutor, the abbe vermond. a cabal was got up between the abbe and madame marsan, instructress of the sisters of louis xvi. (the princesses clotilde and elizabeth) upon the subject of education. nothing grew out of this affair excepting a new stimulus to the party spirit against the austrian influence, or, in other words, the austrian princess; and such was probably its purpose. of course every trifle becomes court tattle. this was made a mighty business of, for want of a worse. the royal aunts naturally took the part of madame marsan. they maintained that their royal nieces, the french princesses, were much better educated than the german archduchesses had been by the austrian empress. they attempted to found their assertion upon the embonpoint of the french princesses. they said that their nieces, by the exercise of religious principles, obtained the advantage of solid flesh, while the austrian archduchesses, by wasting themselves in idleness and profane pursuits, grew thin and meagre, and were equally exhausted in their minds and bodies! at this the abbe vermond, as the tutor of marie antoinette, felt himself highly offended, and called on comte de mercy, then the imperial ambassador, to apprise him of the insult the empire had received over the shoulders of the dauphine's tutor. the ambassador gravely replied that he should certainly send off a courier immediately to vienna to inform the empress that the only fault the french court could find with marie antoinette was her being not so unwieldy as their own princesses, and bringing charms with her to a bridegroom, on whom even charms so transcendent could make no impression! thus the matter was laughed off, but it left, ridiculous as it was, new bitter enemies to the cause of the illustrious stranger. "the new favourite, madame du barry, whose sway was now supreme, was of course joined by the whole vitiated intriguing court of versailles. the king's favourite is always that of his parasites, however degraded. the politics of the de pompadour party were still feared, though de pompadour herself was no more, for choiseul had friends who were still active in his behalf. the power which had been raised to crush the power that was still struggling formed a rallying point for those who hated austria, which the deposed ministry had supported; and even the king's daughters, much as they abhorred the vulgarity of du barry, were led, by dislike for the dauphine, to pay their devotions to their father's mistress. the influence of the rising sun, marie antoinette, whose beauteous rays of blooming youth warmed every heart in her favour, was feared by the new favourite as well as by the old maidens. louis xv. had already expressed a sufficient interest for the friendless royal stranger to awaken the jealousy of du barry, and she was as little disposed to share the king's affections with another, as his daughters were to welcome a future queen from austria in their palace. mortified at the attachment the king daily evinced, she strained every nerve to raise a party to destroy his predilections. she called to her aid the strength of ridicule, than which no weapon is more false or deadly. she laughed at qualities she could not comprehend, and underrated what she could not imitate. the duc de richelieu, who had been instrumental to her good fortune, and for whom (remembering the old adage: when one hand washes the other both are made clean) she procured the command of the army--this duke, the triumphant general of mahon and one of the most distinguished noblemen of france, did not blush to become the secret agent of a depraved meretrix in the conspiracy to blacken the character of her victim! the princesses, of course, joined the jealous phryne against their niece, the daughter of the caesars, whose only faults were those of nature, for at that time she could have no other excepting those personal perfections which were the main source of all their malice. by one considered as an usurper, by the others as an intruder, both were in consequence industrious in the quiet work of ruin by whispers and detraction. "to an impolitic act of the dauphine herself may be in part ascribed the unwonted virulence of the jealousy and resentment of du barry. the old dotard, louis xv., was so indelicate as to have her present at the first supper of the dauphine at versailles. madame la marechale de beaumont, the duchesse de choiseul, and the duchesse de grammont were there also; but upon the favourite taking her seat at table they expressed themselves very freely to louis xv. respecting the insult they conceived offered to the young dauphine, left the royal party, and never appeared again at court till after the king's death. in consequence of this scene, marie antoinette, at the instigation of the abbe vermond, wrote to her mother, the empress, complaining of the slight put upon her rank, birth, and dignity, and requesting the empress would signify her displeasure to the court of france, as she had done to that of spain on a similar occasion in favour of her sister, the queen of naples. "this letter, which was intercepted, got to the knowledge of the court and excited some clamour. to say the worst, it could only be looked upon as an ebullition of the folly of youth. but insignificant as such matters were in fact, malignity converted them into the locust, which destroyed the fruit she was sent to cultivate. "maria theresa, old fox that she was, too true to her system to retract the policy, which formerly, laid her open to the criticism of all the civilised courts of europe for opening the correspondence with de pompadour, to whose influence she owed her daughter's footing in france--a correspondence whereby she degraded the dignity of her sex and the honour of her crown--and at the same time suspecting that it was not her daughter, but vermond, from private motives, who complained, wrote the following laconic reply to the remonstrance: "'where the sovereign himself presides, no guest can be exceptionable.' "such sentiments are very much in contradiction with the character of maria theresa. she was always solicitous to impress the world with her high notion of moral rectitude. certainly, such advice, however politic, ought not to have proceeded from a mother so religious as maria theresa wished herself to be thought; especially to a young princess who, though enthusiastically fond of admiration, at least had discretion to see and feel the impropriety of her being degraded to the level of a female like du barry, and, withal, courage to avow it. this, of itself, was quite enough to shake the virtue of marie antoinette; or, at least, maria theresa's letter was of a cast to make her callous to the observance of all its scruples. and in that vitiated, depraved court, she too soon, unfortunately, took the hint of her maternal counsellor in not only tolerating, but imitating, the object she despised. being one day told that du barry was the person who most contributed to amuse louis xv., 'then,' said she, innocently, 'i declare myself her rival; for i will try who can best amuse my grandpapa for the future. i will exert all my powers to please and divert him, and then we shall see who can best succeed.' "du barry was by when this was said, and she never forgave it. to this, and to the letter, her rancour may principally be ascribed. to all those of the court party who owed their places and preferments to her exclusive influence, and who held them subject to her caprice, she, of course, communicated the venom. "meanwhile, the dauphin saw marie antoinette mimicking the monkey tricks with which this low sultana amused her dotard, without being aware of the cause. he was not pleased; and this circumstance, coupled with his natural coolness and indifference for a union he had been taught to deem impolitic and dangerous to the interests of france, created in his virtuous mind that sort of disgust which remained so long an enigma to the court and all the kingdom, excepting his royal aunts, who did the best they could to confirm it into so decided an aversion as might induce him to impel his grandfather to annul the marriage and send the dauphine back to vienna." "after the dauphin's marriage, the comte d'artois and his brother monsieur--[afterwards louis xviii., and the former the present charles x.]--returned from their travels to versailles. the former was delighted with the young dauphine, and, seeing her so decidedly neglected by her husband, endeavoured to console her by a marked attention, but for which she would have been totally isolated, for, excepting the old king, who became more and more enraptured with the grace, beauty, and vivacity of his young granddaughter, not another individual in the royal family was really interested in her favour. the kindness of a personage so important was of too much weight not to awaken calumny. it was, of course, endeavoured to be turned against her. possibilities, and even probabilities, conspired to give a pretext for the scandal which already began to be whispered about the dauphine and d'artois. it would have been no wonder had a reciprocal attachment arisen between a virgin wife, so long neglected by her husband, and one whose congeniality of character pointed him out as a more desirable partner than the dauphin. but there is abundant evidence of the perfect innocence of their intercourse. du barry was most earnest in endeavouring, from first to last, to establish its impurity, because the dauphine induced the gay young prince to join in all her girlish schemes to tease and circumvent the favourite. but when this young prince and his brother were married to the two princesses of piedmont, the intimacy between their brides and the dauphine proved there could have been no doubt that du barry had invented a calumny, and that no feeling existed but one altogether sisterly. the three stranger princesses were indeed inseparable; and these marriages, with that of the french princess, clotilde, to the prince of piedmont, created considerable changes in the coteries of court. "the machinations against marie antoinette could not be concealed from the empress-mother. an extraordinary ambassador was consequently sent from vienna to complain of them to the court of versailles, with directions that the remonstrance should be supported and backed by the comte de mercy, then austrian ambassador at the court of france. louis xv. was the only person to whom the communication was news. this old dilettanti of the sex was so much engaged between his seraglio of the parc-aux-cerfs and du barry that he knew less of what was passing in his palace than those at constantinople. on being informed by the austrian ambassador, he sent an ambassador of his own to vienna to assure the empress that he was perfectly satisfied of the innocent conduct of his newly acquired granddaughter. "among the intrigues within intrigues of the time i mention, there was one which shows that perhaps du barry's distrust of the constancy of her paramour, and apprehension from the effect on him of the charms of the dauphine, in whom he became daily more interested, were not utterly without foundation. in this instance even her friend, the duc de richelieu, that notorious seducer, by lending himself to the secret purposes of the king, became a traitor to the cause of the king's favourite, to which he had sworn allegiance, and which he had supported by defaming her whom he now became anxious to make his queen. "it has already been said, that the famous duchesse de grammont was one of the confidential friends of louis xv. before he took du barry under his especial protection. of course, there can be no difficulty in conceiving how likely a person she would be, to aid any purpose of the king which should displace the favourite, by whom she herself had been obliged to retire, by ties of a higher order, to which she might prove instrumental. "louis xv. actually flattered himself with the hope of obtaining advantages from the dauphin's coolness towards the dauphine. he encouraged it, and even threw many obstacles in the way of the consummation of the marriage. the apartments of the young couple were placed at opposite ends of the palace, so that the dauphin could not approach that of his dauphine without a publicity which his bashfulness could not brook. "louis xv. now began to act upon his secret passion to supplant his grandson, and make the dauphine his own queen, by endeavouring to secure her affections to himself. his attentions were backed by gifts of diamonds, pearls, and other valuables, and it was at this period that boehmer, the jeweller, first received the order for that famous necklace, which subsequently produced such dreadful consequences, and which was originally meant as a kingly present to the intended queen, though afterwards destined for du barry, had not the king died before the completion of the bargain for it. "the queen herself one day told me, 'heaven knows if ever i should have had the blessing of being a mother had i not one evening surprised the dauphin, when the subject was adverted to, in the expression of a sort of regret at our being placed so far asunder from each other. indeed, he never honoured me with any proof of his affection so explicit as that you have just witnessed'--for the king had that moment kissed her, as he left the apartment--'from the time of our marriage till the consummation. the most i ever received from him was a squeeze of the hand in secret. his extreme modesty, and perhaps his utter ignorance of the intercourse with woman, dreaded the exposure of crossing the palace to my bedchamber; and no doubt the accomplishment would have occurred sooner, could it have been effectuated in privacy. the hint he gave emboldened me with courage, when he next left me, as usual, at the door of my apartment, to mention it to the duchesse de grammont, then the confidential friend of louis xv., who laughed me almost out of countenance; saying, in her gay manner of expressing herself, "if i were as young and as beautiful a wife as you are i should certainly not trouble myself to remove the obstacle by going to him while there were others of superior rank ready to supply his place." before she quitted me, however, she said: "well, child, make yourself easy: you shall no longer be separated from the object of your wishes: i will mention it to the king, your grandpapa, and he will soon order your husband's apartment to be changed for one nearer your own." and the change shortly afterwards took place. "'here,' continued the queen, 'i accuse myself of a want of that courage which every virtuous wife ought to exercise in not having complained of the visible neglect shown me long, long before i did; for this, perhaps, would have spared both of us the many bitter pangs originating in the seeming coldness, whence have arisen all the scandalous stories against my character--which have often interrupted the full enjoyment i should have felt had they not made me tremble for the security of that attachment, of which i had so many proofs, and which formed my only consolation amid all the malice that for yearn had been endeavouring to deprive me of it! so far as regards my husband's estimation, thank fate, i have defied their wickedness! would to heaven i could have been equally secure in the estimation of my people--the object nearest to my heart, after the king and my dear children!'" [the dauphine could not understand the first allusion of the duchess; but it is evident that the vile intriguer took this opportunity of sounding her upon what she was commissioned to carry on in favour of louis xv., and it is equally apparent that when she heard marie antoinette express herself decidedly in favour of her young husband, and distinctly saw how utterly groundless were the hopes of his secret rival, she was led thereby to abandon her wicked project; and perhaps the change of apartments was the best mask that could have been devised to hide the villany.] "the present period appears to have been one of the happiest in the life of marie antoinette. her intimate society consisted of the king's brothers, and their princesses, with the king's saint-like sister elizabeth; and they lived entirely together, excepting when the dauphine dined in public. these ties seemed to be drawn daily closer for some time, till the subsequent intimacy with the polignacs. even when the comtesse d'artois lay-in, the dauphine, then become queen, transferred her parties to the apartments of that princess, rather than lose the gratification of her society. "during all this time, however, du barry, the duc d'aiguillon, and the aunts-princesses, took special care to keep themselves between her and any tenderness on the part of the husband dauphin, and, from different motives uniting in one end, tried every means to get the object of their hatred sent back to vienna." section iv. "the empress-mother was thoroughly aware of all that was going on. her anxiety, not only about her daughter, but her state policy, which it may be apprehended was in her mind the stronger motive of the two, encouraged the machinations of an individual who must now appear upon the stage of action, and to whose arts may be ascribed the worst of the sufferings of marie antoinette. "i allude to the cardinal prince de rohan. "at this time he was ambassador at the court of vienna. the reliance the empress placed on him favoured his criminal machinations against her daughter's reputation. he was the cause of her sending spies to watch the conduct of the dauphine, besides a list of persons proper for her to cultivate, as well as of those it was deemed desirable for her to exclude from her confidence. "as the empress knew all those who, though high in office in versailles, secretly received pensions from vienna, she could, of course, tell, without much expense of sagacity, who were in the austrian interest. the dauphine was warned that she was surrounded by persons who were not her friends. "the conduct of maria theresa towards her daughter, the queen of naples, will sufficiently explain how much the empress must have been chagrined at the absolute indifference of marie antoinette to the state policy which was intended to have been served in sending her to france. a less fitting instrument for the purpose could not have been selected by the mother. marie antoinette had much less of the politician about her than either of her surviving sisters; and so much was she addicted to amusement, that she never even thought of entering into state affairs till forced by the king's neglect of his most essential prerogatives, and called upon by the ministers themselves to screen them from responsibility. indeed, the latter cause prevailed upon her to take her seat in the cabinet council (though she took it with great reluctance) long before she was impelled thither by events and her consciousness of its necessity. she would often exclaim to me: 'how happy i was during the lifetime of louis xv.! no cares to disturb my peaceful slumbers! no responsibility to agitate my mind! no fears of erring, of partiality, of injustice, to break in upon my enjoyments! all, all happiness, my dear princess, vanishes from the bosom of a woman if she once deviate from the prescribed domestic character of her sex! nothing was ever framed more wise than the salique laws, which in france and many parts of germany exclude women from reigning, for few of us have that masculine capacity so necessary to conduct with impartiality and justice the affairs of state!' "to this feeling of the impropriety of feminine interference in masculine duties, coupled with her attachment to france, both from principle and feeling, may be ascribed the neglect of her german connexions, which led to many mortifying reproaches, and the still more galling espionage to which she was subjected in her own palace by her mother. these are, however, so many proofs of the falsehood of the allegations by which she suffered so deeply afterwards, of having sacrificed the interests of her husband's kingdom to her predilection for her mother's empire. "the subtle rohan designed to turn the anxiety of maria theresa about the dauphine to account, and he was also aware that the ambition of the empress was paramount in maria theresa's bosom to the love for her child. he was about to play a deep and more than double game. by increasing the mother's jealousy of the daughter, and at the same time enhancing the importance of the advantages afforded by her situation, to forward the interests of the mother, he, no doubt, hoped to get both within his power: for who can tell what wild expectation might not have animated such a mind as rohan's at the prospect of governing not only the court of france but that of austria?--the court of france, through a secret influence of his own dictation thrown around the dauphine by the mother's alarm; and that of austria, through a way he pointed out, in which the object that was most longed for by the mother's ambition seemed most likely to be achieved! while he endeavoured to make maria theresa beset her daughter with the spies i have mentioned, and which were generally of his own selection, he at the same time endeavoured to strengthen her impression of how important it was to her schemes to insure the daughter's co-operation. conscious of the eagerness of maria theresa for the recovery of the rich province which frederick the great of prussia had wrested from her ancient dominions, he pressed upon her credulity the assurance that the influence of which the dauphine was capable over louis xv., by the youthful beauty's charms acting upon the dotard's admiration, would readily induce that monarch to give such aid to austria as must insure the restoration of what it lost. silesia, it has been before observed, was always a topic by means of which the weak side of maria theresa could be attacked with success. there is generally some peculiar frailty in the ambitious, through which the artful can throw them off their guard. the weak and tyrannical philip ii., whenever the recovery of holland and the low countries was proposed to him, was always ready to rush headlong into any scheme for its accomplishment; the bloody queen mary, his wife, declared that at her death the loss of calais would be found engraven on her heart; and to maria theresa, silesia was the holland and the calais for which her wounded pride was thirsting. "but maria theresa was wary, even in the midst of the credulity of her ambition. the baron de neni was sent by her privately to versailles to examine, personally, whether there was anything in marie antoinette's conduct requiring the extreme vigilance which had been represented as indispensable. the report of the baron de neni to his royal mistress was such as to convince her she had been misled and her daughter misrepresented by rohan. the empress instantly forbade him her presence. "the cardinal upon this, unknown to the court of vienna, and indeed, to every one, except his factotum, principal agent, and secretary, the abbe georgel, left the austrian capital, and came to versailles, covering his disgrace by pretended leave of absence. on seeing marie antoinette he fell enthusiastically in love with her. to gain her confidence he disclosed the conduct which had been observed towards her by the empress, and, in confirmation of the correctness of his disclosure, admitted that he had himself chosen the spies which had been set on her. indignant at such meanness in her mother, and despising the prelate, who could be base enough to commit a deed equally corrupt and uncalled for, and even thus wantonly betrayed when committed, the dauphine suddenly withdrew from his presence, and gave orders that he should never be admitted to any of her parties. "but his imagination was too much heated by a guilty passion of the blackest hue to recede; and his nature too presumptuous and fertile in expedients to be disconcerted. he soon found means to conciliate both mother and daughter; and both by pretending to manage with the one the self-same plot which, with the other, he was recommending himself by pretending to overthrow. to elude detection he interrupted the regular correspondence between the empress and the dauphine, and created a coolness by preventing the communications which would have unmasked him, that gave additional security to the success of his deception. "by the most diabolical arts he obtained an interview with the dauphine, in which he regained her confidence. he made her believe that he had been commissioned by her mother, as she had shown so little interest for the house of austria, to settle a marriage for her sister, the archduchess elizabeth, with louis xv. the dauphine was deeply affected at the statement. she could not conceal her agitation. she involuntarily confessed how much she should deplore such an alliance. the cardinal instantly perceived his advantage, and was too subtle to let it pass. he declared that, as it was to him the negotiation had been confided, if the dauphine would keep her own counsel, never communicate their conversation to the empress, but leave the whole matter to his management and only assure him that he was forgiven, he would pledge himself to arrange things to her satisfaction. the dauphine, not wishing to see another raised to the throne over her head and to her scorn, under the assurance that no one knew of the intention or could prevent it but the cardinal, promised him her faith and favour; and thus rashly fell into the springs of this wily intriguer. "exulting to find marie antoinette in his power, the cardinal left versailles as privately as he arrived there, for vienna. his next object was to ensnare the empress, as he had done her daughter; and by a singular caprice, fortune, during his absence, had been preparing for him the means. "the abbe georgel, his secretary, by underhand manoeuvres, to which he was accustomed, had obtained access to all the secret state correspondence, in which the empress had expressed herself fully to the comte de mercy relative to the views of russia and prussia upon poland, whereby her own plans were much thwarted. the acquirement of copies of these documents naturally gave the cardinal free access to the court and a ready introduction once more to the empress. she was too much committed by his possession of such weapons not to be most happy to make her peace with him; and he was too sagacious not to make the best use of his opportunity. to regain her confidence, he betrayed some of the subaltern agents, through whose treachery he had procured his evidences, and, in farther confirmation of his resources, showed the empress several dispatches from her own ministers to the courts of russia and prussia. he had long, he said, been in possession of similar views of aggrandisement, upon which these courts were about to act; and had, for a while, even incurred her imperial majesty's displeasure, merely because he was not in a situation fully to explain; but that he had now thought of the means to crush their schemes before they could be put in practice. he apprised her of his being aware that her imperial majesty's ministers were actively carrying on a correspondence with russia, with a view of joining her in checking the french co-operation with the grand signior; and warned her that if this design were secretly pursued, it would defeat the very views she had in sharing in the spoliation of poland; and if openly, it would be deemed an avowal of hostilities against the court of france, whose political system would certainly impel it to resist any attack upon the divan of constantinople, that the balance of power in europe might be maintained against the formidable ambition of catherine, whose gigantic hopes had been already too much realised. "maria theresa was no less astonished at these disclosures of the cardinal than the dauphine had been at his communication concerning her. she plainly saw that all her plans were known, and might be defeated from their detection. "the cardinal, having succeeded in alarming the empress, took from his pocket a fabulous correspondence, hatched by his secretary, the abbe georgel. 'there, madame,' said he, 'this will convince your majesty that the warm interest i have taken in your imperial house has carried me farther than i was justified in having gone; but seeing the sterility of the dauphine, or, as it is reported by some of the court, the total disgust the dauphin has to consummate the marriage, the coldness of your daughter towards the interest of your court, and the prospect of a race from the comtesse d'artois, for the consequences of which there is no answering, i have, unknown to your imperial majesty, taken upon myself to propose to louis xv. a marriage with the archduchess elizabeth, who, on becoming queen of france, will immediately have it in her power to forward the austrian interest; for louis xv., as the first proof of his affection to his young bride, will at once secure to your empire the aid you stand so much in need of against the ambition of these two rising states. the recovery of your imperial majesty's ancient dominions may then be looked upon as accomplished from the influence of the french cabinet. "the bait was swallowed. maria theresa was so overjoyed at this scheme that she totally forgot all former animosity against the cardinal. she was encouraged to ascribe the silence of marie antoinette (whose letters had been intercepted by the cardinal himself) to her resentment of this project concerning her sister; and the deluded empress, availing herself of the pretended zeal of the cardinal for the interest of her family, gave him full powers to return to france and secretly negotiate the alliance for her daughter elizabeth, which was by no means to be disclosed to the dauphine till the king's proxy should be appointed to perform the ceremony at vienna. this was all the cardinal wished for. "meanwhile, in order to obtain a still greater ascendency over the court of france, he had expended immense sums to bribe secretaries and ministers; and couriers were even stopped to have copies taken of all the correspondence to and from austria. "at the same crisis the empress was informed by prince kaunitz that the cardinal and his suite at the palace of the french ambassador carried on such an immense and barefaced traffic of french manufactures of every description that maria theresa thought proper, in order to prevent future abuse, to abolish the privilege which gave to ministers and ambassadors an opportunity of defrauding the revenue. though this law was levelled exclusively at the cardinal, it was thought convenient under the circumstances to avoid irritating him, and it was consequently made general. but, the comte de mercy now obtaining some clue to his duplicity, an intimation was given to the court at versailles, to which the king replied, 'if the empress be dissatisfied with the french ambassador, he shall be recalled.' but though completely unmasked, none dared publicly to accuse him, each party fearing a discovery of its own intrigue. his official recall did not in consequence take place for some time; and the cardinal, not thinking it prudent to go back till louis xv. should be no more, lest some unforeseen discovery of his project for supplying her royal paramour with a queen should rouse du barry to get his cardinalship sent to the bastille for life, remained fixed in his post, waiting for events. "at length louis xv. expired, and the cardinal returned to versailles. he contrived to obtain a private audience of the young queen. he presumed upon her former facility in listening to him, and was about to betray the last confidence of maria theresa; but the queen, shocked at the knowledge which she had obtained of his having been equally treacherous to her and to her mother, in disgust and alarm left the room without receiving a letter he had brought her from maria theresa, and without deigning to address a single word to him. in the heat of her passion and resentment, she was nearly exposing all she knew of his infamies to the king, when the coolheaded princesse elizabeth opposed her, from the seeming imprudence of such an abrupt discovery; alleging that it might cause an open rupture between the two courts, as it had already been the source of a reserve and coolness, which had not yet been explained. the queen was determined never more to commit herself by seeing the cardinal. she accordingly sent for her mother's letter, which he himself delivered into the hands of her confidential messenger, who advised the queen not to betray the cardinal to the king, lest, in so doing, she should never be able to guard herself against the domestic spies, by whom, perhaps, she was even yet surrounded! the cardinal, conceiving, from the impunity of his conduct, that he still held the queen in check, through the influence of her fears of his disclosing her weakness upon the subject of the obstruction she threw in the way of her sister's marriage, did not resign the hope of converting that ascendency to his future profit. "the fatal silence to which her majesty was thus unfortunately advised i regret from the bottom of my soul! all the successive vile plots of the cardinal against the peace and reputation of the queen may be attributed to this ill-judged prudence! though it resulted from an honest desire of screening her majesty from the resentment or revenge to which she might have subjected herself from this villain, who had already injured her in her own estimation for having been credulous enough to have listened to him, yet from this circumstance it is that the prince de rohan built the foundation of all the after frauds and machinations with which he blackened the character and destroyed the comfort of his illustrious victim. it is obvious that a mere exclusion from court was too mild a punishment for such offences, and it was but too natural that such a mind as his, driven from the royal presence, and, of course, from all the noble societies to which it led (the anti-court party excepted), should brood over the means of inveigling the queen into a consent for his reappearance before her and the gay world, which was his only element, and if her favour should prove unattainable to revenge himself by her ruin. "on the cardinal's return to france, all his numerous and powerful friends beset the king and queen to allow of his restoration to his embassy; but though on his arrival at versailles, finding the court had removed to compiegne, he had a short audience there of the king, all efforts in his favour were thrown away. equally unsuccessful was every intercession with the empress-mother. she had become thoroughly awakened to his worthlessness, and she declared she would never more even receive him in her dominions as a visitor. the cardinal, being apprised of this by some of his intimates, was at last persuaded to give up the idea of further importunity; and, pocketing his disgrace, retired with his hey dukes and his secretary, the abbe georgel, to whom may be attributed all the artful intrigues of his disgraceful diplomacy. "it is evident that rohan had no idea, during all his schemes to supplant the dauphine by marrying her sister to the king, that the secret hope of louis xv. had been to divorce the dauphin and marry the slighted bride himself. perhaps it is fortunate that rohan did not know this. a brain so fertile in mischief as his might have converted such a circumstance to baneful uses. but the death of louis xv. put an end to all the then existing schemes for a change in her position. it was to her a real, though but a momentary triumph. from the hour of her arrival she had a powerful party to cope with; and the fact of her being an austrian, independent of the jealousy created by her charms, was, in itself, a spell to conjure up armies, against which she stood alone, isolated in the face of embattled myriads! but she now reared her head, and her foes trembled in her presence. yet she could not guard against the moles busy in the earth secretly to undermine her. nay, had not louis xv. died at the moment he did, there is scarcely a doubt, from the number and the quality of the hostile influences working on the credulity of the young dauphin, that marie antoinette would have been very harshly dealt with,--even the more so from the partiality of the dotard who believed himself to be reigning. but she has been preserved from her enemies to become their sovereign; and if her crowned brow has erewhile been stung by thorns in its coronal, let me not despair of their being hereafter smothered in yet unblown roses." etext editor's bookmarks: embonpoint of the french princesses few individuals except princesses do with parade and publicity frailty in the ambitious, through which the artful can act laughed at qualities she could not comprehend mind well stored against human casualties policy, in sovereigns, is paramount to every other quiet work of ruin by whispers and detraction ridicule, than which no weapon is more false or deadly salique laws thank heaven, i am out of harness traducing virtues the slanderers never possessed underrated what she could not imitate where the knout is the logician [illustration: marie antoinette] the life of marie antoinette, queen of france. by charles duke yonge preface. the principal authorities for the following work are the four volumes of correspondence published by m. arneth, and the six volumes published by m. feuillet de conches. m. arneth's two collections[ ] contain not only a number of letters which passed between the queen, her mother the empress- queen (maria teresa), and her brothers joseph and leopold, who successively became emperors after the death of their father; but also a regular series of letters from the imperial embassador at paris, the count mercy d'argenteau, which may almost be said to form a complete history of the court of france, especially in all the transactions in which marie antoinette, whether as dauphiness or queen, was concerned, till the death of maria teresa, at christmas, . the correspondence with her two brothers, the emperors joseph and leopold, only ceases with the death of the latter in march, . the collection published by m. feuillet de conches[ ] has been vehemently attacked, as containing a series of clever forgeries rather than of genuine letters. and there does seem reason to believe that in a few instances, chiefly in the earlier portion of the correspondence, the critical acuteness of the editor was imposed upon, and that some of the letters inserted were not written by the persons alleged to be the authors. but of the majority of the letters there seems no solid ground for questioning the authenticity. indeed, in the later and more important portion of the correspondence, that which belongs to the period after the death of the empress-queen, the genuineness of the queen's letters is continually supported by the collection of m. arneth, who has himself published many of them, having found them in the archives at vienna, where m.f. de conches had previously copied them,[ ] and who refers to others, the publication of which did not come within his own plan. m. feuillet de conches' work also contains narratives of some of the most important transactions after the commencement of the revolution, which are of great value, as having been compiled from authentic sources. besides these collections, the author has consulted the lives of marie antoinette by montjoye, lafont d'aussonne, chambrier, and the mm. goncourt; "la vraie marie antoinette" of m. lescure; the memoirs of mme. campan, cléry, hue, the duchesse d'angoulême, bertrand de moleville ("mémoires particuliers"), the comte de tilly, the baron de besenval, the marquis de la fayette, the marquise de créquy, the princess lamballe; the "souvenirs de quarante ans," by mlle. de tourzel; the "diary" of m. de viel castel; the correspondence of mme. du deffand; the account of the affair of the necklace by m. de campardon; the very valuable correspondence between the count de la marck and mirabeau, which also contains a narrative by the count de la marck of many very important incidents; dumont's "souvenirs sur mirabeau;" "beaumarchais et son temps," by m. de loménie; "gustavus iii. et la cour de paris," by m. geoffroy; the first seven volumes of the histoire de la terreur, by m. mortimer ternaux; dr. moore's journal of his visit to france, and view of the french revolution; and a great number of other works in which there is cursory mention of different incidents, especially in the earlier part of the revolution; such as the journals of arthur young, madame de staël's elaborate treatise on the revolution; several articles in the last series of the "causeries de lundi," by sainte-beuve, and others in the _revue des deux mondes_, etc., etc., and to those may of course be added the regular histories of lacretelle, sismondi, martin, and lamartine's "history of the girondins." contents. chapter i. importance of marie antoinette in the revolution.--value of her correspondence as a means of estimating her character.--her birth, november d, .--epigram of metastasio.--habits of the imperial family.--schönbrunn.--death of the emperor.--projects for the marriage of the archduchess.--her education.--the abbé de vermond.--metastasio.-- gluck. chapter ii. proposal for the marriage of marie antoinette to the dauphin.--early education of the dauphin.--the archduchess leaves vienna in april, .-- her reception at strasburg.--she meets the king at compiègne.--the marriage takes place may th, . chapter iii. feelings in germany and france on the subject of the marriage.--letter of maria teresa to the dauphin.--characters of the different members of the royal family.--difficulties which beset marie antoinette.--maria teresa's letter of advice.--the comte de mercy is sent as embassador to france to act as the adviser of the dauphiness.--the princesse de lorraine at the state ball.--a great disaster takes place at the fire-works in paris. --the peasant at fontainebleau.--marie antoinette pleases the king.-- description of her personal appearance.--mercy's report of the impression she made on her first arrival. chapter iv. marie antoinette gives her mother her first impressions of the court and of her own position and prospects.--court life at versailles.--marie antoinette shows her dislike of etiquette.--character of the duc d'aiguillon.--cabals against the dauphiness.--jealousy of mme. du barri.-- the aunts, too, are jealous of her.--she becomes more and more popular.-- parties for donkey-riding.--scantiness of the dauphiness's income.--her influence over the king.--the duc de choiseul is dismissed.--she begins to have great influence over the dauphin. chapter v. mercy's correspondence with the empress.--distress and discontent pervade france.--goldsmith predicts a revolution.--apathy of the king.--the aunts mislead marie antoinette.--maria teresa hears that the dauphiness neglects her german visitors.--marriage of the count de provence.--growing preference of louis xv. for the dauphiness.--the dauphiness applies herself to study.--marie antoinette becomes a horsewoman.--her kindness to all beneath her.--cabals of the adherents of the mistress.--the royal family become united.--concerts in the apartments of the dauphiness. chapter vi. marie antoinette wishes to see paris.--intrigues of madame adelaide.-- characters of the dauphin and the count de provence.--grand review at fontainebleau.--marie antoinette in the hunting field.--letter from her to the empress. mischievous influence of the dauphin's aunts on her character.--letter of marie antoinette to the empress.--her affection for her old home.--the princes are recalled from exile.--lord stormont.--great fire at the hôtel-dieu.--liberality of charity of marie antoinette.--she goes to the bal d'opéra.--her feelings about the partition of poland.--the king discusses politics with her, and thinks highly of her ability. chapter vii. marie antoinette is anxious for the maintenance of the alliance between france and austria.--she, with the dauphin, makes a state entry into paris.--the "dames de la halle."--she praises the courtesy of the dauphin.--her delight at the enthusiasm of the citizens.--she, with the dauphin, goes to the theatre, and to the fair of st. ovide, and to st. cloud.--is enthusiastically received everywhere.--she learns to drive. --she makes some relaxations in etiquette.--marriage of the comte d'artois.--the king's health grows bad.--visit of marshal lacy to versailles.--the king catches the small-pox.--madame du barri quits versailles.--the king dies. chapter viii. the court leaves versailles for la muette.--feelings of the new sovereigns.--madame du barri is sent to a convent.--marie antoinette writes to maria teresa.--the good intentions of the new sovereigns.-- madame adelaide has the small-pox.--anxieties of maria teresa.-- mischievous influence of the aunts.--position and influence of the count de mercy.--louis consults the queen on matters of policy.--her prudence.-- she begins to purify the court, and to relax the rules of etiquette.--her care of her pages.--the king and she renounce the gifts of le joyeux avénement, and la ceinture de la reine.--she procures the pardon of the duc de choiseul. chapter ix. the comte de provence intrigues against the queen.--the king gives her the little trianon.--she lays out an english garden.--maria teresa cautions her against expense.--the king and queen abolish some of the old forms.-- the queen endeavors to establish friendships with some of her younger ladies.--they abuse her favor.--her eagerness for amusement.--louis enters into her views.--etiquette is abridged.--private parties at choisy.--supper parties.--opposition of the princesses.--some of the courtiers are dissatisfied at the relaxation of etiquette.--marie antoinette is accused of austrian preferences. chapter x. settlement of the queen's allowance.--character and views of turgot.--she induces gluck to visit paris.--performance of his opera of "iphigénie en aulide."--the first encore.--marie antoinette advocates the re-establishment of the parliaments, and receives an address from them.-- english visitors at the court.--the king is compared to louis xii. and henri iv.--the archduke maximilian visits his sister.--factious conduct of the princes of the blood.--anti-austrian feeling in paris.--the war of grains.--the king is crowned at rheims.--feelings of marie antoinette.-- her improvements at the trianon.--her garden parties there.--description of her beauty by burke, and by horace walpole. chapter xi. tea is introduced.--horse-racing of count d'artois.--marie antoinette goes to see it.--the queen's submissiveness to the reproofs of the empress.-- birth of the duc d'angoulême.--she at times speaks lightly of the king.-- the emperor remonstrates with her.--character of some of the queen's friends.--the princess de lamballe.--the countess jules de polignac.--they set the queen against turgot.--she procures his dismissal.--she gratifies madame polignac's friends.--her regard for the french people.-- water parties on the seine.--her health is delicate.--gambling at the palace. chapter xii. marie antoinette finds herself in debt.--forgeries of her name are committed.--the queen devotes herself too much to madame de polignac and others.--versailles is less frequented.--remonstrances of the empress.-- volatile character of the queen.--she goes to the bals d'opéra at paris.-- she receives the duke of dorset and other english nobles with favor.-- grand entertainment given her by the count de provence.--character of the emperor joseph.--he visits paris and versailles.--his feelings toward and conversations with the king and queen.--he goes to the opera.--his opinion of the queen's friends.--marie antoinette's letter to the empress on his departure.--the emperor leaves her a letter of advice. chapter xiii. impressions made on the queen by the emperor's visit.--mutual jealousies of her favorites.--the story of the chevalier d'assas.--the terrace concerts at versailles.--more inroads on etiquette.--insolence and unpopularity of the count d'artois.--marie antoinette takes interest in politics.--france concludes an alliance with the united states.--affairs of bavaria.--character of the queen's letters on politics.--the queen expects to become a mother.--voltaire returns to paris.--the queen declines to receive him.--misconduct of the duke of orléans in the action off ushant.--the queen uses her influence in his favor. chapter xiv. birth of madame royale.--festivities of thanksgiving.--the dames de la halle at the theatre.--thanksgiving at notre dame.--the king goes to a bal d'opéra.--the queen's carriage breaks down.--marie antoinette has the measles.--her anxiety about the war.--retrenchments of expense. chapter xv. anglomania in paris.--the winter at versailles.--hunting.--private theatricals.--death of prince charles of lorraine.--successes of the english in america.--education of the duc d'angoulême.--libelous attacks on the queen.--death of the empress.--favor shown some of the swedish nobles.--the count de fersen.--necker retires from office.--his character. chapter xvi. the queen expects to be confined again.--increasing unpopularity of the king's brothers.--birth of the dauphin.--festivities.--deputations from the different trades.--songs of the dames de la halle.--ball given by the body-guard,--unwavering fidelity of the regiment.--the queen offers up her thanksgiving at notre dame.--banquet at the hôtel de ville.-- rejoicings in paris. chapter xvii. madame de guimenée resigns the office of governess of the royal children.--madame de polignac succeeds her.--marie antoinette's views of education.--character of madame royale.--the grand duke paul and his grand duchess visit the french court.--their characters.--entertainments given in their honor.--insolence of the cardinal de rohan.--his character and previous life.--grand festivities at chantilly.--events of the war.-- rodney defeats de grasse.--the siege of gibraltar fails.--m. de suffrein fights five drawn battles with sir e. hughes in the indian seas.--the queen receives him with great honor on his return. chapter xviii. peace is re-established.--embarrassments of the ministry.--distress of the kingdom.--m. de calonne becomes finance minister.--the winter of -' is very severe.--the queen devotes large sums to charity.--her political influence increases.--correspondence between the emperor and her on european politics.--the state of france.--the baron de breteuil.-- her description of the character of the king. chapter xix. "the marriage of figaro."--previous history and character of beaumarchais.--the performance of the play is forbidden.--it is said to be a little altered.--it is licensed.--displeasure of the queen.--visit of gustavus iii. of sweden.--fête at the trianon.--balloon ascent. chapter xx. st. cloud is purchased for the queen.--libelous attacks on her.--birth of the duc de normandie.--joseph presses her to make france support his views in the low countries.--the affair of the necklace.--share which the cardinal de rohan had in it.--the queen's indignation at his acquittal.� subsequent career of the cardinal. chapter xxi. the king visits cherbourg.--rarity of royal journeys.--the princess christine visits the queen.--hostility of the duc d'orléans to the queen. --libels on her.--she is called madame deficit.--she has a second daughter, who dies.--ill health of the dauphin.--unskillfulness and extravagance of calonne's system of finance.--distress of the kingdom.--he assembles the notables.--they oppose his plans.--letters of marie antoinette on the subject.--her ideas of the english parliament.-- dismissal of calonne.--character of archbishop loménie de brienne.-- obstinacy of necker.--the archbishop is appointed minister.--the distress increases.--the notables are dissolved.--violent opposition of the parliament.--resemblance of the french revolution to the english rebellion of .--arrest of d'esprémesnil and montsabert. chapter xxii. formidable riots take place in some provinces.--the archbishop invites necker to join his ministry.--letter of marie antoinette describing her interview with the archbishop, and her views.--necker refuses.--the queen sends messages to necker.--the archbishop resigns, and necker becomes minister.--the queen's view of his character.--general rejoicing. --defects in necker's character.--he recalls the parliament.--riots in paris.--severe winter.--general distress.--charities of the king and queen.--gratitude of the citizens.--the princes are concerned in the libels published against the queen.--preparations for the meeting of the states-general.--long disuse of that assembly.--need of reform.--vices of the old feudal system.--necker's blunders in the arrangements for the meeting of the states.--an edict of the king concedes the chief demands of the commons.--views of the queen. chapter xxiii. the réveillon riot.--opening of the states-general.--the queen is insulted by the partisans of the duc d'orléans.--discussions as to the number of chambers.--career and character of mirabeau.--necker rejects his support. --he determines to revenge himself.--death of the dauphin. chapter xxiv. troops are brought up from the frontier.--the assembly petitions the king to withdraw them.--he refuses.--ho dismisses necker.--the baron de breteuil is appointed prime minister.--terrible riots in paris.--the tricolor flag is adopted.--storming of the bastile and murder of the governor.--the count d'artois and other princes fly from the kingdom.--the king recalls necker.--withdraws the soldiers and visits paris.--formation of the national guard.--insolence of la fayette and bailly.--madame de tourzel becomes governess of the royal children.--letters of marie antoinette on their character, and on her own views of education. chapter xxv. necker resumes office.--outrages in the provinces.--pusillanimity of the body of the nation.--parties in the assembly.--views of the constitutionalists or "plain."--barnave makes overtures to the court.--the queen rejects them.--the assembly abolishes all privileges, august th.--debates on the veto.--an attack on versailles is threatened.--great scarcity in paris.--the king sends his plate to be melted down.--the regiment of flanders is brought up to versailles.--a military banquet is held in the opera-house.--october th, a mob from paris marches on versailles.--blunders of la fayette.--ferocity of the mob on the th. --attack on the palace on the th.--danger and heroism of the queen.--the royal family remove to paris.--their reception at the barrier and at the hôtel de ville.--shabbiness of the tuileries.--the king fixes his residence there. chapter xxvi. feelings of marie antoinette on coming to the tuileries.--her tact in winning the hearts of the common people.--mirabeau changes his views.-- quarrel between la fayette and the duc d'orléans.--mirabeau desires to offer his services to the queen.--riots in paris.--murder of françois.-- the assembly pass a vote prohibiting any member from taking office.--the emigration.--death of the emperor joseph ii.--investigation into the riots of october.--the queen refuses to give evidence.--violent proceedings in the assembly.--execution of the marquis de favras. chapter xxvii. the king accepts the constitution so far as it has been settled.--the queen makes a speech to the deputies.--she is well received at the theatre.--negotiations with mirabeau.--the queen's views of the position of affairs.--the jacobin club denounces mirabeau.--deputation of anacharsis clootz.--demolition of the statue of louis xiv.--abolition of titles of honor.--the queen admits mirabeau to an audience.--his admiration of her courage and talents.--anniversary of the capture of the bastile.--fête of the champ de mars.--presence of mind of the queen. chapter xxviii. great tumults in the provinces.--mutiny in the marquis de bouillé's army. --disorder of the assembly.--difficulty of managing mirabeau.--mercy is removed to the hague.--marie antoinette sees constant changes in the aspect of affairs.--marat denounces her.--attempts are made to assassinate her.--resignation of mirabeau.--misconduct of the emigrant princes. chapter xxix. louis and marie antoinette contemplate foreign intervention.--the assembly passes laws to subordinate the church to the civil power.--insolence of la fayette.--marie antoinette refuses to quit france by herself.--the jacobins and la fayette try to revive the story of the necklace.--marie antoinette with her family.--flight from paris is decided on.--the queen's preparations and views.--an oath to observe the new ecclesiastical constitution is imposed on the clergy.--the king's aunts leave france. chapter xxx. the mob attacks the castle at vincennes.--la fayette saves it.--he insults the nobles who come to protect the king.--perverseness of the count d'artois and the emigrants.--mirabeau dies.--general sorrow for his death.--he would probably not have been able to arrest the revolution.-- the mob prevent the king from visiting st. cloud.--the assembly passes a vote to forbid him to go more than twenty leagues from paris. chapter xxxi. plans for the escape of the royal family.--dangers of discovery.-- resolution of the queen.--the royal family leave the palace.--they are recognized at ste. menehould.--are arrested at varennes.--tumult in the city, and in the assembly.--the king and queen are brought back to paris. chapter xxxii. marie antoinette's feelings on her return.--she sees hopes of improvement.--the th of july.--the assembly inquire into the king's conduct on leaving paris.--they resolve that there is no reason for taking proceedings.--excitement in foreign countries.--the assembly proceeds to complete the constitution.--it declares all the members incapable of election to the new assembly.--letters of marie antoinette to the emperor and to mercy.--the declaration of pilnitz.--the king accepts the constitution.--insults offered to him at the festival of the champ de mars.--and to the queen at the theatre.--the first or constituent assembly is dissolved. chapter xxxiii. composition of the new assembly.--rise of the girondins.--their corruption and eventual fate.--vergniaud's motions against the king.--favorable reception of the king at the assembly, and at the opera.--changes in the ministry.--the king's and queen's language to m. bertrand de moleville.--the count de narbonne.--pétion is elected mayor of paris.-- scarcity of money, and great hardships of the royal family.--presents arrive from tippoo sahib.--the dauphin.--the assembly passes decrees against the priests and the emigrants.--misconduct of the emigrants.-- louis refuses his assent to the decrees.--he issues a circular condemning emigration. chapter xxxiv. death of leopold.--murder of gustavus of sweden--violence of vergniaud.-- the ministers resign.--a girondin ministry is appointed.--character of dumouriez.--origin of the name sans-culottes.--union of different parties against the queen.--war is declared against the empire.--operations in the netherlands.--unskillfulness of la fayette.--the king falls into a state of torpor.--fresh libels on the queen.--barnave's advice.--dumouriez has an audience of the queen.--dissolution of the constitutional guard.--formation of a camp near paris.--louis adheres to his refusal to assent to the decree against the priests.--dumouriez resigns his office, and takes command of the army. chapter xxxv. the insurrection of june th. chapter xxxvi. feelings of marie antoinette.--different plans are formed for her escape. --she hopes for aid from austria and prussia.--la fayette comes to paris. --his mismanagement--an attempt is made to assassinate the queen.--the motion of bishop lamourette.--the feast of the federation.--la fayette proposes a plan for the king's escape.--bertrand proposes another.--both are rejected by the queen. chapter xxxvii. preparation for a new insurrection.--barbaroux brings up a gang from marseilles.--the king's last levee.--the assembly rejects a motion for the impeachment of la fayette.--it removes some regiments from paris.-- preparations of the court for defense.--the th of august.--the city is in insurrection.--murder of mandat.--louis reviews the guards.--he takes refuge with the assembly.--massacre of the swiss guards.--sack of the tuileries.--discussions in the assembly.--the royal authority is suspended. chapter xxxviii. indignities to which the royal family are subjected.--they are removed to the temple.--divisions in the assembly.--flight of la fayette.--advance of the prussians.--lady sutherland supplies the dauphin with clothes.-- mode of life in the temple.--the massacres of september.--the death of the princess de lamballe.--insults are heaped on the king and queen.--the trial of the king.--his last interview with his family.--his death. chapter xxxix. the queen is refused leave to see cléry.--madame royale is taken ill.-- plans are formed for the queen's escape by mm. jarjayes, toulan, and by the baron de batz.--marie antoinette refuses to leave her son.--illness of the young king.--overthrow of the girondins.--insanity of the woman tison.--kindness of the queen to her.--her son is taken from her, and intrusted to simon.--his ill-treatment.--the queen is removed to the conciergerie.--she is tried before the revolutionary tribunal.--she is condemned.--her last letter to the princess elizabeth.--her death and character. index life of marie antoinette. chapter i. importance of marie antoinette in the revolution.--value of her correspondence as a means of estimating her character.--her birth, november d, .--epigram of metastasio.--habits of the imperial family.--schönbrunn.--death of the emperor.--projects for the marriage of the archduchess.--her education.--the abbé de vermond.--metastasio.-- gluck. the most striking event in the annals of modern europe is unquestionably the french revolution of --a revolution which, in one sense, may be said to be still in progress, but which, is a more limited view, may be regarded as having been, consummated by the deposition and murder of the sovereign of the country. it is equally undeniable that, during its first period, the person who most attracts and rivets attention is the queen. one of the moat brilliant of modern french writers[ ] has recently remarked that, in spite of the number of years which have elapsed since the grave closed over the sorrows of marie antoinette, and of the almost unbroken series of exciting events which have marked the annals of france in the interval, the interest excited by her story is as fresh and engrossing as ever; that such as hecuba and andromache were to the ancients, objects never named to inattentive ears, never contemplated without lively sympathy, such still is their hapless queen to all honest and intelligent frenchmen. it may even be said that that interest has increased of late years. the respectful and remorseful pity which her fate could not fail to awaken has been quickened by the publication of her correspondence with her family and intimate friends, which has laid bare, without disguise, all her inmost thoughts and feelings, her errors as well as her good deeds, her weaknesses equally with her virtues. few, indeed, even of those whom the world regards with its highest favor and esteem, could endure such an ordeal without some diminution of their fame. yet it is but recording the general verdict of all whose judgment is of value, to affirm that marie antoinette has triumphantly surmounted it; and that the result of a scrutiny as minute and severe as any to which a human being has ever been subjected, has been greatly to raise her reputation. not that she was one of those paragons whom painters of model heroines have delighted to imagine to themselves; one who from childhood gave manifest indications of excellence and greatness, and whose whole life was but a steady progressive development of its early promise. she was rather one in whom adversity brought forth great qualities, her possession of which, had her life been one of that unbroken sunshine which is regarded by many as the natural and inseparable attendant of royalty, might never have been even suspected. we meet with her first, at an age scarcely advanced beyond childhood, transported from her school-room to a foreign court, as wife to the heir of one of the noblest kingdoms of europe. and in that situation we see her for a while a light-hearted, merry girl, annoyed rather than elated by her new magnificence; thoughtless, if not frivolous, in her pursuits; fond of dress; eager in her appetite for amusement, tempered only by an innate purity of feeling which never deserted her; the brightest features of her character being apparently a frank affability, and a genuine and active kindness and humanity which were displayed to all classes and on all occasions. we see her presently as queen, hardly yet arrived at womanhood, little changed in disposition or in outward demeanor, though profiting to the utmost by the opportunities which her increased power afforded her of proving the genuine tenderness of her heart, by munificent and judicious works of charity and benevolence; and exerting her authority, if possible, still more beneficially by protecting virtue, discountenancing vice, and purifying a court whose shameless profligacy had for many generations been the scandal of christendom. it is probable, indeed, that much of her early levity was prompted by a desire to drive from her mind disappointments and mortifications of which few suspected the existence, but which were only the more keenly felt because she was compelled to keep them to herself; but it is certain that during the first eight or ten years of her residence in france there was little in her habits and conduct, however amiable and attractive, which could have led her warmest friends to discern in her the high qualities which she was destined to exhibit before its close. presently, however, she becomes a mother; and in this new relation we begin to perceive glimpses of a loftier nature. from the moment of the birth of her first child, she performed those new duties which, perhaps more than any others, call forth all the best and most peculiar virtues of the female heart in such a manner as to add esteem and respect to the good-will which her affability and courtesy had already inspired; recognizing to the full the claims which the nation had upon her, that she should, in person, superintend the education of her children, and especially of her son as its future ruler; and discharging that sacred duty, not only with the most affectionate solicitude, but also with the most admirable judgment. but years so spent were years of happiness; and, though such may suffice to display the amiable virtues, it is by adversity that the grander qualities of the head and heart are more strikingly drawn forth. to the trials of that stern inquisitress, marie antoinette was fully exposed in her later years; and not only did she rise above them, but the more terrible and unexampled they were, the more conspicuous was the superiority of her mind to fortune. it is no exaggeration to say that the history of the whole world has preserved no record of greater heroism, in either sex, than was shown by marie antoinette during the closing years of her life. no courage was ever put to the proof by such a variety and such an accumulation of dangers and miseries; and no one ever came out of an encounter with even far inferior calamities with greater glory. her moral courage and her physical courage were equally tried. it was not only that her own life, and lives far dearer to her than her own, were exposed to daily and hourly peril, or that to this danger were added repeated vexations of hopes baffled and trusts betrayed; but these griefs were largely aggravated by the character and conduct of those nearest to her. instead of meeting with counsel and support from her husband and his brothers, she had to guide and support louis himself, and even to find him so incurably weak as to be incapable of being kept in the path of wisdom by her sagacity, or of deriving vigor from her fortitude; while the princes were acting in selfish and disloyal opposition to him, and so, in a great degree, sacrificing him and her to their perverse conceit, if we may not say to their faithless ambition. she had to think for all, to act for all, to struggle for all; and to beat up against the conviction that her thoughts, and actions, and struggles were being balked of their effect by the very persona for whom she was exerting herself; that she was but laboring to save those who would not be saved. yet, throughout that protracted agony of more than four years she bore herself with an unswerving righteousness of purpose and an unfaltering fearlessness of resolution which could not have been exceeded had she been encouraged by the most constant success. and in the last terrible hours, when the monsters who had already murdered her husband were preparing the same fate for herself, she met their hatred and ferocity with a loftiness of spirit which even hopelessness could not subdue. long before, she had declared that she had learned, from the example of her mother, not to fear death; and she showed that this was no empty boast when she rose in the last scenes of her life as much even above her earlier displays of courage and magnanimity as she also rose above the utmost malice of her vile enemies. * * * * * marie antoinette josèphe jeanne was the youngest daughter of francis, originally duke of lorraine, afterward grand duke of tuscany, and eventually emperor of germany, and of maria teresa, archduchess of austria, queen of hungary and bohemia, more generally known, after the attainment of the imperial dignity by her husband in , as the empress- queen. of her brothers, two, joseph and leopold, succeeded in turn to the imperial dignity; and one of her sisters, caroline, became the wife of the king of naples. she was born on the d of november, , a day which, when her later years were darkened by misfortune, was often referred to as having foreshadowed it by its evil omens, since it was that on which the terrible earthquake which laid lisbon in ruins reached its height. but, at the time, the viennese rejoiced too sincerely at every event which could contribute to their sovereign's happiness to pay any regard to the calamities of another capital, and the courtly poet was but giving utterance to the unanimous feeling of her subjects when he spoke of the princess's birth as calculated to diffuse universal joy. daughters had been by far the larger part of maria teresa's family, so that she was, consequently, anxious for another son; and, knowing her wishes, the duke of tarouka, one of the nobles whom she admitted to her intimacy, laid her a small wager that they would be realized by the sex of the expected infant. he lost his bet, but felt some embarrassment, in devising a graceful mode of paying it. in his perplexity, he sought the advice of the celebrated metastasio, who had been for some time established at vienna as the favorite poet of the court, and the italian, with the ready wit of his country, at once supplied him with a quatrain, which, in her disappointment itself, could mid ground for compliment: "io perdei; l' augusta figlia a pagar m' ha condannato; ma s'è ver che a voi somiglia, tutto il mondo ha guadagnato." the customs of the imperial court had undergone a great change since the death of charles vi. it had been pre-eminent for pompous ceremony, which was thought to become the dignity of the sovereign who boasted of being the representative of the roman caesars. but the lorraine princes had been bred up in a simpler fashion; and francis had an innate dislike to all ostentation, while maria teresa had her attention too constantly fixed on matters of solid importance to have much leisure to spare for the consideration of trifles. both husband and wife greatly preferred to their gorgeous palace at vienna a smaller house which they possessed in the neighborhood, called schönbrunn, where they could lay aside their state, and enjoy the unpretending pleasures of domestic and rural life, cultivating their garden, and, as far as the imperious calls of public affairs would allow them time, watching over the education of their children, to whom the example of their own tastes and habits was imperceptibly affording the best of all lessons, a preference for simple and innocent pleasures. in this tranquil retreat, the childhood of marie antoinette was happily passed; her bright looks, which already gave promise of future loveliness, her quick intelligence, and her affectionate disposition combining to make her the special favorite of her parents. it was she whom francis, when quitting his family in the summer of for that journey to innspruck which proved his last, specially ordered to be brought to him, saying, as if he felt some foreboding of his approaching illness, that he must embrace her once more before he departed; and his death, which took place before she was nine years old, was the first sorrow which ever brought a tear into her eyes. the superintendence of her vast empire occupied a greater share of maria teresa's attention than the management of her family. but as marie antoinette grew up, the empress-queen's ambition, ever on the watch to maintain and augment the prosperity of her country, perceived in her child's increasing attractions a prospect of cementing more closely an alliance which she had contracted some years before, and on which she prided herself the more because it had terminated an enmity of two centuries and a half. from the day on which charles v, prevailed over francis i. in the competition for the imperial crown, the attitude of the emperor of germany and of the king of france to each other had been one of mutual hostility, which, with but rare exceptions, had been greatly in favor of the latter country. the very first years of maria teresa's own reign had been imbittered by the union of france with prussia in a war which had deprived her of an extensive province; and she regarded it as one of the great triumphs of austrian diplomacy to have subsequently won over the french ministry to exchange the friendship of frederick of prussia for her own, and to engage as her ally in a war which had for its object the recovery of the lost silesia. silesia was not recovered. but she still clung to the french alliance as fondly as if the objects which she had originally hoped to gain by it had been fully accomplished; and, as the heir to the french monarchy was very nearly of the same age as the young archduchess, she began to entertain hopes of uniting the two royal families by a marriage which should render the union between the two nations indissoluble. she mentioned the project to some of the french visitors at her court, whom she thought likely to repeat her conversation on their return to their own country. she took care that reports of her daughter's beauty should from time to time reach the ears of louis xv. she had her picture painted by french artists. she made a proficiency in the french language the principal object of her education; bringing over some french actors to vienna to instruct her in the graces of elocution, and subsequently establishing as her chief tutor a french ecclesiastic, the abbé de vermond, a man of extensive learning, of excellent judgment, and of most conscientious integrity. the appointment would have been in every respect a most fortunate one, had it not been suggested by loménie de brienne, archbishop of toulouse, who thus laid the abbé under an obligation which was requited, to the great injury of france, nearly twenty years afterward, when m. de vermond, who still remained about the person of his royal mistress, had an opportunity of exerting his influence to make the archbishop prime minister. not that her studies were confined to french. metastasio taught her italian; gluck, whose recently published opera of "orfeo" had, established for him a reputation as one of the greatest musicians of the age, gave her lessons on the harpsichord. but we fear it can not be said that she obtained any high degree of excellence in these or in any other accomplishments. she was not inclined to study; and, with the exception of the abbé, her masters and mistresses were too courtly to be peremptory with an archduchess. their favorable reports to the empress-queen were indeed neutralized by the frankness with which their pupil herself confessed her idleness and failure to improve. but maria teresa was too much absorbed in politics to give much heed to the confession, or to insist on greater diligence; though at a later day marie antoinette herself repented of her neglect, and did her best to repair it, taking lessons in more than one accomplishment with great perseverance during the first years of her residence at versailles, because, as she expressed herself, the dauphiness was bound to take care of the character of the archduchess. there are, however, lessons of greater importance to a child than any which are given by even the most accomplished masters--those which flow from the example of a virtuous and sensible mother; and those the young archduchess showed a greater aptitude for learning. maria teresa had set an example not only to her own family, but to all sovereigns, among whom principles and practices such as hers had hitherto been little recognized, of regarding an attention to the personal welfare of all her subjects, even of those of the lowest class, as among the most imperative of her duties. she had been accessible to all. she had accustomed the peasantry to accost her in her walks; she had visited their cottages to inquire into and relieve their wants. and the little antoinette, who, more than any other of her children, seems to have taken her for an especial model, had thus, from her very earliest childhood, learned to feel a friendly interest in the well-doing of the people in general; to think no one too lowly for her notice, to sympathize with sorrow, to be indignant at injustice and ingratitude, to succor misfortune and distress. and these were habits which, as being implanted in her heart, she was not likely to forget; but which might be expected rather to gain strength by indulgence, and to make her both welcome and useful to any people among whom her lot might be cast. chapter ii. proposal for the marriage of marie antoinette to the dauphin.--early education of the dauphin.--the archduchess leaves vienna in april, .-- her reception at strasburg.--she meets the king at compiègne.--the marriage takes place may th, . royal marriages had been so constantly regarded as affairs of state, to be arranged for political reasons, that it had become usual on the continent to betroth princes and princesses to each other at a very early age; and it was therefore not considered as denoting any premature impatience on the part of either the empress-queen or the king of france, louis xv., when, at the beginning of , when marie antoinette had but just completed her thirteenth year, the duc de choiseul, the french minister for foreign affairs, who was himself a native of lorraine, instructed the marquis de durfort, the french embassador at vienna, to negotiate with the celebrated austrian prime minister, the prince de kaunitz, for her marriage to the heir of the french throne, who was not quite fifteen months older. louis xv. had had several daughters, but only one son. that son, born in , had been married at the age of fifteen to a spanish infanta, who, within a year of her marriage, died in her confinement, and whom he replaced in a few months by a daughter of augustus iii., king of saxony. his second wife bore him four sons and two daughters. the eldest son, the duc de bourgogne, who was born in , and was generally regarded as a child of great promise, died in his eleventh year; and when he himself died in , his second son, previously known as the duc de berri, succeeded him in his title of dauphin. this prince, now the suitor of the archduchess, had been born on the d of august, , and was therefore not quite fifteen. as yet but little was known of him. very little pains had been taken with his education; his governor, the duc de la vauguyon, was a man who had been appointed to that most important post by the cabals of the infamous mistress and parasites who formed the court of louis xv., without one qualification for the discharge of its duties. a servile, intriguing spirit had alone recommended him to his patrons, while his frivolous indolence was in harmony with the inclinations of the king himself, who, worn out with a long course of profligacy, had no longer sufficient energy even for vice. under such a governor, the young prince had but little chance of receiving a wholesome education, even if there was not a settled design to enfeeble his mind by neglect. his father had been a man of a character very different from that of the king. by a sort of natural reaction or silent protest against the infamies which he saw around him, he had cherished a serious and devout disposition, and had observed a conduct of the most rigorous virtue. he was even suspected of regarding the jesuits with especial favor, and was believed to have formed plans for the reformation of morals, and perhaps of the state. it was not strange that, on the first news of the illness which proved fatal to him, the people flocked to the churches with prayers for his recovery, and that his death was regarded by all the right- thinking portion of the community as a national calamity. but the courtiers, who had regarded his approaching reign with not unnatural alarm, hailed his removal with joy, and were, above all things, anxious to prevent his son, who had now become the heir to the crown, from following such a path as the father had marked out for himself. the negligence of some, thus combining with the deliberate malice of others, and aided by peculiarities in the constitution and disposition of the young prince himself, which became more and more marked as he grew up, exercised a pernicious influence on his boyhood. not only was his education in the ordinary branches of youthful knowledge neglected, but no care was even taken to cultivate his taste or to polish his manners, though a certain delicacy of taste and refinement of manners were regarded by the courtiers, and by louis xv. himself, as the pre-eminent distinction of his reign. he was kept studiously in the background, discountenanced and depressed, till he contracted an awkward timidity and reserve which throughout his life he could never shake off; while a still more unfortunate defect, which was another result of this system, was an inability to think or decide for himself, or even to act steadily on the advice of others after he had professed to adopt it. but these deficiencies in his character had as yet hardly had time to display themselves; and, had they been ever so notorious, they were not of a nature to divert maria teresa from her purpose. for her political objects, it would not, perhaps, have seemed to her altogether undesirable that the future sovereign of france should be likely to rely on the judgment and to submit to the influence of another, so long as the person who should have the best opportunity of influencing him was her own daughter. a negotiation for the success of which both parties were equally anxious did not require a long time for its conclusion; and by the beginning of july, , all the preliminaries were arranged; the french newspapers were authorized to allude to the marriage, and to speak of the diligence with which preparations for it were being made in both countries; those in which the french king took the greatest interest being the building of some carriages of extraordinary magnificence, to receive the archduchess as soon as she should have arrived on french ground; while those which were being made in germany indicated a more elementary state of civilization, as the first requisite appeared to be to put the roads between vienna and the frontier in a state of repair, to prevent the journey from being too fatiguing. by the spring of the next year all the necessary preparations had been completed; and on the evening of the th of april, , a grand court was held in the palace of vienna. through a double row of guards of the palace, of body-guards, and of a still more select guard, composed wholly of nobles, m. de durfort was conducted into the presence of the emperor joseph ii., and of his widowed mother, the empress-queen, still, though only dowager-empress, the independent sovereign of her own hereditary dominions; and to both he proffered, on the part of the king of france, a formal request for the hand of the archduchess marie antoinette for the dauphin. when the emperor and empress had given their gracious consent to the demand, the archduchess herself was summoned to the hall and informed of the proposal which had been made, and of the approval which her mother and her brother had announced; while, to incline her also to regard it with equal favor, the embassador presented her with a letter from her intended husband, and with his miniature, which she at once hung round her neck. after which, the whole party adjourned to the private theatre of the palace to witness the performance of a french play, "the confident mother" of marivaux, the title of which, so emblematic of the feelings of maria teresa, may probably have procured it the honor of selection. the next day the young princess executed a formal renunciation of all right of succession to any part of her mother's dominions which might at any time devolve on her; though the number of her brothers and elder sisters rendered any such occurrence in the highest degree improbable, and though one conspicuous precedent in the history of both countries had, within the memory of persons still living, proved the worthlessness of such renunciations.[ ] a few days were then devoted to appropriate festivities. that which is most especially mentioned by the chroniclers of the court being, in accordance with the prevailing taste of the time, a grand masked ball,[ ] for which a saloon four hundred feet long had been expressly constructed. and on the th of april the young bride quit her home, the mother from whom she had never been separated, and the friends and playmates among whom her whole life had been hitherto passed, for a country which was wholly strange to her, and in which she had not as yet a single acquaintance. her very husband, to whom she was to be confided, she had never seen. though both mother and daughter felt the most entire confidence that the new position, on which she was about to enter, would be full of nothing but glory and happiness, it was inevitable that they should be, as they were, deeply agitated at so complete a separation. and, if we may believe the testimony of witnesses who were at vienna at the time,[ ] the grief of the mother, who was never to see her child again, was shared not only by the members of the imperial household, whom constant intercourse had enabled to know and appreciate her amiable qualities, but by the population of the capital and the surrounding districts, all of whom had heard of her numerous acts of kindness and benevolence, which, young as she was, many of them had also experienced, and who thronged the streets along which she passed on her departure, mingling tears of genuine sorrow with their acclamations, and following her carriage to the outermost gate of the city that they might gaze their last on the darling of many hearts. kehl was the last german town through which she was to pass, strasburg was the first french city which was to receive her, and, as the islands which dot the rhine at that portion of the noble boundary river were regarded as a kind of neutral ground, the french monarch had selected the principal one to be occupied by a pavilion built for the purpose and decorated with great magnificence, that it might serve for another stage of the wedding ceremony. in this pavilion she was to cease to be german, and was to become french; she was to bid farewell to her austrian attendants, and to receive into her service the french officers of her household, male and female, who were to replace them. she was even to divest herself of every article of her german attire, and to apparel herself anew in garments of french manufacture sent from paris. the pavilion was divided into two compartments. in the chief apartment of the german division, the austrian officials who had escorted her so far formally resigned their charge, and surrendered her to the comte de noailles, who had been appointed embassador extraordinary to receive her; and, when all the deeds necessary to release from their responsibly the german nobles whose duties were now terminated had been duly signed, the doors were thrown open, and marie antoinette passed into the french division, as a french princess, to receive the homage of a splendid train of french courtiers, who were waiting in loyal eagerness to offer their first salutations to their new mistress. yet, as if at every period of her life she was to be beset with omens, the celebrated german writer, goethe, who was at that time pursuing his studies at strasburg, perceived one which he regarded as of most inauspicious significance in the tapestry which decorated the walls of the chief saloon. it represented the history of jason and medea. on one side was portrayed the king's bride in the agonies of death; on the other, the royal father was bewailing his murdered children. above them both, medea was fleeing away in a car drawn by fire-breathing dragons, and driven by the furies; and the youthful poet could not avoid reflecting that a record of the most miserable union that even the ancient mythology had recorded was a singularly inappropriate and ill-omened ornament for nuptial festivities.[ ] a bridge reached from the island to the left bank of the river; and, on quitting the pavilion, the archduchess found the carriages, which had been built for her in paris, ready to receive her, that she might make her state entry into strasburg. they were marvels of the coach-maker's art. the prime minister himself had furnished the designs, and they had attracted the curiosity of the fashionable world in paris throughout the winter. one was covered with crimson velvet, having pictures, emblematical of the four seasons, embroidered in gold on the principal panels; on the other the velvet was blue, and the elements took the place of the seasons; while the roof of each was surmounted by nosegays of flowers, carved in gold, enameled in appropriate colors, and wrought with such exquisite delicacy that every movement of the carriage, or even the lightest breeze, caused them to wave as if they were the natural produce of the garden.[ ] in this superb conveyance marie antoinette passed on under a succession of triumphal arches to the gates of strasburg, which, on this auspicious occasion, seemed as if it desired to put itself forward as the representative of the joy of the whole nation by the splendid cordiality of its welcome. whole regiments of cavalry, drawn up in line of battle, received her with a grand salute as she advanced. battery after battery pealed forth along the whole extent of the vast ramparts; the bells of every church rang out a festive peal; fountains ran with wine in the grand square. she proceeded to the episcopal palace, where the archbishop, the cardinal de rohan, with his coadjutor, the prince louis de rohan (a man afterward rendered unhappily notorious by his complicity in a vile conspiracy against her) received her at the head of the most august chapter that the whole land could produce, the counts of the cathedral, as they were styled; the prince of lorraine being the grand dean, the archbishop of bordeaux the grand provost, and not one post in the chapter being filled by any one below the rank of count. she held a court for the reception of all the female nobility of the province. she dined publicly in state; a procession of the municipal magistrates presented her a sample of the wines of the district; and, as she tasted the luscious offering, the coopers celebrated what they called a feast of bacchus, waving their hoops as they danced round the room in grotesque figures. it was a busy day for her, that first day of her arrival on french soil. from the dinner-table she went to the theatre; on quitting the theatre, she was driven through the streets to see the illuminations, which made every part of the city as bright as at midday, the great square in front of the episcopal palace being converted into a complete garden of fire-works; and at midnight she attended a ball which the governor of the province, the maréchal de contades, gave in her honor to all the principal inhabitants of the city and district. quitting strasburg the next day, after a grand reception of the clergy, the nobles, and the magistrates of the province, she proceeded by easy stages through nancy, châlons, rheims, and soissons, the whole population of every town through which she passed collecting on the road to gaze on her beauty, the renown of which had readied the least curious ears; and to receive marks of her affability, reports of which were at least as widely spread, in the cheerful eagerness with which she threw down the windows of her carriage, and the frank, smiling recognition and genuine pleasure with which she replied to their enthusiastic acclamations. it was long remembered that, when the students of the college at soissons presented her with a latin address, she replied to them in a sentence or two in the same language. soissons was her last resting-place before she was introduced to her new family. on the afternoon of monday, the th of may, she quit it for compiègne, which the king and all the court had reached in the course of the morning. as she approached the town she was met by the minister, the duc de choiseul, and he was the precursor of louis himself, who, accompanied by the dauphin and his daughters, and escorted by his gorgeous company of the guards of the household,[ ] had driven out to receive her. she and all her train dismounted from their carriages. her master of the horse and her "knight of honor[ ]" took her by the hand and conducted her to the royal coach. she sunk on her knee in the performance of her respectful homage; but louis promptly raised her up, and, having embraced her with a tenderness which gracefully combined royal dignity with paternal affection, and having addressed her in a brief speech,[ ] which was specially acceptable to her, as containing a well-timed compliment to her mother, introduced her to the dauphin; and, when they reached the palace, he also presented to her his more distant relatives, the princes and princesses of the blood,[ ] the duc d'orléans and his son, the duc de chartres, destined hereafter to prove one of the foulest and most mischievous of her enemies; the duc de bourbon, the princes of condé and conti, and one lady whose connection with royalty was italian rather than french, but to whom the acquaintance, commenced on this day, proved the cause of a miserable and horrible death, the beautiful princesse de lamballe. compiègne, however, was not to be honored by the marriage ceremony. the next morning the whole party started for versailles, turning out of the road, at the express request of the archduchess herself, to pay a brief visit to the king's youngest daughter, the princess louise, who had taken on herself the carmelite vows, and resided in the convent of st. denis. the request had been suggested by choiseul, who was well aware that the princess shared the dislike entertained by her more worldly sisters to the house of austria; but it was accepted as a personal compliment by the king himself, who was already fascinated by her charms, which, as he affirmed, surpassed those of her portrait, and was predisposed to view all her words and actions in the most favorable light. avoiding paris, which louis, ever since the riots of , had constantly refused to enter, they reached the hunting-lodge of la muette, in the bois de boulogne, for supper. here she made the acquaintance of the brothers and sisters of her future husband, the counts of provence and artois, both destined, in their turn, to succeed him on the throne; of the princess clotilde, who may be regarded as the most fortunate of her race, in being saved by a foreign marriage and an early death from witnessing the worst calamities of her family and her native land; of the princess elizabeth, who was fated to share them in all their bitterness and horror; and (a strangely incongruous sequel to the morning visit to the carmelite convent), the countess du barri also came into her presence, and was admitted to sup at the royal table; as if, even at the very moment when he might have been expected to conduct himself with some degree of respectful decency to the pure-minded young girl whom he was receiving into his family, louis xv. was bent on exhibiting to the whole world his incurable shamelessness in its most offensive form. at midnight he, with the dauphin, proceeded to versailles, whither, the next morning, the archduchess followed them. and at one o'clock on the th, in the chapel of the palace, the primate of france, the archbishop of rheims, performed the marriage ceremony. a canopy of cloth of silver was held over the heads of the youthful pair by the bishops of senlis and chartres. the dauphin, after he had placed the wedding-ring on his bride's finger, added, as a token that he endowed her with his worldly wealth, a gift of thirteen pieces of gold, which, as well as the ring, had received the episcopal benediction, and marie antoinette was dauphiness of france. chapter iii. feelings in germany and france on the subject of the marriage.--letter of maria teresa to the dauphin--characters of the different members of the royal family.--difficulties which beset marie antoinette.--maria teresa's letter of advice.--the comte de mercy is sent as embassador to france to act as the adviser of the dauphiness.--the princesse de lorraine at the state ball.--a great disaster takes place at the fire-works in paris. --the peasant at fontainebleau.--marie antoinette pleases the king.-- description of her personal appearance.--mercy's report of the impression she made on her first arrival. the marriage which was thus accomplished was regarded with unmodified pleasure by the family of the bride, and with almost equal satisfaction by the french king. in spite of the public rejoicings in both countries with which it was accompanied, it can not be said to have been equally acceptable to the majority of the people of either nation. there was still a strong anti-french party at vienna,[ ] and (a circumstance of far greater influence on the fortunes of the young couple) there was a strong anti-austrian party in france, which was not without its supporters even in the king's palace. that the marriage should have been so earnestly desired at the imperial court is a strange instance of the extent to which political motives overpowered every other consideration in the mind of the great empress-queen, for she was not ignorant of the real character of the french court, of the degree in which it was divided by factions, of the base and unworthy intrigues which were its sole business, and of the sagacity and address which were requisite for any one who would steer his way with safety and honor through its complicated mazes. judgment and prudence were not the qualities most naturally to be expected in a young princess not yet fifteen years old. the best prospect which marie antoinette had of surmounting the numerous and varied difficulties which beset her lay in the affection which she speedily conceived for her husband, and in the sincerity, we can hardly say warmth, with which he returned her love. maria teresa had bespoken his tenderness for her in a letter which she wrote to him on the day on which her daughter left vienna, and which has often been quoted as a composition worthy of her alike as a mother and as a christian sovereign; and as admirably calculated to impress the heart of her new son-in-law by claiming his attachment for his bride, on the ground of the pains which she had taken to make her worthy of her fortune. "your bride, my dear dauphin, has just left me. i do hope that she will cause your happiness. i have brought her up with the design that she should do so, because i have for some time forseen that she would share your destiny. "i have inspired her with an eager desire to do her duty to you, with a tender attachment to your person, with a resolution to be attentive to think and do every thing which may please you. i have also been most careful to enjoin her a tender devotion toward the master of all sovereigns, being thoroughly persuaded that we are but badly providing for the welfare of the nations which are intrusted to us when we fail in our duty to him who breaks sceptres and overthrows thrones according to his pleasure. "i say, then, to you, my dear dauphin, as i say to my daughter: 'cultivate your duties toward god. seek to cause the happiness of the people over whom you will reign (it will be too soon, come when it may). love the king, your grandfather; be humane like him; be always accessible to the unfortunate. if you behave in this manner, it is impossible that happiness can fail to be your lot.' my daughter will love you, i am certain, because i know her. but the more that i answer to you for her affection, and for her anxiety to please you, the more earnestly do i entreat you to vow to her the most sincere attachment. "farewell, my dear dauphin. may you be happy. i am bathed in tears.[ ]" the dauphin did not falsify the hopes thus expressed by the empress-queen. but his was not the character to afford his wife either the advice or support which she needed, while, strange to say, he was the only member of the royal family to whom she could look for either. the king was not only utterly worthless and shameless, but weak and irresolute in the most ordinary matters. even when in the flower and vigor of his age, he had never been able to summon courage to give verbal orders or reproofs to his own children,[ ] but had intimated his pleasure or displeasure by letters. he had been gradually falling lower and lower, both in his own vices and in the estimation of the world; and was now, still more than when lord chesterfield first drew his picture,[ ] both hated and despised. the dauphin's brothers, for such mere boys, were singularly selfish and unamiable; and the only female relations of her husband, his aunts, to whom, as such, it would have been natural that a young foreigner should look for friendship and advice, were not only narrow-minded, intriguing, and malicious, but were predisposed to regard her with jealousy as likely to interfere with the influence which they had hoped to exert over their nephew when he should become their sovereign. marie antoinette had, therefore, difficulties and enemies to contend with from the very first commencement of her residence in france. and many even of her own virtues were unfavorable to her chances of happiness, calculated as they were to lay her at the mercy of her ill-wishers, and to deprive her of some of the defenses which might have been found in a different temperament. full of health and spirits, she was naturally eager in the pursuit of enjoyment, and anxious to please every one, from feeling nothing but kindness toward every one; she was frank, open, and sincere; and, being perfectly guileless herself, she was, as through her whole life she continued to be, entirely unsuspicious of unfriendliness, much more of treachery in others. her affability and condescension combined with this trustful disposition to make her too often the tool of designing and grasping courtiers, who sought to gain their own ends at her expense, and who presumed on her good-nature and inexperience to make requests which, as they well knew, should never have been made, but which they also reckoned that she would be unwilling to refuse. but lest this general amiability and desire to give pleasure to those around her might seem to impart a prevailing tinge of weakness to her character, it is fair to add that she united to these softer feelings, robuster virtues calculated to deserve and to win universal admiration; though some of them, never having yet been called forth by circumstances, were for a long time unsuspected by the world at large. she had pride-- pride of birth, pride of rank--though never did that feeling show itself more nobly or more beneficially. it never led her to think herself above the very meanest of her subjects. it never made her indifferent to the interests, to the joys or sorrows, of a single individual. the idea with which it inspired her was, that a princess of her race was never to commit an unworthy act, was never to fail in purity of virtue, in truth, in courage; that she was to be careful to set an example of these virtues to those who would naturally look up to her; and that she herself was to keep constantly in her mind the example of her illustrious mother, and never, by act, or word, or thought, to discredit her mother's name. and as she thus regarded courage as her birthright, so she possessed it in abundance and in variety. she had courage to plan, and courage to act; courage to resolve, and courage to adhere to the resolution once deliberately formed; and, above all, courage to endure and to suffer, and, in the very extremity of misery, to animate and support others less royally endowed. such, then, as she was, with both her manifest and her latent excellencies, as well as with those more mixed qualities which had some defects mingled with their sweetness, marie antoinette, at the age of fourteen years and a half, was thrown into a world wholly new to her, to guide herself so far by her own discretion that there was no one who had both judgment and authority to control her in her line of conduct or in any single action. she had, indeed, an adviser whom her mother had provided for her, though without allowing her to suspect the nature or full extent of the duties which she had imposed upon him. maria teresa had been in some respects a strict mother, one whom her children in general feared almost as much as they loved her; and the rigorous superintendence on some points of conduct which she had exercised over marie antoinette while at home, she was not inclined wholly to resign, even after she had made her apparently independent. at the moment of her departure from vienna, she gave her a letter of advice which she entreated her to read over every month, and in which the most affectionate and judicious counsel is more than once couched in a tone of very authoritative command; the whole letter showing not only the most experienced wisdom and the most affectionate interest in her daughter's happiness, but likewise a thorough insight into her character, so precisely are some of the errors against which the letter most emphatically warns her those into which she most frequently fell. and she appointed a statesman in whom she deservedly placed great confidence, the count de mercy-argenteau, her embassador to the court at versailles, with the express design that he should always be at hand to afford the dauphiness his advice in all the difficulties which she could not avoid foreseeing for her; and who should also keep the empress-queen herself fully informed of every particular of her conduct, and of every transaction by which she was in any way affected. this part of his commission was wholly unsuspected by the young princess; but the count discharged such portions of the delicate duty thus imposed upon him with rare discretion, contriving in its performance to combine the strictest fidelity to his imperial mistress with the most entire devotion to the interests of his pupil, and to preserve the unqualified regard and esteem of both mother and daughter to the end of their lives. toward the latter, as dauphiness, and even as queen, he stood for some years in a position very similar to that which baron stockmar fills in the history of the late prince consort of england, being, however, more frequent in his admonitions, and occasionally more severe in his reproofs, as the youth and inexperience of marie antoinette not unnaturally led her into greater mistakes than the scrupulous conscientiousness and almost premature prudence of the prince consort ever suffered him to commit; and his diligent reports to the empress-queen, amounting at times to a diary of the proceedings of the french court, have a lasting and inestimable value, since they furnish us with so trustworthy a record of the whole life of marie antoinette for the first ten years of her residence in france,[ ] of her actions, her language, and her very thoughts (for she ever scorned to give a reason or to make an excuse which was not absolutely and strictly true), that there is perhaps no person of historical importance whose conduct in every transaction of gravity or interest is more minutely known, or whose character there are fuller materials for appreciating. the very day of her marriage did not pass without her receiving a strange specimen of the factious spirit which prevailed at the court, and of the hollowness of the welcome with which the chief nobles had greeted her arrival. a state ball was given at the palace to celebrate the wedding, and as the princess of lorraine, a cousin of the emperor francis, was the only blood-relation of marie antoinette who was at versailles at the time, the king assigned her a place in the first quadrille, giving her precedence for that occasion, next to the princes of the blood. it did not seem a great stretch of courtesy to show to a foreigner, even had she not been related to the princess in whose honor the ball was given; but the dukes and peers fired up at the arrangement, as if an insult had been offered them. they held a meeting at which they resolved that no member of their families should attend, and carried out their resolution so obstinately that at five o'clock, when the dancing was to commence, except the royal princesses there were only three ladies in the room. the king, who, following the example of louis xiv., acted on these occasions as his own master of ceremonies, was forced to send special and personal orders to some of those who had absented themselves to attend without delay. and so by seven o'clock twelve or fourteen couples were collected[ ] (the number of persons admitted to such entertainments was always extremely small), and the rude disloyalty of the protest was to outward appearance effaced by the submission of the recusants. but all the troubles which arose out of the wedding festivities were not so easily terminated. little as was the good-will which subsisted between louis xv. and the parisians, the civic authorities thought their own credit at stake in doing appropriate honor to an occasion so important as the marriage of the heir of the monarchy, and on the th of may they closed a succession of balls and banquets by a display of fire-works, in which the ingenuity of the most celebrated artists had been exhausted to outshine all previous displays of the sort. three sides of the place louis xv. were filled up with pyramids and colonnades. here dolphins darted out many-colored flames from their ever-open mouths. there, rivers of fire poured forth cascades spangled with all the variegated brilliancy with which the chemist's art can embellish the work of the pyrotechnist. the centre was occupied with a gorgeous temple of hymen, which seemed to lean for support on the well-known statue of the king, in front of which it was constructed; and which was, as it were, to be carried up to the skies by above three thousand rockets and fire-balls into which it was intended to dissolve. the whole square was packed with spectators, the pedestrians in front, the carriages in the rear, when one of the explosions set fire to a portion of the platforms on which the different figures had been constructed. at first the increase of the blaze was regarded only as an ingenious surprise on the part of the artist. but soon it became clear that the conflagration was undesigned and real; panic-succeeded to delight, and the terror-stricken crowd, seeing themselves surrounded with flames, began to make frantic efforts to escape from the danger; but there was only one side of the square uninclosed, and that was blocked up by carriages. the uproar and the glare made the horses unmanageable, and in a few moments the whole mass, human beings and animals, was mingled in helpless confusion, making flight impossible by their very eagerness to fly, and trampling one another underfoot in bewildered misery. of those who did succeed in extricating themselves from the square, half made their way to the road which runs along the bank of the river, and found that they had only exchanged one danger for another, which, though of an opposite character, was equally destructive. still overwhelmed with terror, though the first peril was over, the fugitives pushed one another into the stream, in which great numbers were drowned. the number of the killed could never be accurately ascertained: but no calculation estimated the number of those who perished at less than six hundred, while those who were grievously injured were at least as many more. the dauphin and dauphiness were deeply shocked by a disaster so painfully at variance with their own happiness, which, in one sense, had caused it. their first thought was, as far as they might be able, to mitigate it. most of the victims were of the poorer class, the grief of whose surviving relatives was, in many instances, aggravated by the loss of the means of livelihood which the labors of those who had been cut off had hitherto supplied; and, to give temporary succor to this distress, the dauphin and dauphiness at once drew out from the royal treasury the sums allowed to them for their private expenses for the month, and sent the money to the municipal authorities to be applied to the relief of the sufferers. but marie antoinette did more. she felt that to give money only was but cold benevolence; and she made personal visits to many of those families which had been most grievously afflicted, showing the sincerity of her sympathy by the touching kindness of her language, and by the tears which she mingled with those of the widow and the orphan.[ ] such unmerited kindness made a deep impression on the citizens. since the time of henry iv. no prince had ever shown the slightest interest in the happiness or misery of the lower classes; and the feeling of affectionate gratitude which this unprecedented recognition of their claims to be sympathized with as fellow-creatures awakened was fixed still more deeply in their hearts a short time afterward, when, at one of the hunting-parties which took place at fontainebleau, the stag charged a crowd of the spectators and severely wounded a peasant with his horns. marie antoinette sprung to the ground at the sight, helped to bind up the wound, and had the man driven in her own carriage to his cabin, whither she followed him herself to see that every proper attention was paid to him.[ ] and the affection which she thus inspired among the poor was fully shared by the chief personage in the kingdom, the sovereign himself. a life of profligacy had not rendered louis wholly insensible to the superior attractions of innocence and virtue. perhaps a secret sense of shame at the slavery in which his vices held him, and which, as he well knew, excited the contempt of even his most dissolute courtiers, though he had not sufficient energy to shake it off, may have for a moment quickened his better feelings; and the fresh beauty of the young princess, who, from the first moment of her arrival at the court, treated him with the most affectionate and caressing respect, awakened in him a genuine admiration and good-will. he praised her beauty and her grace to all his nobles with a warmth that excited the jealousy of his infamous mistress, the countess du barri. he made allowance for some childishness of manner as natural at her age,[ ] showed an anxiety for every thing which could amuse or gratify her, which afforded a marked contrast to his ordinary apathy. and, though in so young a girl it was rather the promise of future beauty than its developed perfection that her feat-* as yet presented, they already exhibited sufficient charms to exempt those who extolled them from the suspicion of flattery. a clear and open forehead, a delicately cut nose, a complexion of dazzling brilliancy, with bright blue eyes, whose ever-varying lustre seemed equally calculated to show every feeling which could move her heart; which could, at times seem almost fierce with anger, indignation, or contempt, but whose prevailing expression was that of kindly benevolence or light-hearted mirth were united with a figure of exquisite proportions, sufficiently tall for dignity, though as yet, of course, slight and unformed, and every movement of which was directed by a grace that could neither be taught nor imitated. if any defect could be discovered in her face, it consisted in a somewhat undue thickness of the lips, especially of the lower lip, which had for some generations been the prevailing characteristic of her family. accordingly, a month after her marriage, mercy could report to maria teresa that she had had complete success, and was a universal favorite; that, besides the king, who openly expressed his satisfaction, she had won the heart of the dauphin, who had been very unqualified in the language in which he had praised both her beauty and her agreeable qualities to his aunts; and that even those princesses were "enchanted" with her. the whole court, and the people in general, extolled her affability, and the graciousness with which she said kind things to all who approached her. though the well-informed embassador had already discovered signs of the cabals which the mistress and her partisans were forming against her, and had been rendered a little uneasy by the handle which she had more than once afforded to her secret enemies, when, "in gayety of heart and without the slightest ill-will," she had allowed herself to jest on some persons and circumstances which struck her as ridiculous, her jests being seasoned with a wit and piquancy which rendered them keener to those who were their objects, and more so mischievous to herself. he especially praised the unaffected dignity with which she had received the mistress who had attended in her apartments to pay her court, though in no respect deceived as to the lady's disposition, her penetration into the characters of all with whom she had been brought into contact, denoting, as it struck him, "a sagacity" which, at her age, was "truly astonishing.[ ]" chapter iv. marie antoinette gives her mother her first impressions of the court and of her own position and prospects.--court life at versailles.--marie antoinette shows her dislike of etiquette.--character of the duc d'aiguillon.--cabals against the dauphiness.--jealousy of mme. du barri.-- the aunts, too, are jealous of her.--she becomes more and more popular.-- parties for donkey-riding.--scantiness of the dauphiness's income.--her influence over the king.--the duc de choiseul is dismissed.--she begins to have great influence over the dauphin. marie antoinette herself was inclined to be delighted with all that befell her, and to make light of what she could hardly regard as pleasant or becoming; and two of her first letters to her mother, written in the early part of july,[ ] give us an insight into the feelings with which she regarded her new family and her own position, as well as a picture of her daily occupations and of the singular customs of the french court, strangely inconsistent in what it permitted and in what it disallowed, and, in the publicity in which its princes lived, curiously incompatible with ordinary ideas of comfort and even delicacy. "the king," she says, "is full of kindnesses toward me, and i love him tenderly. but it is pitiable to see his weakness for madame du barri, who is the silliest and most impertinent creature that it is possible to conceive. she has played with us every evening at marly,[ ] and she has twice been seated next to me; but she has not spoken to me, and i have not attempted to engage in conversation with her; but, when it was necessary, i have said a word or two to her. "as for my dear husband, he is greatly changed, and in a most advantageous manner. he shows a great deal of affection for me, and is even beginning to treat me with great confidence. he certainly does not like m. de la, vauguyon; but he is afraid of him. a curious thing happened about the duke the other day. i was alone with my husband, when m. de la vauguyon stole hurriedly up to the doors to listen. a servant, who was either a fool or a very honest man, opened the door, and there stood his grace the duke planted like a sentinel, without being able to retreat. i pointed out to my husband the inconvenience that there was in having people listening at the doors, and he took my remark very well." she did not tell the empress the whole of this occurrence; she had been too indignant at the duke's meanness to suppress her feelings, and she reproved the duke himself with a severity which can hardly be said to have been misplaced. "duke de la vauguyon," she said, "my lord the dauphin is now of an age to dispense with a governor; and i have no need of a spy. i beg you not to appear again in my presence.[ ]" between the writing of her first and second letters she had heard from maria teresa; and she "can not describe how the affection her mother expresses for her has gone to her heart. every letter which she has received has filled her eyes with tears of regret at being separated from so tender and loving a mother, and, happy as she is in france, she would give the world to see her family again, if it were but for a moment. as her mother wishes to know how the days are passed; she gets up between nine and ten, and, having dressed herself and said her morning prayers, she breakfasts, and then she goes to the apartments of her aunts, whose she usually finds the king. that lasts till half-past ten; then at eleven she has her hair dressed. "at twelve," she proceeds to say, "what is called the chamber is held, and there every one who does not belong to the common people may enter. i put on my rouge and wash my hands before all the world; the men go out, and the women remain; and then i dress myself in their presence. then comes mass. if the king is at versailles, i go to mass with him, my husband, and my aunts; if he is not there, i go alone with the dauphin, but always at the same hour. after mass we two dine by ourselves in the presence of all the world; but dinner is over by half-past one, as we both eat very fast. from the dinner-table i go to the dauphin's apartments, and if he has business, i return to my own rooms, where i read, write, or work; for i am making a waistcoat for the king, which gets on but slowly, though, i trust, with god's grace, it will be finished before many years are over. at three o'clock i go again to visit my aunts, and the king comes to them at the same hour. at four the abbé[ ] comes to me, and at five i have every day either my harpsichord-master or my singing-master till six. at half-past six i go almost every day to my aunts, except when i go out walking. and you must understand that when i go to visit my aunts, my husband almost always goes with me. at seven we play cards till nine o'clock; but when the weather is fine i go out walking, and then there is no play in my apartments, but it is held at my aunts'. at nine we sup; and when the king is not there, my aunts come to sup with us; but when the king is there, we go after supper to their rooms, waiting there for the king, who usually comes about a quarter to eleven; and i lie down on a grand sofa and go to sleep till he comes. but when he is not there, we go to bed at eleven o'clock." the play-table which is alluded to in these letters was one of the most curious and mischievous institutions of the court. gambling had been one of its established vices ever since the time of henry iv., whose enormous losses at play had formed the subject of sully's most incessant remonstrances. and from the beginning of the reign of louis xiv., a gaming-table had formed a regular part of the evening's amusement. it was the one thing which was allowed to break down the barrier of etiquette. on all other occasions, the rules which regulated who might and who might not be admitted to the royal presence were as precise and strict as in many cases they were unreasonable and unintelligible. but at the gaming-table every one who could make the slightest pretensions to gentle birth was allowed to present himself and stake his money; [ ] and the leveling influence of play was almost as fully exemplified in the king's palace as in the ordinary gaming-houses, since, though the presence of royalty so far acted as a restraint on the gamblers as to prevent any open explosion, accusations of foul play and dishonest tricks were as rife as in the most vulgar company. marie antoinette was winning many hearts by her loveliness and affability; but she could not scatter her kind speeches and friendly smiles among all with whom she came into contact without running counter to the prejudices of some of the old courtiers who had been formed on a different system; to whom the maintenance of a rigid etiquette was as the very breath of their nostrils, and in whose eyes its very first rule and principle was that princes should keep all the world at a distance. foremost among these sticklers for old ideas was the countess de noailles, her principal "lady of honor," whose uneasiness on the subject speedily became so notorious as to give rise to numerous court squibs and satirical odes, the authors of which seemed glad to compliment the dauphin and to vex her ladyship at the same time, but who could not be deterred by these effusions from lecturing marie antoinette on her disregard of her rank, and on the danger of making herself too familiar, till she provoked the young princess into giving her the nickname of madame etiquette; and, no doubt, in her childish playfulness, to utter many a speech and do many an act whose principle object was to excite the astonishment or provoke the frowns of the too prim lady of honor. there can be no doubt that, though she often pushed her strictness too far, madame de noailles to some extent had reason on her side; and that a certain degree of ceremony and stately reserve is indispensable in court life. it is a penalty which those born in the purple must pay for their dignity, that they can have no friend on a perfect equality with themselves; and those who in different ages and countries have tried to emancipate themselves from this law of their rank have not generally won even the respect of those to whom they have condescended, and still less the approbation of the outer world, whose members have perhaps a secret dislike to see those whom they regard as their own equals lifted above them by the familiarity of princes. this, however, was a matter of comparatively slight importance. an excess of condescension is at the worst a venial and an amiable error; but even at the early period plots were being contrived against the young princess, which, if successful, would have been wholly destructive of her happiness, and which, though she was fully aware of them, she had not means by herself to disconcert or defeat. they were the more formidable because they were partly political, embracing a scheme for the removal of a minister, and consequently conciliated more supporters and insured greater perseverance than if they had merely aimed at securing a preponderance of court favor for the plotters. like all the other mistresses who had successfully reigned in the french courts, madame du barri had a party of adherents who hoped to rise by her patronage. the duc de choiseul himself had owed his promotion to her predecessor, madame de pompadour, and those who hoped to supplant him saw in a similar influence the best prospect of attaining their end. one of the least respectable of the french nobles was the duc d'aiguillon. as governor of brittany, he had behaved with notorious cowardice in the seven years' war. he had since been, if possible, still more dishonored by charges of oppression, peculation, and subornation, on which the authorities of the province had prosecuted him, and which the parisian parliament had pronounced to be established. but no kind of infamy was a barrier to the favor of louis xv. he cancelled the resolution of the parliament, and showed such countenance to the culprit that d'aiguillon, who was both ambitious and covetous, conceived the idea of supplanting choiseul in the government. as one of choiseul's principal measures had been the negotiation of the dauphin's marriage, marie antoinette was known to regard him with a good-will which was founded on gratitude. but, unfortunately, her feelings on this point were not shared by her husband; for choiseul had had notorious differences with his father, the late dauphin, and, though it was perfectly certain that that prince had died of natural disease, people had been found to whisper in his son's ear suspicions that he had been poisoned, and that the minister to whom he was unfriendly had been concerned in his death. the two plots, therefore, to overthrow the minister and to weaken the influence of the dauphiness, went hand-in-hand, and, as might have been expected from the character of the patroness of both, no means were too vile or wicked for the intriguers who had set them on foot. madame du barri was, indeed, seriously alarmed for the maintenance of her own ascendency. the king took such undisguised pleasure in his new granddaughter's company, that some of the most experienced courtiers began to anticipate that she would soon gain entire influence over him[ ]. the mistress began, therefore, to disparage her personal charms, never speaking of her to louis ("france," as she generally called him), except as "the little blowsy,[ ]" while her ally, de la vauguyon, endeavored to further her views by exerting the influence which he mistakenly flattered himself that he still retained over the dauphin, to surround her with his own creatures. he tried to procure the dismissal of the abbé de vermond, who, having been, as we have seen, the tutor of marie antoinette at vienna, still remained attached to her person as her reader; and whose complete knowledge of all the ways of the court, joined to a thorough honesty and devoted fidelity to her best interests, rendered his services most valuable to his mistress in her new sphere. he sought to recommend a creature of his own as her confessor; to obtain for his own daughter the appointment of one of her chief ladies; and, with a wickedness peculiar to the french court, he even endeavored to imitate the vile arts by which the duc de richelieu had deprived marie leczinska of the affections of the king, to alienate the dauphin from his young wife, and to induce him to commit himself to the guidance of madame du barri. but this part of the scheme failed. the dauphin was strangely insensible to the personal charms of marie antoinette herself, and was wholly inaccessible to any inferior temptations; and, as far as the arrangements of the court were concerned, the success of the mistress's cabal was limited to procuring the dismissal of the mistress of the robes, the countess de grammont, for refusing to cede to madame du barri and some of her friends the place which belonged to her office at some private theatricals which were held in the palace. louis xiv. had taught his nobles the pernicious notion that an order to withdraw from the court was a penal banishment, and his successor now banished madame de grammont fourteen leagues from versailles, and for some time refused to recall his sentence, though marie antoinette herself wrote to him to complain of one of her servants being so treated for such a cause. she had not, as she reported to her mother, been very willing to write, knowing that madame du barri read all the king's letters; but mercy had urged her to take the step, thinking it very important that she should establish the practice of communicating directly with louis on all matters relating to her own household, and that she should avoid the blunder of his daughters, her aunts, whose conduct toward their father had, in his opinion, been mischievously timid, and to follow whose example would be prejudicial both to her dignity and to her comfort. the aunts too, and especially the eldest, madame adelaide, had schemes of their own, which, they also sought to carry out by underhand methods. the more conscious they were that they themselves had no influence over their father, the less could they endure the chance of their niece acquiring any, though it could not have been said to have been established at their expense. on the other hand, they had before his marriage had considerable power with the dauphin, which they had now but little hope of retaining. they saw also that marie antoinette had in a few weeks gained a general popularity such as they had never won in their whole lives, and on all these accounts they were painfully jealous of her. they put ideas and plans into her head which they expected to grate upon their father's taste or indolence, and then contrived to have them represented or misrepresented to him, though he disappointed their malice by regarding such things as childish ebullitions natural to a girl of her age, and was far more inclined to humor than to reprove her. with the same object, they tried to induce her to interfere in appointments in which she had no concern; but she remembered her mother's advice, and on this point kept steadily in the path which that affectionate adviser had marked out for her. they even ventured to make disparaging observations on her manners, as inexperienced and unformed, to the dauphin himself, till he silenced them by the warmth of his praises alike of her beauty and of her disposition; and they were so afraid of any addition to her popularity with the nation at large, that, when the city of paris and the states of languedoc presented her with an address, they recommended her to make no reply, assuring her that on similar occasions they themselves had never given any answers. luckily, she had a better adviser, who on this occasion was the abbé de vermond. he told her truly that in this matter the conduct which the older princesses had pursued was a warning, not a pattern: that they had made all france discontented; and at his suggestion marie antoinette gave to each address "an answer full of graciousness, with which the public was enchanted." thus in the first year of her marriage, by her kindness of heart, guided by the advice of mercy and the abbé, to which she listened with the greatest docility, she had won general affection, and had made no enemies but those whose enmity was an honor. she was, as she wrote to her mother, perfectly happy, though, had she not wished to make the best of matters, she was not, in fact, wholly free from disappointments and vexations, some of which continued for years to cause her uneasiness and anxiety, though others were comparatively trivial or temporary, while one was of an almost comical nature. she had conceived a great desire to learn to ride. her mother had been a great horsewoman; and, as the dauphin, like the king, was passionately addicted to hunting, which hitherto she had only witnessed from a carriage, marie antoinette not unnaturally desired to be mistress of an accomplishment which would enable her to give him more of her companionship. unluckily mercy disapproved of the idea. it is impossible to read his correspondence with the empress, and in subsequent years with marie antoinette herself, without being forcibly impressed with respect for his consummate prudence, his sound judgment in matters of public policy, and his unswerving fidelity to the interests of both mother and daughter. but at the same time it is difficult to avoid seeing that he was too little inclined to make allowance for the youthful eagerness for amusements which was natural to her age, and that at times he carried his supervision into matters on which his statesman-like experience and sagacity had hardly qualified him to form an opinion. he was proud of his princess's beauty; and, considering himself in charge of her figure as well as of her conduct, he had made himself very uneasy by the fancied discovery that she was becoming crooked. he was sure that one shoulder was growing higher than the other; he earnestly recommended stays, and was very much displeased with her aunts for setting her against them, because they were not fashionable in paris. and when the horse exercise was proposed, he set his face against it; he wrote to maria teresa, who agreed with him in thinking it ruinous to the complexion, injurious to the shape, and not to be safely indulged in under thirty years of age[ ]; and, lest distance should weaken the authority of the empress, he enlisted madame de noailles and choiseul on his side, and choiseul persuaded the king that it was a very objectionable pastime for a young bride. there was not as yet the slightest prospect of the dauphiness becoming a mother (a circumstance which was, in fact, the most serious of her vexations, and that which lasted longest): but the king on this point agreed with his minister, and after some discussion a compromise was hit upon, and it was decided that she might ride a donkey. the whole country was immediately ransacked for a stud of quiet donkeys.[ ] in september the court moved to compiègne, and day after day, while the king and the dauphin were shooting in one part of the woods, on the other side a cavalcade of donkey-riders, the aunts and the king's brothers all swelling marie antoinette's train, trotted up and down the glades, and sought out shady spots for rural luncheons out-of-doors; and, though even this pastime was occasionally found liable to as much danger as an expedition on nobler steeds, the merry dauphiness contrived to extract amusement for herself and her followers from her very disasters. it was long a standing joke that on one occasion, when her donkey and herself came down in a soft place, her royal highness, before she would allow her attendants to extricate her from the mud, bid them go to madame de noailles, and ask her what the rules of etiquette prescribed when a dauphiness of france failed to keep her seat upon a donkey. she had also another annoyance which was even of a less royal character than being doomed to ride on a donkey. she had absolutely no pocket-money. for many generations the princes of the country had been accustomed to dip their hands so unrestrainedly into the national treasury, that their legitimate appointments had been fixed on a very moderate, if not scanty, scale; so that any one who, like the dauphin and dauphiness, might be scrupulous not to exceed their income (though that scruple had probably affected no one before) could not fail to be greatly straitened. the allowance of marie antoinette was fixed at no higher amount than six thousand francs a month; and of this small sum, according to a report which, in the course of the autumn, mercy made to the empress, not a single crown really reached the princess for her private use.[ ] nearly half of the money was stopped to pay some pensions granted marie leczinska, with which the dauphiness could by no possibility have the slightest concern. almost as much more was intrusted to the gentlemen of her chamber for the expenses of the play table, at which she was expected to preside, since there was no queen to discharge that duty; and whether her royal highness's cards won or lost, the money equally disappeared,[ ] and the remainder was distributed in presents to her ladies, at the discretion of madame de noailles. had not maria teresa, when she first quit vienna, intrusted mercy with a thousand pounds for her use, and had she not herself been singularly economical in her ideas, she would have been in the humiliating position of being unable to provide for her own most ordinary wants, and, a matter about which she was even more anxious, for her constant charities. yet so inveterate was the mismanagement in both the court and the government, that it was some time before mercy could succeed, by the strongest remonstrances supported by clear proofs of the real situation of her royal highness, in getting her affairs and her resources placed upon a proper footing. in spite of all the efforts of the cabal, the king's regard for her increased daily. he had not for many years been used to being treated with respect, and she, not from any artfulness, but from her native propriety of feeling, which forbade her ever to forget that he was her husband's grandfather and her king, united a tone of the most loyal respect with her filial caresses. she called him papa, and even paid him the tacit compliment of grounding occasional requests on considerations of humanity and justice, little as such motives had ever influenced louis, and rarely as their names had of late been heard in the precincts of the palace. she even induced him to pardon madame de grammont; insisting on such a concession as due to herself, when she demanded it for one of her own retinue, till he laughed, and replied, "madame, your orders shall be executed." and the steadiness she thus showed in protecting her own servants won her many hearts among the courtiers, at the same time that it filled her aunts with astonishment, who, while commending her firmness, could not avoid adding that "it was easy to see that she did not belong to their race.[ ]" and how strong as well as how general was of respect and good-will which she had thus diffused was seen in a remarkable manner at some of the private theatricals, which were a frequent diversion of the king, when the actor, at the end of one of his songs, introduced some verses which he had composed in her honor, and the whole body of courtiers who were present showed their approbation by a vehement clapping of their hands, in defiance of a standing order of the court, which prohibited any such demonstrations being made in the sovereign's presence.[ ] it, however, more than counterbalanced these triumphs that, before the end of the year, the cabal of the mistress succeeded in procuring the dismissal of the choiseul, and the appointment of the duc d'aiguillon as minister. for choiseul had been not only a faithful, but a most judicious, friend to her. if others showed too often that they regarded her as a foreigner, he only remembered it as a reason for giving her hints as to the feelings of the nation or of individuals which a native would not have required. and she thankfully acknowledged that his suggestions had always been both kind and useful, and expressed her sense of her obligations to him, and her concern at his dismissal to her mother, who fully shared her feelings on the subject. and, encouraged by this victory over her most powerful adherent, the cabal began to venture to attack marie antoinette herself. they surrounded her with spies; they even spread a report that louis had begun to see through and to distrust her, in the hope that, when it should reach the king's own ears, it might perhaps lay the foundation of the alienation which it pretended to assert; and they grew the bolder because the king's next brother was about to be married to a savoyard princess, of whose favor de la vauguyon flattered himself that he was already assured. under these circumstances marie antoinette behaved with consummate prudence, as far at least as her enemies were concerned. she despised the efforts made to lower her in the general estimation so completely that she seemed wholly unconscious of them. she did not even allow herself to be provoked into treating the authors of the calumnies with additional coldness; but gave no handle to any of them to complain of her, so that the critical and anxious eyes of mercy himself found nothing to wish altered in her conduct toward them.[ ] and throughout the winter she pursued the even tenor of her way, making herself chiefly remarkable by almost countless acts of charity, which she dispensed with such judgment as showed that they proceeded, not from a heedless disregard of money, but from a thoughtful and vigilant kindness, which did not think the feelings any more than the necessities of the poor beneath her notice. circumstances to which she contributed only indirectly enhanced her popularity and weakened the effects of the mistress's hostility. versailles had not been so gay for many winters, and the votaries of mere amusement, always a strong party at every court, rejoiced at the addition to the royal family to whom the gayety was owing. louis roused himself to gratify the young princess, who enlivened his place with the first respectable pleasures which it or he had known for years. when he saw that she liked dramatic performances, he opened the private theatre of the palace twice a week. because she was fond of dancing, he encouraged her to have a weekly ball in her own apartments, at which she herself was the principal attraction, not solely by the elegance of her every movement, but still more by the graciousness with which she received and treated her guests, having a kind smile and an affable word for all, apparently forgetting her rank in the frankness of her condescension, yet at the same time bearing herself with an innate dignity which prevented the most forward from presuming on her kindness or venturing on any undue familiarity.[ ] the winter of was one of unusual severity; and she found resources for a further enlivenment of the court in the frost itself. sledging on the snow was an habitual pastime at vienna, where the cold is more severe than at paris; nor in former years had sledges been wholly unknown in the bois de boulogne. and now marie antoinette, whose hardy habits made exercise in the fresh air almost a necessity for her, had sledges built for herself and her attendants; and the inhabitants of versailles and the neighborhood, as fond of novelty as all their countrymen, were delighted at the merry sledging-parties which, as long as the snow lasted, explored the surrounding country, while the woods rang with the horses' bells, and, almost as loudly and still more cheerfully, with the laughter of the company. her liveliness had, as it were, given a new tone to the whole court; and though the dauphin held out longer against the genial influence of his wife's disposition than most people, it at last in some degree thawed even his frigidity. she ascribed his apathy and apparent dislike to female society rather to the neglect or malice of his early tutors than to any natural defect of capacity or perversity of disposition; and often lectured him on his deficiencies, and even on some of his favorite pursuits, which she looked upon as contributing to strengthen his shyness with ladies. she was not unacquainted with english literature, in which the rusticity and coarseness of the fox-hunting squires formed a piquant subject for the mirth of dramatists and novelists; and if squire western had been the type of sportsmen in all countries, she could not have inveighed more vigorously than she did against her husband's addiction to hunting. one evening, when he did not return from the field till the play in the theatre was half over, she not only frowned upon him all the rest of the entertainment, but when, after the company had retired, he began to enter into an explanation of the cause of his delay, a scene ensued which it will be best to give in the very words of mercy's report to the empress. "the dauphiness made him a short but very energetic sermon, in which she represented to him with vivacity all the evils of the uncivilized kind of life he was leading. she showed him that no one of his attendants could stand that kind of life, and that they would like it the less that his own air and rude manners made no amends to those who were attached to his train; and that, by following this plan of life, he would end by ruining his health and making himself detested. the dauphin received this lecture with gentleness and submission, confessed that he was wrong, promised to amend, and formally begged her pardon. this circumstance is certainly very remarkable, and the more so because the next day people observed that he paid the dauphiness much more attention, and behaved toward her with a much more lively affection than usual.[ ]" we do not, however, find in reality that the severity of her admonitions produced any permanent diminution of his fondness for hunting and shooting; but the gentleness of her general manners, and the delight which he saw that all around her took in her graciousness, so far excited his admiration that he began to follow her example. he said that "she had such native grace that every thing which she did succeeded to perfection; that it must be admitted that she was charming." and before the end of the winter he had come to take an active part both in her monday balls, and in those which her ladies occasionally gave in her honor; "dancing himself the whole of the evening, and conversing with all the company with an air of cheerfulness and good-nature of which no one before had ever thought him capable.[ ]" the happy change in his demeanor was universally attributed to the dauphiness; and, as the character of their future king was naturally watched with anxiety as a matter of the highest importance, it greatly increased the attachment of all who had the welfare of the nation at heart to the princess, whose general example had produced so beneficial an effect. chapter v. mercy's correspondence with empress.--distress and discontent pervade france.--goldsmith predicts a revolution.--apathy of the king.--the aunts mislead marie antoinette.--maria teresa hears that the dauphiness neglects her german visitors.--marriage of the count de provence.--growing preference of louis xv. for the dauphiness.--the dauphiness applies herself to study.--marie antoinette becomes a horsewoman.--her kindness to all beneath her.--cabals of the adherents of the mistress.--the royal family become united.--concerts in the apartments of the dauphiness. marie antoinette was not a very zealous or copious letter-writer. her only correspondent in her earlier years was her mother, and even to her her letters are less effusive and less full of details than might have been expected, one reason for their brevity arising out of the intrigues of the court, since she had cause to believe herself so watched and spied upon that her very desk was not safe; and, consequently, she never ventured to begin a letter to the empress before the morning on which it was to be sent, lest it should be read by those for whose eyes it was not intended. for our knowledge, therefore, of her acts and feelings at this period of her life, we still have to rely principally on mercy's correspondence, which is, however, a sufficiently trustworthy guide, so accurate was his information, and so entire the frankness with which she opened herself to him on all occasions and on all subjects. the spring of opened very unfavorably for the new administration; omens of impending dangers were to be seen on all sides. ten or twelve years before, goldsmith, whose occasional silliness of manner prevented him from always obtaining the attention to which his sagacity entitled him, had named the growing audacity of the french parliaments as not only an indication of the approach of great changes in that country, but as likely also to be their moving cause.[ ] and they had recently shown such determined resistance to the royal authority, that, though in the most conspicuous instance of it, their assertion of their right to pronounce an independent judgment on the charges brought against the duc d'aiguillon, they were unquestionably in the right; and though their pretensions were supported by almost the whole body of the princes of the blood, some of whom were immediately banished for their contumacy, louis had been persuaded to abolish them altogether. and marie antoinette, though she carefully avoided mixing herself up with politics, was, as she reported to her mother,[ ] astonished beyond measure at their conduct, which she looked upon as arising out of the grossest disloyalty, and which certainly indicated the existence of a feeling very dangerous to the maintenance of the royal authority on the part of those very men who were most bound to uphold it. there was also great and general distress. for a moment in the autumn it had been relieved by a fall in the price of bread, which the unreasoning gratitude of the populace had attributed to the benevolence of the dauphiness; but the severity of the winter had brought it back with aggravated intensity till it reached even to the palace, and compelled a curtailment of some of the festivities with which it had been intended to celebrate the marriage of the count de provence, which was fixed for the approaching may. distress is the sure parent of discontent, unless the people have a very complete confidence in their government. and this was so far from being the case in france at this time, that the distrust of and contempt for those in the highest places increased daily more and more. the influence which madame du barri exerted over the king became more rooted as he became more used to submit to it, and more notorious as he grew more shameless in his avowal of it. she felt her power, and her intrigues became in the same proportion more busy and more diversified in their objects. in the vigorous description of mercy, versailles was wholly occupied by treachery, hatred, and vengeance; not one feeling of honesty or decency remained; while the people, ever quick-witted to perceive the vices of their rulers, especially when they are indulged at their expense, revenged themselves by bitter and seditious language, and by satires and pasquinades in which neither respect nor mercy was shown even to the sacred person of the sovereign himself. he was callous to all marks of contempt displayed for himself; but was, or was induced to profess himself, deeply annoyed at the conduct of the dauphin, who showed a fixed aversion for the mistress, which, however, his grandfather did not regard as dictated by his own feelings. louis rather believed that it was fostered by marie antoinette, and that she, in encouraging her husband, was but following the advice of her aunts; and he threatened to remonstrate with the dauphiness on the subject, though, as mercy correctly divined, he could not nerve himself to the necessary resolution. it was true that marie antoinette did often allow herself to be far too much influenced by those princesses. she confessed to mercy that she was afraid to displease or thwart them; a feeling which he regarded as the more unfortunate because, when she was not actuated by that consideration, her own judgment and her own impulses would always guide her aright; and because, too, the elder princesses were the most unsafe of all advisers. they were notoriously jealous of one another, and each at times tried to inspire her niece with her feelings toward the other two; and they often, without meaning it, played into the hands of the mistress's cabal, intriguing for selfish objects of their own with as much malice and meanness as could be practiced by madame du barri herself. still, in spite of these drawbacks, it was almost inevitable that they should have great influence over their niece. their experience might well be presumed by her to have given them a correct insight into the ways of the court, and the best mode of behaving to their own father; and she, a foreigner and almost a child, was not only in need of counsel and guidance, but had no one else of her own sex to whom she could so naturally look for information or advice. they were, as she explained to mercy, her only society; and, though she was too clear-sighted not to see their faults, and not at times to be aware that she was suffering from their perverseness, she, like other people, was often compelled to tolerate what she could not mend, and to shut her eyes to disagreeable qualities when forced to live on terms of intimacy with the possessors. on this point maria teresa was, perhaps, hardly inclined to make sufficient allowance for her difficulties, and insisted over and over again on the mischief which would arise to her from the habit of surrendering her judgment to these princesses. she told her that, though far from being devoid of virtues and real merit, "they had never succeeded in making themselves loved or esteemed by either their father or the public;[ ]" and she added other admonitions which, as they were avowedly suggested by reports that had reached her, may be taken as indicating some errors into which her daughter's lightness of heart had occasionally betrayed her. she entreated her not to show an exclusive preference for the more youthful portion of her society, to the neglect of those who were older, and commonly of higher consideration; never to laugh at people or turn them into ridicule--no habit could be more injurious to herself, and indulgence in it would give reason to doubt her good-nature; it might gain her the applause of a few young people, but it would alienate a much greater number, and those the people of the most real weight and respectability. "this is not," said the experienced and wise empress, "a trivial matter in a princess. we live on the stage of the great world, and it is above all things essential that people should entertain a high idea of us. if you will only not allow others to lead you astray, you are sure of success; a kind providence has endowed you so liberally with beauty, and with so many charms, that all hearts are yours if you are but prudent.[ ]" the empress would have had her exhibit this prudence in her conduct also to madame du barri. she pressed upon her that she was justified in appearing ignorant of that lady's real position and character; that she need only be aware that she was received at court, and that respect for the king should prevent her from suspecting him of countenancing undeserving people. one other detail in the accounts of marie antoinette's conduct, which from time to time reached vienna, had also vexed the empress, and it should be kept in mind by any one who would fairly estimate the truth of the charge brought against her, and urged with such rancor after she had become queen--of postponing the interests of france to those of her native land, of being austrian at heart. maria teresa had heard, on the contrary, that she had given those austrians who had presented themselves at versailles but a cold reception, and she did not attempt to conceal her discontent. with a natural and becoming pride in and jealousy for her own loyal and devoted subjects, she entreated her daughter never to feel ashamed of them, or ashamed of being german herself, even if, comparatively speaking, the name should imply some deficiency in polish. "the french themselves would esteem her more if they saw in her something of german solidity and frankness.[ ]" the daughter answered the mother with some adroitness. she took no notice of the advice about her behavior to madame du barri. it was the one topic on which her own feelings of propriety, as well as those of the dauphin, coincided with the suggestions of the aunts, and she did not desire to vex or provoke the empress by a prolonged discussion of the question; but the charge of coldness to her own countrymen she denied earnestly. "she should always glory in being a german. some of those nobles whom the empress had expressly named she had treated with careful distinction, and had even danced with them, though they were not men of the very highest character. she well knew that the germans had many good qualities which she could wish that the french shared with them;" and she promised that, whenever any of her mother's subjects of such standing and merit as to be worthy of her attention came to the court, they should have no cause to complain of her reception of them. her language on the subject is so measured and careful as to lead us almost inevitably to the inference that the reports which had excited such dissatisfaction at vienna were not without foundation, but that the french gayety, even if often descending to frivolity, was more to her taste than the german solidity which her mother so highly esteemed, and that she had been at no great pains to hide a preference which must naturally he acceptable to those among whom her future life was to be spent. in the middle of may, the count de provence was married to the princess joséphine louise of savoy, and the court went to fontainebleau to receive the bride. the necessity for leaving madame du barri behind threw the king more into the company of the dauphiness than he had been on any previous occasion, and her unaffected graces seemed for the moment to have made a complete conquest of him. he came in his dressing-gown to her apartments for breakfast, and spent a great portion of the day there. the courtiers again began to speculate on her breaking down the ascendency of the favorite, remarking that, though louis was careful to pay his new relative the honors which, were her due as a stranger and a bride, he returned as speedily as he could with decency to the dauphiness as if for relief; and that, though she herself took care to put her new sister-in-law forward on all occasions, and treated her with the most marked cordiality and affection, every one else made the dauphiness the principal object of homage even in the festivities which were celebrated in honor of the countess. indeed, it was evident from the very first that any attempt of the mistress's cabal to establish a rivalry between the two princesses must be out of the question. the countess de provence had no beauty, nor accomplishments, nor graciousness. horace walpole, who was meditating a visit to paris, where he had some diligent correspondents, was told that he would lose his senses when he saw the dauphiness, but would be disenchanted by her sister; and the saying, though that of a blind old lady, expressed the opinion of all frenchmen who could see.[ ] indeed, so obvious was the king's partiality for her that even madame du barri more than once sought to propitiate her by speaking in praise of her to mercy, and professing an eager desire to aid in procuring the gratification of any of her wishes. but he was too shrewd and too well-informed to place the least confidence in her sincerity, though he did not fear half as much harm to his pupil from her enmity as from the pretended affection of the aunts, who, from a mixture of folly and treachery, were unwearied in their attempts to keep her at a distance from the king, by inspiring her with a fear of him, for which his disposition, which had as much good-nature in it as was compatible with weakness, gave no ground whatever. indeed, the mischief they did was not confined to their influence over her, if mercy was correct in his belief that it was their disagreeable tempers and manners which at this time, and for the remainder of the reign, prevented louis from associating more with his family, which, had all been like the dauphiness, he would have preferred to do. it would probably have been in vain that mercy remonstrated against her submitting as she did to the aunts, had he not been at all times able to secure the co-operation of the empress, who placed the most implicit confidence in his judgment in all matters relating to the french court, and remonstrated with her daughter energetically on the want of proper self-respect which was implied in her surrendering her own judgment to that of the aunts, as if she were a slave or a child. and marie antoinette replied to her mother in a tone of such mingled submissiveness and affection as showed how sincere was her desire to remove every shade of annoyance from the empress's mind; and which may, perhaps, lead to a suspicion that even her subservience to the aunts proceeded in a great degree from her anxiety to win the good-will of every one, and from the kindness which could not endure to thwart those with whom she was much associated; though at the same time she complained to the ambassador that her mother wrote without sufficient knowledge of the difficulties with which she was surrounded. but she had too deep an affection and reverence for her mother to allow her words to fall to the ground; and gradually mercy began to see a difference in her conduct, and a greater inclination to assert her own independence, which was the feeling that above all others he thought most desirable to foster in her. another topic which we find constantly urged in the empress's letters would seem strangely inconsistent with marie antoinette's position, if we did not remember how very young she still was. for her mother writes to her in many respects as if she were still at school, and continually inculcates on her the necessity of profiting by de vermond's instructions, and applying herself to a course of solid reading in theology and history. and here, though her natural appetite for amusement interfered with her studies somewhat more than the empress, prompted by mercy, was willing to make allowance for, she profited much more willingly by her mother's advice, having indeed a natural inclination for the works of history and biography, and a decided distaste for novels and romances. she could not have had a better guide in such matters than de vermond, who was a man of extensive information and of a very correct taste; and under his guidance and with his assistance she studied sully's memoirs, madame de sévigné's letters, and any other books which he recommended to her, and which gave her an idea of the past history of the country as well as the masterpieces of the great french dramatists.[ ] the latter part of the year was marked by no very striking occurrences. marie antoinette had carried her point, and had begun to ride on horseback without either her figure or her complexion suffering from the exercise. on the contrary, she was admitted to have improved in beauty. she sent her measure to vienna, to show maria teresa how much she had grown, adding that her husband had grown as much, and had become stronger and more healthy-looking, and that she had made use of her saddle-horses to accompany him in his hunting and shooting excursions. like a true wife, she boasted to her mother of his skill as a shot: the very day that she wrote he had killed forty head of game. (she did not mention that a french sportsman's bag was not confined to the larger game, but that thrushes, blackbirds, and even, red-breasts, were admitted to swell the list.) and the increased facilities for companionship with him that her riding afforded increased his tenderness for her, so that she was happier than ever. except that as yet she saw no prospect of presenting the empress with a grandchild, she had hardly a wish ungratified. her taste for open-air exercise of this kind added also to the attachment felt for her by the lower classes, from the opportunities which arose out of it for showing her unvarying and considerate kindness. the contrast which her conduct afforded to that of previous princes, and indeed to that of all the present race except her husband, caused her actions of this sort to be estimated rather above their real importance. but how great was the impression which they did make on those who witnessed them may be seen in the unanimity with which the chroniclers of the time record her forbidding her postilions to drive over a field of corn which lay between her and the stag, because she would rather miss the sight of the chase than injure the farmer; and relate how, on one occasion, she gave up riding for a week or two, and sent her horses back from compiègne to versailles, because the wife of her head-groom was on the point of her confinement, and she wished her to have her husband near her at such a moment; and on another, when the horse of one of her attendants kicked her, and inflicted a severe bruise on her foot, she abstained from mentioning the hurt, lest it should bring the rider into disgrace by being attributed to his awkward management. not that the intrigues of the mistress and her adherents were at all diminished. they were even more active than ever since the marriage of the count de provence, who, in an underhanded way, instigated his wife to show countenance to madame du barri, and who allowed, if he did not encourage, the mistress and her friends to speak slightingly of the dauphiness in his presence. but, as marie antoinette felt firmer in her own position, she could afford to disregard the malice of these caballers more than she had felt that she could do at first, and even to defy them. on one occasion that the count de provence was imprudent enough to discuss some of his schemes with the door open while she was in the next room, she told him frankly that she had heard all that he said, and reproached him for his duplicity; and the dauphin coming in at the moment, she flew to him, throwing her arms round his neck, and telling him how she appreciated his honesty and candor, and how the more she compared him with the others, the more she saw his superiority. indeed, she soon began to find that the countess de provence was as little to be trusted as her husband; and the only member of the family whom she really liked, or of whom she had at all a favorable opinion, was the count d'artois, who, though not yet out of the school-room, "showed," as she told her mother, "sentiments of honesty which he could never have learned of his governor.[ ]" her indefatigable guardian, mercy, reported to the empress that she improved every day. he had learned to conceive a very high idea of her abilities; and he dilated with especial satisfaction on the powers of conversation which she was developing; on her wit and readiness in repartee; on her originality, as well as facility of expression; and on her perfect possession of the royal art of speaking to a whole company with such notice of each member of it, that each thought himself the person to whom her remarks were principally addressed. she possessed another accomplishment, also, of great value to princes--a tenacious recollection of faces and names. and she had made herself acquainted with the history of all the chief nobles, so as to be able to make graceful allusions to facts in their family annals of which they were proud, and, what was perhaps even more important, to avoid unpleasant or dangerous topics. the king himself was not insensible to the increase of attraction which her charms, both of person and manner, conferred on the royal palace. he was perfectly satisfied with the civility of her behavior to madame du barri, who admitted that she had nothing to complain of. and the only point in which even mercy, the most critical of judges, saw any room for alteration in her conduct was a certain remissness in bestowing her notice on men of real eminence, and on foreign visitors if they were not of the very highest rank; the remark as to the latter class being perhaps dictated by a somewhat excessive natural susceptibility, and by a laudable desire that any germans who returned from france to their own country should sing her praises in her native land. perhaps one of the strongest proofs of the regard in which, at this time, she was held by all parties in the court is found in the circumstance that the count de provence himself very soon found it impossible to continue his countenance to the intrigues against her which he had previously favored. he preferred ingratiating himself and the countess with her. marie antoinette was always placable, and from the first had been eager, as the head of the family, to place her sister-in-law at her ease; so that when the count evinced his desire to stand on a friendly footing with her, she showed every disposition to meet his wishes, and the spring and summer of exhibited to the courtiers, who were little accustomed to such scenes, a happy example of an intimate family union. marie antoinette had always been fond of music, and, as we have seen before, ever since her arrival in france, had devoted fixed hours to her music-master. and now, on almost every evening which was not otherwise preoccupied, she gave little concerts in her apartments to the royal family, their principal attendants, and a few of the chief nobles of the court; being herself occasionally one of the performers, and maintaining her character as a hostess by a combined affability and dignity which made all her guests pleased with themselves as with her, and set all imitation and all detraction alike at defiance. chapter vi. marie antoinette wishes to see paris.--intrigues of madame adelaide.-- characters of the dauphin and the count de provence.--grand review at fontainebleau.--marie antoinette ill the hunting field.--letter from her to the empress.--mischievous influence of the dauphin's aunts on her character.--letter of marie antoinette to the empress.--her affection for her old house.--the princes are recalled from exile.--lord stormont.-- great fire at the hôtel-dieu.--liberality and charity of marie antoinette.--she goes to the bal d'opéra.---her feelings about the partition of poland.--the king discusses politics with her, and thinks highly of her ability. it was a curious proof of the mischievousness as well as of the extent of the influence which madame adelaide and her sister were able to exert over the indolence and apathy of their father, that when marie antoinette had for more than two years been married and living within twelve miles of paris, she had never yet seen it by daylight, although the universal and natural expectation of the citizens had been that the royal pair would pay the city a state visit immediately after their marriage. her own wishes had not been consulted in the matter; for she was naturally anxious to see the beautiful city of which she had heard so much; and the delay which had taken place was equally at variance with madame de noailles' notions of propriety. but when the countess suggested a plan for visiting the capital _incognito_, proposing that the dauphiness should drive as far as the entrance to the suburbs, and then, having sent on her saddle-horses, should ride along the boulevards, madame adelaide, professing a desire to join the party, raised so many difficulties on the subject of the retinue which was to follow, and was so successful in creating jealousies between her own ladies and those in attendance on marie antoinette, that madame de noailles was forced to recommend the abandonment of the project. mercy was far more annoyed than his young mistress; he saw that the secret object of madame adelaide was to throw as many hindrance as possible in the way of the dauphiness winning popularity by appearing in public, while he also correctly judged hat it would be consistent both with propriety and with her interest, as the future queen of the country, rather to seek and even make opportunities for enabling the people to become acquainted with her. but to marie antoinette any disappointment of that kind was a very trifling matter. she had vexations which, as she told the embassador, she could not explain even to him; and they kept alive in her a feeling of homesickness which, in all persons of amiable and affectionate disposition, must require some, time to subdue. even when her brother, the archduke ferdinand, had quit vienna in the preceding autumn to enter on the honorable post of governor of lombardy, she had not congratulated, but condoled with him, "feeling by her own experience how much it costs to be separated from one's family." and what she had found in her own home did not as yet make up to her for all she had left behind. even her husband, though uniformly kind in language and behavior, was of a singularly cold and undemonstrative disposition; and it almost seemed as if the gayety which he exhibited at her balls were an effort so foreign to his nature that he indemnified himself by unpardonable boorishness on other occasions. the count de provence had but little more polish, and a far worse temper. squabbles often took place between the two brothers. though both married men, they were still in age only boys; and on more than one occasion they proceeded to acts of personal violence to each other in her presence. luckily no one else was by, and she was able to pacify and reconcile them; but she could hardly avoid feeling ashamed of having been called on to exert herself in such a cause, or contrasting the undignified boisterousness (to give it no worse name) of such scenes with the decorous self-respect which, with all their simplicity of character, had always governed the conduct of her own relations. not but that, in the opinion of mercy,[ ] the dauphin was endowed by nature with a more than ordinary share of good qualities. his faults were only such as proceeded from an excessively bad education. he had many most essential virtues. he was a young man of perfect integrity and straightforwardness; he was desirous to hear the truth; and it was never necessary to beat about the bush, or to have recourse to roundabout ways of bringing it before him. on the contrary, to speak to him with perfect frankness was the surest way both to win his esteem and to convince his reason. on one or two occasions in which he had consulted the embassador, mercy had expressed his opinions without the least reserve, and had perceived that the young prince had liked him better for his candor. the king still kept up the habit of spending the greater part of the autumn at compiègne and fontainebleau, visits which marie antoinette welcomed as a holiday from the etiquette of versailles. she wrote word to her mother that she was growing very fast, and taking asses' milk to keep up her strength; that that regimen, with constant exercise, was doing her great good; and that she had gained great praise for the excellence of her riding. on one occasion, when they were at fontainebleau, she especially delighted the officers of her husband's regiment of cuirassiers, when the king reviewed it in person. the dauphin himself took the command of his men, and put them through their evolutions while she rode by his side; he then presented each of the officers to her separately, and she distributed cockades to the whole body. the first she gave to the dauphin himself,[ ] who placed it in his hat. each officer, as he received his, did the same. and after the king had taken his departure, she, with her husband, remained on the field for an hour, conversing freely with the soldiers, and showing the greatest interest in all that concerned the regiment. throughout the day the young prince had exhibited a knowledge of the profession, and a readiness as well as an ease of manner, which had surprised all the spectators, and mercy had the satisfaction of hearing every one attribute the admirable appearance which he had made on so important an occasion (for it was the first time of his appearing in such a position) to the example and hints of the dauphiness. it was scarcely less of a public appearance, while it was one in which the king himself probably took more interest, when, a few days afterward, on the occasion of a grand stag-hunt in the forest, she joined in the chase in a hunting uniform of her own devising. the king was so delighted that he scarcely left her side, and extolled her taste in dress, as well as her skill in horsemanship, to all whom he honored with his conversation. but the empress was not quite so well pleased. her disapproval of horse exercise for young married women was as strong as ever. she had also interpreted some of her daughter's submissive replies to her admonitions on the subject as a promise that she would not ride, and she scolded her severely (no weaker word can express the asperity of her language) for neglect of her engagement, as well as for the risk of accidents which are incurred by those who follow the hounds, and some of which, as she heard, had befallen the dauphiness herself. her daughter's explanation was as frank as it deserved to be accounted sufficient, while her letter is interesting also, as showing her constant eagerness to exculpate herself from the charge of indifference to her german countrymen, an eagerness which proves how firmly she believed the notion to be fixed in the empress's mind. "i expect, my dear mamma, that people must have told you more about my rides than there really was to be told. i will tell you the exact truth. the king and the dauphin both like to see me on horseback. i only say this because all the world perceives it, and especially while we were absent from versailles they were delighted to see me in my riding-habit. but, though i own it was no great effort for me to conform myself to their desires, i can assure you that i never once let myself he carried away by too much eagerness to keep close to the hounds; and i hope that, in spite of all my giddiness, i shall always allow myself to be restrained by the experienced hunters who constantly accompany me, and i shall never thrust myself into the crowd. i should never have supposed any one could have reported to you as an accident what happened to me in fontainebleau. every now and then one finds in the forest large stepping stones; and as we were going on very gently my horse stumbled on one covered with sand, which he did not see; but i easily held him up, and we went on.... esterhazy was at our ball yesterday. every one was greatly pleased with his dignified manner and with his style of dancing. i ought to have spoken to him when he was presented to me, and my silence only proceeded from embarrassment, as i did not know him. it would be doing me great injustice to think that i have any feeling of indifference to my country; i have more reason than any one to feel, every day of my life, the value of the blood which flows in my veins, and it is only from prudence that at times i abstain from showing how proud i am of it.... i never neglect any mode of paying attention to the king, and of anticipating his wishes as far as i can. i hope that he is pleased with me. it is my duty to please him, my duty and also my glory, if by such means i can contribute to maintain the alliance of the two houses....[ ]" the empress was but half pacified about the riding and hunting. she owned that, if both the king and the dauphin approved of it, she had nothing more to say, though she still blamed the dauphiness for forgetting a promise which she understood to have been made to herself. at the same time, no language could be kinder than that in which she asked "whether her daughter could believe that she would wish to deprive her of so innocent a pleasure, she who would give her very life to procure her one, if she were not apprehensive of mischievous consequences;" her apprehensions being solely dictated by her anxiety to see her daughter bear an heir to the throne. but she would by no means admit her excuses for giving the hungarian prince a cold reception. "how," she said, "could she forget that her little antoinette, when not above twelve or thirteen years old, knew how to receive people publicly, and say something polite and gracious to every one, and how could she suppose that the same daughter, now that she was dauphiness, could feel embarrassment? embarrassment was a mere chimera." but the truth was that it was not a mere chimera. mercy had more than once deplored, as one among the mischievous effects of madame adelaide's constant interference and domineering influence, that it had bred in marie antoinette a timidity which was wholly foreign to her nature. and indeed it was hardly possible for one still so young to be aware that she was surrounded by unfriendly intriguers and spies, and to preserve that uniform presence of mind which her rank and position made so desirable for her, and which was in truth so natural to her that she at once recovered it the moment that her circumstances changed. and a probability of an early change was already apparent. during the last months of there was a general idea that the king's health and mental faculties were both giving away; and all the different parties about versailles began to show their sense of her approaching authority. it was remarked that both the ministers and the mistress had become very guarded in their language, and in their behavior to her and her husband. the count de provence took a curious way of showing his expectation of a change, by delivering her a long paper of counsels for her guidance, the chief object of which was to warn her against holding such frequent conversations with mercy. she apparently thought that the writer's desire was to remove the embassador from her confidence that he himself might occupy the vacant place, and she showed her opinion of the value of the advice by reading it to mercy and then putting it into the fire. some extracts from the first letter which she wrote to her mother in will serve to give us a fair idea of her feelings at this time, both from what it does and from what it does not mention. the intelligence which has reached her about her sister recalls to her mind her own anxiety to become a mother, her disappointment in this matter being, indeed, one of the most constant topics of lamentation in the letters of both daughter and mother, till it was removed by the birth of the princess royal. but that is her only vexation. in every other respect she seems perfectly contented with the course which affairs are taking; while we see how thoroughly unspoiled she is both in the warmth of the affection with which she speaks of her family and greets the little memorials of home which have been sent her; and still more in the continuance of her acts of charity, and in her design that her benevolence should be unknown. "i hear that the queen[ ] is expecting to be confined. i hope her child will be a son. when shall i be able to say the same of myself? they tell me, too, that the grand duke[ ] and his wife are going into spain. i greatly wish that they would conceive a dread of the sea-voyage, and take this place in their way. the journey would be a little longer; but they would be well received here, for my brother is very highly thought of; and, besides, i am somewhat jealous at being the only one of my family unacquainted with my sister-in-law. "the pictures of my little brothers which you have sent me have given me great pleasure. i have had them set in a ring, and wear it every day. those who have seen my brothers at vienna pronounce the pictures very like, and every one thinks them very good-looking. new-year's-day here is a day of a great crowd and grand ceremony. there was nothing either to blame or to praise in the degree in which i adopted my dear mamma's advice. the favorite came to pay her respects to me at a moment when my apartment was very full it was impossible for me to address myself to every one separately, so i spoke to the whole company in a body; and i have reason to believe that both the favorite and her sister, who is her principal adviser, were pleased; though i have also reason to believe that, two days afterward, m. d'aiguillon tried to persuade them that they had been ill-treated. as for the minister himself, he has never complained of me, and, indeed, i have always been careful to treat him equally well with the rest of his colleagues. "you will have learned, my dear mamma, that the duc d'orléans and the duc de chartres are returned from banishment. i am glad of it for the sake of peace, and for that of the tranquillity and comfort of the king. but, if she had been in the king's place, i do not think my dear mamma would have accepted the letter which they have dared to write, and which they have got printed in foreign newspapers.[ ] "i was glad to see m. de stormont.[ ] i asked him all the news about my dear family, and it was a pleasure to him to inform me. he seems to me to have overcome his prejudices, and every one here thinks him a man of thorough high-breeding. i have desired m. de mercy to invite him to one of my monday balls. we are going to have one at, madame de noailles'. they will last till ash-wednesday. they will begin an hour or two later than they used to, that we may not be so tired as we were last year when we came to lent in spite of the amusements of the carnival, i am always faithful to my poor harp, and they say that i make great progress with it. i sing, too, every week at the concert given by my sister of provence. although there are very few people there, they are very well amused; and my singing gives great pleasure to my two sisters.[ ] i also find time to read a little. i have begun the 'history of england' by mr. hume. it seems to me very interesting, though it is necessary to recollect that it is a protestant who has written it. "all the newspapers have spoken of the terrible fire at the hotel-dieu.[ ] they were obliged to remove the patients into the cathedral and the archbishop's palace. there are generally from five to six thousand patients in the hospital. in spite of all the exertions that were made, it was impossible to prevent the destruction of a great part of the building; and, though it is now a fortnight since the accident happened, the tire is still smoldering in the cellars. the archbishop has enjoined a collection to be made for the sufferers, and i have sent him a thousand crowns. i said nothing of my having done so to any one, and the compliments which they have paid me on it have been embarrassing to me; but they have said it was right to let it be known that i had sent this money, for the sake of the example." she was on this, as on many other occasions, one of those who "do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame." one of her sayings, with which she more than once repressed the panegyrics of those who, as it seemed to her, extolled her benevolence too loudly, was that it was not worth while to say a great deal about giving a little assistance; and, on this occasion, so secret had she intended to keep her benevolence that she had not mentioned it to de vermond, or even to mercy. but she judged rightly that the empress would enter into the feelings which had prompted both the act and also the silence; and she was amply rewarded by her mother's praise. "i have been enchanted," the empress wrote, in instant reply, "with the thousand crowns that you have sent to the hôtel-dieu, and you speak very properly in saying that you have been vexed at people speaking to you about it. such actions ought to be known to god alone, and i am certain that you acted in that spirit. still, those who published your act had good reasons for what they did, as you say yourself, thinking of the influence of your example. my dear little girl, we owe this example to the world, and to set such is one of the most essential and most delicate duties of our condition. the more frequently you can perform acts of benevolence and generosity without crippling your means too much, the better; and what would be ostentation and prodigality in another is becoming and necessary for those of our rank. we have no other resources but those of conferring benefits and showing kindness; and this is even more the case with a dauphiness or a queen consort, which i myself have not been." there could hardly be a better specimen of the principles on which the empress herself had governed her extensive dominions, or of the value of her example and instructions to her daughter, than that which is contained in these few lines; but it is not always that such lessons are so closely followed as they were by the virtuous and beneficent dauphiness. the winter passed on cheerfully; the ordinary amusements of the palace being varied by her going with the dauphin and the count and countess of provence to one of the public masked balls of the opera-house, a diversion which, considering the unavoidably mixed character of the company, it is hard to avoid thinking somewhat unsuited to so august a party, but one which had been too frequently countenanced by different members of the royal family for several years for such a visit to cause remarks, though the masks of the princes and princesses could not long preserve their secret another favorite amusement of the court at this time was the representation of proverbs, in which marie antoinette acted with the little elizabeth; and we have a special account of one such performance, which was given in her honor by one of her ladies, having been originally devised for the day of saint anthony, as her saint's day,[ ] though it was postponed on account of her being confined to her room with a cold. the proverb was, "better late than never;" and, as the most acceptable compliment to the dauphiness, the managers introduced a number of characters attired in a diversity of costumes, intended to represent the natives of all the countries ruled over by the empress-queen, each of whom made a speech, in which the praises of maria teresa and marie antoinette were happily combined. the king got better, and intrigues of all kinds were revived; but, aided by mercy's counsels, and supported by the dauphin's unalterable affection, marie antoinette disconcerted all that were aimed at her by the uniform prudence of her conduct. happily for her, with all his defects, her husband was still one in whom she could feel perfect confidence. as she told mercy, under any conceivable circumstances she was sure of his views and intentions being always right; the only difficulty was to engage him in a sufficiently decided course of action, which his timid and sluggish disposition rendered almost painful to him. and just at this moment she was more anxious than usual to inspire him with her own feelings and spirit, because she could not avoid fearing that the discontent with which the few people in france who deserved the name of statesmen regarded the recent partition of poland might create a coolness between france and austria, calculated to endanger the alliance, the continuance of which was so indispensable to her happiness, and, as she was firmly convinced, to the welfare of both countries. she conversed more than once with mercy on the subject, and her reflections, both on the partition, and on the degree in which the mutual interest of the two nations was concerned in their remaining united, gave him a very good idea of her political capacity. he also reported to his imperial mistress that he had found out that king louis had conceived the same opinion of her, and had begun to discuss affairs of importance with her. he trusted that his majesty would get a habit of doing so; since, if his life should be spared, she would thus in time become able to exert a very useful influence over him; and as, at all events, "it was absolutely certain that some day or other she would govern the kingdom, it was of the very greatest consequence to the success of the great and brilliant career which she had before her that she should previously accustom herself to regard affairs with such principles and views as were suitable to the position which she must occupy." chapter vii. marie antoinette is anxious for the maintenance of the alliance between france and austria.--she, with the dauphin, makes a state entry into paris.--the "dames de la halle."--she praises the courtesy of the dauphin.--her delight at the enthusiasm of the citizens.--she, with the dauphin, goes to the theatre, and to the fair of st. ovide, and to st. cloud.--is enthusiastically received everywhere.--she learns to drive.-- she makes some relaxations in etiquette.--marriage of the comte d'artois. --the king's health grows bad.--visit of marshal lacy to versailles.--the king catches the small-pox.--madame du barri quits versailles.--the king dies. politics were, indeed, taking such a hold over marie antoinette that they begin to furnish some topics for her letters to her mother, one of which shows that she had already formed that opinion of french fickleness which she had afterward too abundant cause to maintain. "i do hope," she says, "that the good intelligence between our two nations will last. one good thing in this country is, that if ill-natured feelings are quick to arise, they disappear with equal rapidity. the king of prussia is innately a bad neighbor, but the english will also always be bad neighbors to france, and the sea has never prevented them from doing her great mischief." we might, firstly, demur to any actions of our statesmen being classed with the treacherous aggressions of frederick of prussia, nor did many years of her husband's reign pass over before the greatest of english ministers proposed and concluded a treaty between the two countries, which he fondly and wisely hoped would lay the foundations of a better understanding, if not of a lasting peace, between the two countries. but even before that treaty was framed, and before pitt's voice had become predominant in the state, marie antoinette's complaint that the sea had never disarmed us of power to injure france had received the strongest exemplification that as yet the history of the two nations afforded in rodney's great victory. however, she soon turns to more agreeable subject, and proceeds to speak of a pleasure to which she was looking forward, and which, as we have already seen, had been unaccountably deferred till this time, in defiance of all propriety and of all precedent. "i hope that the dauphin and i shall make our entry into paris next month, which will be a great delight to me. i do not venture to speak of it yet, though i have the king's promise: it would not be the first time that they had made him change his mind." the most elaborate exposure of the cabals and intrigues which ever since her marriage had been persistently directed against marie antoinette could not paint them so forcibly as the simple fact that three years had now elapsed since her marriage; and that, though the state entrance of the heir of the crown and his bride into the metropolis of the kingdom ought to have been a prominent part of the marriage festivities, it had never yet taken place. nor, though louis had at last given his formal promise that it should be no longer delayed, did the young pair even yet feel sure that an influence superior to theirs might not induce him to recall it. however, at last the intrigues were baffled, and, on the th of june, the visit, which had been expected by the parisians with an eagerness exceeding that of the dauphiness herself, was made. it was in every respect successful; and it is due to marie antoinette to let the outline of the proceeding be described by herself. "versailles, june th. "my dearest mother,--i absolutely blush for your kindness to me. the day before yesterday mercy sent me your precious letter, and yesterday i received a second. that is indeed passing one's fête day happily. on tuesday i had a fête which i shall never forget all my life. we made our entrance into paris. as for honors, we received all that we could possibly imagine; but they, though very well in their way, were not what touched me most. what was really affecting was the tenderness and earnestness of the poor people, who, in spite of the taxes with which they are overwhelmed, were transported with joy at seeing us. when we went to walk in the tuileries, there was so vast a crowd that we were three-quarters of an hour without being able to move either forward or backward. the dauphin and i gave repeated orders to the guards not to beat any one, which had a very good effect. such excellent order was kept the whole day that, in spite of the enormous crowd which followed us everywhere, not a person was hurt. when we returned from our walk we went up to an open terrace, and staid there half an hour. i can not describe to you, my dear mamma, the transports of joy and affection which every one exhibited toward us. before we withdrew we kissed our hands to the people, which gave them great pleasure. what a happy, thing it is for persons in our rank to gain the love of a whole nation so cheaply! yet there is nothing so precious; i felt it thoroughly, and shall never forget it. "another circumstance which gave great pleasure on that glorious day was the behavior of the dauphin. he made admirable replies to every address, and remarked every thing that was done in his honor, and especially the earnestness and delight of the people, to whom he showed great kindness. of all the copies of verses which were given me on this occasion, these are the prettiest which i inclose to you.[ ] tomorrow we are going to paris to the opera, there is great anxiety for us to do so; and i believe that we shall go on two other days also to visit the french and the italian comedy. i feel more and more, every day of my life, how much my dear mamma has done for my establishment. i was the youngest of all her daughters, and she has treated me as if i were the eldest; so that my whole soul is filled with the most tender gratitude. "the king has had the kindness to procure the release of three hundred and twenty prisoners, for debts due to nurses who have brought up their children. their release took place two days after our entrance. i wished to attend divine service on my fête day; but the evening before, my sister, the countess of provence, had a party for me, a proverb with songs and fire-works, and this distraction forced me to put off going to church till the next day. "i am very glad to hear that you have such good hope of the continuance of peace. while the intriguers of this country are devouring one another, they will not harass their neighbors nor their allies." she does not enter into details; the pomp and ceremony of their reception by nobles and magistrates had been in her eyes as nothing in comparison with the cordial welcome given to them by the poorer citizens. while they, on their part, must have been equally gratified at perceiving the sincere pleasure with which she and the dauphin accepted their salutations; a feeling how different from that which had animated any of their princes for many years, we may judge from the order given to the guards to forbear beating the crowd which gathered round them, as no doubt, without such an order, the soldiers would have thought it usual and natural to do. not that the proceedings of the day had not been magnificent and imposing enough to attract the admiration of any who thought less of the hearts of the citizens than of pomp and splendor. the royal train, conveyed from versailles in six state carriages, was received at the city gate by the governor, the marshal duc de brissac, accompanied by the head of the police, the provost of the merchants, and all the other municipal authorities. the marshal himself was the heir of the comte de brissac who, nearly two centuries before, being also governor of paris, had tendered to the victorious henry iv. the submission of the city. but henry was as yet only the chief of a party, not the accepted sovereign of the whole nation; and the enthusiasm with which half the citizens rained their shouts of exultation in his honor had its drawback in the sullen silence of the other half, who regarded the great bourbon as their conqueror rather than their king, and his triumphant entrance as their defeat and humiliation. to-day all the citizens were but one party. as but one voice was heard, so but one heart gave utterance to it. the joy was as unanimous as it was loud. from the city gates the royal party passed on to the great national cathedral of notre dame, and from thence to the church dedicated by clovis, the first christian king, to st. geneviève, whose recent restoration was the most creditable work of the present reign, and which subsequently, under the new name of the pantheon, was destined to become the resting-place of many of the worthies whose memory the nation cherishes with enduring pride. at last they reached the tuileries, their progress having been arrested at different points by deputations of all kinds with loyal and congratulatory addresses; at the hôtel-dieu by the prioress with a company of nuns; on the quai conti by the provost of the mint with his officers; before the college bearing the name of its founder, louis le grand, the rector of the university, at the head of his students, greeted them in a latin speech, at the close of which he secured the re-doubling of the acclamations of the pupils by promising them a holiday. not that the cheers required any increase. the citizens in their ecstasy did not even think their voices sufficient. as the royal couple moved slowly through the gardens of the tuileries arm-in-arm, every hand was employed in clapping, hats were thrown up, and every token of joy which enthusiasm ever devised was displayed to the equally delighted visitors. "good heavens, what a crowd!" said marie antoinette to de brissac, who had some difficulty in keeping his place at her side. "madame," said the old warrior, as courtly as he was valiant, "if i may say so without offending my lord the dauphin, they are all so many lovers." when they had made the circuit of the garden and returned to the palace, the most curious part of the day's ceremonies awaited them. a banqueting-table was arranged for six hundred guests, and those guests were not the nobles of the nation, nor the clergy, nor the must renowned warriors, nor the municipal officers, but the fish-women of the city market. a custom so old that its origin can not be traced had established the right of these dames to bear an especial part in such festivities. in the course of the morning they had made their future queen free of their market, with an offering of fruits and flowers. and now, as, according to a singular usage of the court, no male subject was ever allowed to sit at table with a queen or dauphiness of france, the dinner party over which the youthful pair, sitting side by side, presided, consisted wholly of these dames whose profession is not generally considered as imparting any great refinement to the manners, and who, before the close of the entertainment, showed, in more cases than one, that they had imported some of the notions and fashions of their more ordinary places of resort into the royal palace. it was characteristic of marie antoinette that, in her description of the day to her mother, she had dwelt with special emphasis on the gracious deportment of her husband. it was equally natural for mercy to assure the empress[ ] that it had been the grace and elegance of the dauphiness herself which had attracted general admiration, and that it was to her example and instruction that every one attributed the courteous demeanor which, as he did not deny, the young prince had unquestionably exhibited. it was she whom the king, as he affirmed, had complimented on the result of the day; a success which she had gracefully attributed to himself, saying that he must be greatly beloved by the parisians to induce them to give his children so splendid a reception[ ]. to whomsoever it was owing, the embassador certainly did not exaggerate the opinion of the world around him when he affirmed that, in the memory of man, no one recollected any ceremony which had made so great a sensation, and had been attended by so complete a success. and it was followed up, as she expected, by several visits to the different parisian theatres, which, in compliance with the king's express direction, were made in all the state which would have been observed had he himself been present. salutes were fired from the bastile and the hotel des invalides; companies of royal guards lined the vestibule and the passage of the theatre; sentinels stood even on the stage; but, fond as the french are of martial finery and parade, the spectators paid little attention to the soldiers, or even to the actors. all eyes were fixed on the dauphiness alone. at mercy's suggestion, the dauphin and she had previously obtained the king's permission to allow the violation of the rule which forbade any clapping of hands in the presence of royalty. this relaxation of etiquette was hailed as a great condescension by the play-goers, and throughout the evening of their appearance at the italian comedy the spectators had already made abundant use of their new privilege, when the enthusiasm was brought to a height by a chorus which ended with the loyal burden of "vive le roi!" clerval, the performer of the principal part, added, "et ses chers enfants;" and the compliment was re-echoed from every part of the house with continued clapping and cheering, till it reminded marie antoinette of a somewhat similar scene which, as a child, she had witnessed in the theatre of vienna,[ ] when the empress, from her box, had announced to the audience that a son (the heir to the empire) had just been born to the archduke leopold. the ice being, thus, as it were, once broken, the dauphin and dauphiness took many opportunities of appearing in public during the following months, visiting the great paris fair of st. ovide, as it was called, walking up and down the alleys, and making purchases at the stalls the whole place louis xv., to which the fair had recently been removed, being illuminated, and the crowd greeting them with repeated and enthusiastic cheers. they also went in state to the exhibition of pictures at the louvre, and drove to st. cloud to walk about the park attached to that palace, which was one of the most favorite places of resort for the parisians on the fine summer evenings; so that, while the court was at versailles, scarcely a week elapsed without her giving them an opportunity of seeing her, in which it was evident that she fully shared their pleasure. to be loved was with her a necessity of her very nature; and, as she was constantly referring with pride to the attachment felt by the austrians for her mother, she fixed her own chief wishes on inspiring with a similar feeling those who were to become her and her husband's subjects. she was, at least for the time, rewarded as she desired. this is, indeed, said they, the best of innovations, the best of revolutions,[ ] to see the princes mingling with the people, and interesting themselves in their amusements. this was really to unite all classes; to attach the country to the palace and the palace to the country; and it was to the dauphiness that the credit of this new state of things was universally attributed. she was looking forward to a greater pleasure in a visit from her. brother, the emperor, which the empress hoped might be attended with consequences more important than those of passing pleasure; since she trusted to his influence, and, if opportunity should occur, to his remonstrances, to induce the dauphin to break through the unaccountable coldness with which, in some respects, he still treated his beautiful wife. but joseph was forced to postpone his visit, and the fulfillment of the empress's anticipations was also postponed for some years. however, marie antoinette never allowed disappointments to dwell in her mind longer than she could help. she rather strove to dispel the recollection of them by such amusements as were within her reach. she learned to drive, and found great diversion in being her own charioteer through the glades of the forest. she began to make further inroads in the court etiquette, giving balls in which she broke through the custom which prescribed that special places should be marked out for the royal family, and directed that the princes and princesses should sit with the rest of the company during the intervals between the dances; an arrangement which enabled her to talk to every one, and which gained her general good-will from the graciousness of her manner. she did not greatly trouble herself at the jealousy of her popularity openly displayed by her aunts and her sister-in-law, who could not bear to hear her called "la bellissima.[ ]" nor was her influence weakened when, in november, a fresh princess, the sister of madame de provence, arrived from italy, to be married to the comte d'artois, for the bride was even less attractive than her sister. according to mercy, she was pale and thin, had a long nose and a wide mouth, danced badly, and was very awkward in manner. so that louis himself, though usually very punctilious in his courtesies to those in her position, could not forbear showing how little he admired her. an incident occurred on the evening of the marriage which is worth remarking, from the change which subsequently took place in the taste of the dauphiness, who a few years afterward provoked unfavorable comments by the ardor with which she surrendered herself to the excitement of the gaming-table. as a matter of course, a grand party was invited to the palace to celebrate the event of the morning; and, as an invariable part of such entertainments, a table was set out for the then fashionable game of lansquenet, at which the king himself played, with the royal family and all the principal persons of the court. in the course of the evening marie antoinette won more than seven hundred pounds; but she was rather embarrassed than gratified by her good fortune. she had tried to lose the money back; but, as she had been unable to succeed, the next morning she sent the greater part of it to the curates of versailles to be distributed among the poor, and gave the rest to some of her own attendants who seemed to her to need it, being determined, as she said, to keep none of it for herself. the winter revived the apprehensions concerning the king's health; he was manifestly sinking into the grave, while "that which should accompany old age, as love, obedience, honor, troops of friends, he might not look to have." his very mistress began with great zeal than ever, though with no better taste, to seek to conciliate the dauphiness. she tried to purchase her good-will by a bribe. she was aware that the princess greatly admired diamonds, and, learning that a jeweler of paris had a pair of ear-rings of a size and brilliancy so extraordinary that the price which he asked for them was , francs, she persuaded the comte de noailles to carry them to marie antoinette to show them, with a message from herself that if the dauphiness liked to keep them, she would induce the king to make her a present of them.[ ] whether marie antoinette admired them or not, she had far too proper a sense of dignity to allow herself to be entrapped into the acceptance of an obligation by one whom she so deservedly despised. she replied coldly that she had jewels enough, and did not desire to increase the number. but the overture thus made by madame du barri could not be kept secret, and more than one of her partisans followed the hint afforded by her example, and showed a desire to make their peace with their future queen. the duc d'aiguillon himself was among the foremost of her courtiers, and entreated the mediation of mercy in his favor, making the ambassador his messenger to assure her that "he should impose it upon himself as a law to comply with her wishes in every thing;" and only desired that he might be allowed to know which of the requests that she might make were dictated by her own judgment, and which merely proceeded from her indulgent favor to the importunities of others. for marie antoinette had of late often broken through the rule which, in compliance with her mother's advice, she had at first laid down for herself, to abstain from recommending persons for preferment; and had pressed many a petition on the minister's notice as to which it was self-evident that she could know nothing of their merits, nor feel any personal interest in their success. in the spring of she had an opportunity of convincing her mother that any imputation of neglect of her countrymen when visiting the court was unfounded, by the marked honors which she paid to marshal lacy, one of the most honored veterans of the seven years' war. knowing how highly he was esteemed by her mother, she took care to be informed beforehand of the day of his arrival. she gave orders that he should find invitations to her parties awaiting him. she made arrangements to give him a private audience even before he saw the king, where her reception of him showed how deep and ineffaceable was her love for her family and her old home, even while fairly recognizing the fact that her first duties and her first affections now belonged to france. the old warrior avowed that he had been greatly moved by the touching affection with which she spoke to him of her love and veneration for her mother; and by the tears which he saw in her eyes when she said that the one thing wanting to her happiness was the hope of being allowed one day to see that dear mother once more. she showed him some of the last presents which the empress had sent her, and dwelt with fond minuteness of observation on some views of schönbrunn and other spots in the neighborhood of vienna which were endeared to her by her early recollections. the return of mild weather seemed to be bringing with it same return of strength to the king, when, on the th of april, he was suddenly seized with illness, which was presently pronounced by the physicians to be the small-pox. all was consternation at versailles, for it was soon perceived to be a severe if not a malignant attack; and at the same time all was perplexity. thirty years before, when louis had been supposed to be on his deathbed at metz, bishops, peers, and ministers had found in the loss of royal favor reason to repent the precipitation with which they had insisted on the withdrawal of madame de châteauroux; and now, should he again recover, it was likely that madame du barri would he equally resentful, and that the confessor who should make her removal a necessary condition of his administering the sacraments of the church to the king, and the courtiers who should support or act upon their requisition, would surely find reason to repent it. accordingly, for the first few days of louis's illness, she remained at versailles; but he grew visibly worse. his daughters, who, though they had not had the disease themselves, tended his sick-bed with the most devoted and fearless affection, consulted the physicians, who declared it dangerous to admit of any further delay in the ministration of the rites of the church. he himself gave his sanction to the ladies' departure, and then the royal confessor administered the sacraments, and drew up a declaration to be published in the royal name, that, "though he owed no account of his conduct to any but god alone, he nevertheless declared that he repented having given rise to scandal among his subjects, and only desired to live for the support of religion and the welfare of his people." even this avowal the cardinal de roche-aymer promised madame du barri to suppress; but the royal confessor, the abbé mandoux, overruled him, and compelled its publication, in spite of the duc de richelieu, the chief confidant of the mistress, and long the chief minister and promoter of the king's debaucheries, who insulted the cardinal with the grossest abuse for his breach of promise.[ ] it may be doubted whether such a compromise with profligacy, and such a profanation of the most solemn rites of the church by its ministers, were not the greatest scandal of all; but it was in too complete harmony with their conduct throughout the whole of the reign. and, as it was impossible but that religion itself should suffer in the estimation of worldly men from such an open disregard of all but its mere outward forms, it can hardly be denied that the french cardinals and prelates about the court had almost as great a share in bringing about that general feeling of contempt for all religion which led to that formal disavowal of god himself which was witnessed twenty years later, as the scoffers who were now uniting against it, or the professed infidels who then, renounced it. such as it was, the king's act of penitence was not performed too soon. at the end of the first week of may all prospect of his recovery vanished. mortification set in, and on the th of may he died. chapter viii. the court leaves versailles for la muette.--feelings of the new sovereigns.--madame du barri is sent to a convent.--marie antoinette writes to maria teresa.--the good intentions of the new sovereigns.-- madame adelaide has the small-pox.--anxieties of maria teresa.-- mischievous influence of the aunts.--position and influence of the count de mercy.--louis consults the queen on matters of policy.--her prudence.-- she begins to purify the court, and to relax the rules of etiquette.--her care of her pages.--the king and the renounce the gifts of le joyeux avénement and la ceinture de la reine.---she procures the pardon of the due de choiseul. throughout the morning of the th of may there was great confusion and agitation at versailles. the physicians declared that the king could not live out the day; and the dauphin had decided on removing his household to the smaller palace of la muette at choisy, to spend in that comparative retirement the first week or two after his grandfather's death, during which it would hardly be decorous for the royal family to be seen in public. but, as it was not thought seemly to appear to anticipate the event by quitting versailles while louis was still alive, a lighted candle was placed in the window of the sick-room, which, the moment that the king had expired, was to be extinguished, as a signal to the equerries to prepare the carriages. the dauphin and dauphiness were in an adjoining room awaiting the intelligence, when, at about three o'clock in the afternoon, a sudden trampling of feet was heard, and madame de noailles entered the apartment to entreat them to advance into the saloon to receive the homage of the princes and principal officers of the court, who were waiting to pay their respects to their new sovereigns. they came forward arm-in-arm; and in tears, in which sincere sorrow was mingled with not unnatural nervousness, received the salutations of the courtiers, and immediately afterward left versailles with all the family. louis xvi. and marie antoinette had now reached the pinnacle of human greatness, as sovereigns of one of the noblest empires in the world. yet the first feelings which their elevation had excited in both, and especially in the queen, were rather those of dismay and perplexity than of exultation. in the preceding autumn, mercy[ ] had remarked to the empress, with surprise and vexation, that, though the dauphiness exhibited singular readiness and acuteness in comprehending political questions, she was very unwilling, and, as it seemed to him, afraid of dealing with them, and that she shrunk from the thought that the day would come when she must possess power and authority. and the continuance of this feeling is visible in her first letter to her mother, some passages of which show a sobriety of mind under such a change of circumstances, which, almost as much as the benevolence which the letter also displays, augured well for the happiness of the people over whom she was to reign, so far at least as that happiness depended on the virtues of the sovereign. "choisy, may th. "my dearest mother,--mercy will have informed you of the circumstances of our misfortune. happily his cruel disease left the king in possession of his senses till the last moment, and his end was very edifying. the new king seems to have the affection of his people. two days before the death of his grandfather, he sent two hundred thousand[ ] francs to the poor, which has produced a great effect. since he has been here, he has been working unceasingly, answering with his own hand the letters of the ministers, whom as yet he can not see, and many others likewise. one thing is certain, and that is that he has a taste for economy, and the greatest desire possible to make his people happy. in every thing he has as great a desire to be rightly instructed as he has need to be. i trust that god will bless his good intentions. "the public expected great changes in a moment. the king has limited himself to sending away the creature[ ] to a convent, and to driving from the court every thing which is connected with that scandal. the king even owed this example to the people of versailles, who, at the very moment of his grandfather's death, insulted madame do mazarin,[ ] one of the humblest servants of the favorite. i am earnestly entreated to exhort the king to mercy toward a number of corrupt souls who had done much mischief for many years; and i am strongly inclined to comply with the request. * * * * * "a messenger has just arrived to forbid my going to see my aunt adelaide, who has a great deal of fever. they are afraid of the small-pox for her. i am horrified, and can not bring myself to think of the consequences. it is a terrible thing for her to pay so immediately for the sacrifice which she made. "i am very glad that marshal lacy was pleased with me. i confess, my dear mamma, that i was greatly affected when he took leave of me, at thinking how rarely it happens to me to see any of my countrymen, and especially of those who have the happiness to approach you. a little time back i saw madame de marmier, which was a great pleasure to me, since i know how highly you value her. "the king has allowed me myself to name the ladies who are to have places in my household, now that i am queen; and i have had the satisfaction of giving the lorrainers[ ] a proof of my regard, in taking for my chief almoner the abbé de sabran, a man of excellent character, of noble birth, and already named for the bishopric about to be established at nancy. "although it pleased god that i should be born in the rank which i this day occupy, still i can not forbear admiring the bounty of providence in choosing me, the youngest of your daughters, for the noblest kingdom in europe. i feel more than ever what i owe to the tenderness of my august mother, who expended such pains and labor in procuring for me this splendid establishment. i have never so greatly longed to throw myself at her feet, to embrace her, to lay open my whole soul to her, and to show her how entirely it is filled with respect and tenderness and gratitude." it is impossible to read these glowing words, so full of the joy and hope of youth, and breathing a confidence of happiness apparently so well-founded, since it was built on a resolution to use the power placed in the writer's hands for the welfare of the people over whom it was to be exerted, without reflecting how painful a contrast to the hopes now expressed is presented by the reality of the destiny in store for her and her husband. at the moment he was as little disturbed by forebodings of evil as his queen, and willingly yielded to her request to add a few lines with his own hand to the empress, that, on so momentous an occasion as his accession she might not be left to gather his feelings solely from her report of them. the postscript of the letter is accordingly their joint performance, he evidently desiring to gratify maria teresa by praise of her daughter; and she, while pleased at his acquiescence, not concealing her amusement at the clumsiness, or, to say the least, the rusticity, of some of his expressions. p.s. in the king's hand: "i am very glad, my dear mamma, to find an occasion to prove to you my tenderness and my attachment. i should be very glad to have your advice at this time, which is so embarrassing. i should be enchanted to be able to please you, and to show by my conduct all my attachment and the gratitude which i feel for your kindness in giving me your daughter, with whom i am as well satisfied as possible." p.s. by the queen: "the king would not let my letter go without adding a word from himself. i am quite aware that it would not have been too much for him to do to write an entire letter. but i must beg my dear mamma to excuse him, in consideration of the mass of business with which he is occupied, and also a little on account of his timidity and the embarrassed manner which is natural to him. you see, my dear mamma, by his compliment at the end, that, though he has great affection for me, he does not spoil me by insipid flatteries." it is almost equally remarkable that the empress herself, though thus to see her favorite daughter on the throne of france had been her most ardent wish, was far from regarding the consummation of her desires with unalloyed pleasure. she was so completely a politician above all things, that, though she was well aware that louis xv. had been one of the most infamous kings that ever dishonored a throne, she looked upon him solely as an ally; described him to her daughter as "that good and tender prince;" declared that she should never cease to regret him, and that she would wear mourning for him all the rest of her life. at the same time, she did not conceal from herself that he had left his kingdom in a most deplorable condition. she had, as she declared, herself experienced how heavy is the burden of an empire; she reflected how young her daughter was; and expressed a sad fear that "her days of happiness were over." "she was now in a position in which there was no half-way between complete greatness and great misery.[ ]" the best hopes for her future the empress saw in the character for purity and kindness which marie antoinette had already established and in the esteem and affection of the people which those qualities had won for her; and she entreated her, taking it for granted that in advising her she was advising the king also, to be prudent and cautious, to avoid making any sudden changes, and above all things to maintain the alliance between the two countries, and to listen to the experienced and faithful advice of her embassador. maria teresa was mistaken when she thought that her daughter would at all times be able to lead her husband. though slow in action, louis was not deficient in perception. on many subjects he had views of his own, which, in some cases, were clear and sound enough, and to which, even when they were not so, he adhered with considerable tenacity. at the same time, though he had but little affection for his aunts, and still less respect for their judgment, he had been so long accustomed to listen to their advice while he had no authority, that he could not as yet wholly shake off all feeling of deference for it, and their influence was exerted with most mischievous effect in the first week of his reign. indeed, it had been exhibited even before the reign began, though the form which it took greatly interfered with the personal comfort of the young sovereigns. it had been settled that the king and queen should go by themselves to la muette, and that the rest of the royal family should remove to the trianon. but madame adelaide had no inclination for a plan which would separate her from her nephew at a moment when so many matters of importance would come before her for decision. at the last moment she prevailed upon him to consent that the whole family should go to choisy together; and the very next day she induced him to dismiss his ministers, and to place the comte de maurepas at the head of the government, though louis himself had selected another-statesman for the office, m. machault, who, as finance minister twenty-five years before, had shown both ability and integrity, and who had enjoyed the confidence of the king's father, and though maurepas had never been supposed to be either able or honest, and might well have been regarded as superannuated, since he had begun his official life under louis xiv. with the change in the position of marie antoinette, mercy's position had also been changed, and likewise his view of the line of conduct which it was desirable for her to adopt. hitherto he had been the counselor of a princess who, without wary walking, was liable every moment to be overwhelmed by the intrigues with which she was surrounded; and his chief object had been to enable his royal pupil to escape the snares and dangers which encompassed her. now, as far as his duties could be determined by the wish of the empress, in which her daughter fully acquiesced, he was elevated to the post of confidential adviser to a great queen, who, in his opinion, was inevitably destined to be the real ruler of the kingdom. it was a strange position for so experienced a politician as the empress to desire for him, and for so prudent a statesman to accept. yet, anomalous as it was, and dangerous as it would usually be for a foreign embassador to interfere in the internal politics of the kingdom to which he is sent, his correspondence bears ample testimony to both his sagacity and his disinterestedness. and it would have been well for both his royal pupil and her adopted country had his advice more frequently and more steadily guided the course of both. on one point of primary importance his advice to the queen differed from that which he had been wont to give to the dauphiness. while dauphiness, he had urged her to abstain from any interference in public affairs. he now, on the contrary, desired to see her take an active part in them, explaining to the empress that the reason which actuated him was the character of the new king, who, as he regarded him, was never likely to exert the authority which belonged to him with independence or steadiness, but was certain to be led by some one or other, while it would in the highest degree endanger the maintenance of the alliance between france and austria (which, coinciding with the judgment of his imperial mistress, he regarded as the most important of all political objects), and be most injurious to the welfare of france and to her own personal comfort, if that leader should be any one but the queen.[ ] but, as we have seen, he could not prevent louis from yielding at times to other influences. taking the same view of the situation as the empress, if indeed maria teresa had not adopted it from him, he had urged marie antoinette to prevent any change in the ministry being made at first, in which it is highly probable that she did not coincide with him, though equally likely that maurepas was not the minister whom she would have preferred. another piece of advice which he gave was, however, taken, and with the happiest effect the poorer classes in paris and its neighborhood were suffering from a scarcity which almost amounted to a famine; and, before the death of louis xv., mercy had recommended that the first measure of the new reign should be one which should lower the price of bread. that counsel was too entirely in harmony with the active benevolence of the new monarch to be neglected. the necessary edicts were issued. in twenty-four hours the price of the loaf was reduced by two-fifths, and mercy had the satisfaction of hearing the relief generally attributed to the influence of the new queen. it can not he supposed that the king knew either the opinion which the empress and the embassador had formed of his capacity and disposition, or the advice which they had consequently given to the queen. but he very early began to show that he himself also appreciated his wife's quickness of intelligence and correctness of judgment. maria teresa, in pressing on her daughter her opinion of the general character of the policy which the interest of france required, explained her view of her daughter's position to be that she was "the friend and confidante of the king.[ ]" and june had hardly arrived before he began to discuss all his plans and difficulties with her; while she spared his pride and won his further confidence by avoiding all appearances of pressing for it, as if her advice were necessary to him, but at the same time showing with what satisfaction she received it. to those who solicited her intervention, her language was most carefully guarded. "she did not," she said, "interfere in any affair of state; she only coincided in all the wishes and intentions of the king." there were, however, matters which were strictly and exclusively within her own province; and in them she at once began to exert her authority most beneficially. her first desire was to purify the court where licentiousness in either sex had long been the surest road to royal favor. she began by making a regulation, that she would receive no lady who was separated from her husband; and she abolished a senseless and inexplicable rule of etiquette which had hitherto prohibited the queen and princesses from dining or supping in company with their husbands.[ ] such an exclusion from the king's table of those who were its most natural and becoming ornaments had notoriously facilitated and augmented the disorders of the last reign; and it was obvious that its maintenance must at least have a tendency to lead to a repetition of the old irregularities. fortunately, the king was as little inclined to approve of it as the queen. all his tastes were domestic, and he gladly assented to her proposal to abolish the custom. throughout the reign, at all ordinary meals, at his suppers when he came in late from hunting, when he had perhaps invited some of his fellow-sportsmen to share his repast, and at state banquets, marie antoinette took her seat at his side, not only adding grace and liveliness to the entertainment, but effectually preventing license, and even the suspicion of scandal; and, as she desired that her household as well as her family should set an example of regularity and propriety to the nation, she exercised a careful superintendence over the behavior of those who had hitherto been among the least-considered members of the royal establishment. even the king's confessor had thought the morals of the royal pages either beneath his notice or beyond his control; but marie antoinette took a higher view of her duties. she considered her pages[ ] as placed under her charge, and herself as bound to extend what one of themselves calls a maternal care and kindness to them, restraining as far as she could, and when she could not restrain, reproving their boyish excesses, softening their hearts and winning their affections by the gentle dignity of her admonitions, and by the condescending and hopeful indulgence with which she accepted their expressions of contrition and their promises of amendment. in one matter, too, which, if not exactly political, was at all events of public interest, she acted in a manner of which none of her predecessors had set an example. by a custom of immemorial antiquity, at the accession of a new sovereign, a tax had been levied on the whole kingdom as an offering to the king, known as "the gift of the happy accession;[ ]" when there was a queen, a similar tax was imposed upon the parisians, to provide what was called "the girdle of the queen.[ ]" it has already been mentioned that the distress which existed in paris at this time was so severe that, just before the death of the late king, louis and marie antoinette had relieved it by a munificent gift from their private purse; and to lay additional burdens on the people at such a time was not only repugnant to their feelings, but seemed especially inconsistent with their recent generosity. accordingly, the very first edict of the new reign announced that neither tax would be imposed. the people felt the kindness which dictated such a relief more than even the relief itself, and repaid it with expressions of gratitude such as no french sovereign had heard for above a century; but marie antoinette, with the humility natural to her on such subjects, made light of her own share in the act of benevolence, turning off the compliments which were paid to her with a playful jest, that it was impossible for a queen to affix a purse to her girdle, now that girdles had gone out of fashion.[ ] on another subject, also, not wholly unconnected with politics, since the nobleman concerned had once been the chief minister, but in which marie antoinette's interest was personal, she broke through her usual rule of not beginning the discussion with the king, and requested the recall from banishment of the due de choiseul. an unfounded prejudice based upon calumnies set on foot by the cabal of madame du barri, had envenomed louis's mind against the duke. he bad been led to suspect that his own father, the late dauphin, had been poisoned, and that choiseul had been accessory to the crime. there was nothing more certain than that the dauphin's death had been natural; but a dislike of the accused duke lingered in the king's mind, and he eluded compliance with his wife's request till she put it on entirely personal grounds, by declaring it to be humiliating to herself that one to whom she was under the deepest obligations as the negotiator of her own happy marriage should be under the king's displeasure without her being able to procure his pardon. louis felt the force of the appeal thus made to him. "if she used that argument, he could deny her nothing," and the duke's sentence was remitted, though his royal patroness was unable to procure his re-admission to office. nor did maria teresa regret that she failed in that object; since she feared his restless character, and felt the alliance between the two countries safer in the hands of the new foreign secretary, the count de vergennes. chapter ix. the comte de provence intrigues against the queen.--the king gives her the little trianon,--she lays out an english garden.--maria teresa cautions her against expense.--the king and queen abolish some of the old forms.-- the queen endeavors to establish friendships with some of her younger ladies.--they abuse her favor.--her eagerness for amusement.--louis enters into her views.--etiquette is abridged.--private parties at choisy.-- supper parties.--opposition of the princesses.--some of the courtiers are dissatisfied at the relaxation of etiquette.--marie antoinette is accused of austrian preferences. her accession to the throne, however, had not entirely delivered marie antoinette from intrigues. it had only changed their direction and object, and also the persona of the intriguers. her chief enemy now was the prince who ought to have been her best friend, the next brother of her husband, the comte de provence. among the papers of louis xv. the king had found proofs, in letters from both count and countess, that they had both been actively employed in trying to make mischief, and to poison the mind of their grandfather against the dauphiness. they became still more busy now, since each day seemed to diminish the probability of marie antoinette becoming a mother; while, if she should leave no children, the comte de provence would be heir to the throne. he scarcely made any secret that he was already contemplating the probability of his succession; and, as there were not wanting courtiers to speculate also on the chance, it soon became known that there was no such sure road to the favor of monsieur[ ] as that of disparaging and vilifying the queen. there might have been some safety for her in being put on her guard against her enemy; and the king himself, who called his brother tartuffe, did, in consequence of his discovery, use great caution and circumspection in his behavior toward him; but marie antoinette was of a temper as singularly forgiving as it was open: she could not bear to regard with suspicion even those of whose unfriendliness and treachery she had had proofs; and after a few days she resumed her old familiarity with the pair, as if she had no reason to distrust them, slighting on this subject the remonstrances of mercy, who pointed out to her in vain that she was putting weapons into their hands which they would be sure to turn against herself. at this moment she was especially happy with a new pastime. amidst the stately halls of versailles she had often longed for a villa on a smaller scale, which she might call her own; and the wish was now gratified. on one side of the park of versailles, and about a mile from the palace, the late king had built an exquisite little pavilion for his mistress, which was known as the little trianon. there had been a building of one kind or another on the same spot for above a century. louis xiv. had erected there a cottage of porcelain for his imperious favorite, madame de montespan; and it was the more sumptuous palace with which, after her death, he replaced it, that gave rise to the strange quarrel between the haughty monarch and his equally haughty minister, louvois, of which st. simon has left us so curious an account.[ ] this had been allowed to fall into a state of decay; and a few years before his death, louis xv. had pulled down what remained of it, and had built a third on its foundations, which had been the most favorite abode of madame du barri during his life, but which was now rendered vacant by her dismissal. the house was decorated with an exquisite delicacy of taste, in which louis xv. had far surpassed his predecessor; but the chief charm of the place was generally accounted to be the garden, which had been laid out by le notre, an artist, whose original genius as a landscape gardener was regarded by many of his contemporaries as greatly superior to his more technical skill as an architect.[ ] a few hundred yards off was another palace, the great trianon; but it was the little trianon which caught the queen's fancy; and, on her expression of a wish to have it for her own, the king at once made it over to her; and, pleased with her new toy, marie antoinette, still a girl in her impulsive eagerness for a fresh pleasure (she was not yet nineteen), began to busy herself with remodeling the pleasure-grounds with which it was surrounded. before the time of le notre, the finest gardens in the country had been laid out on what was called the italian plan. he was too good a patriot to copy the foreigners: he drove out the italians, and introduced a new arrangement, known as the french style, which was, in fact, but an imitation of the stiff, formal dutch mode. but of late the english gardeners had established that supremacy in the art which they have ever since maintained; and the present aim of every fashionable horticulturist in france was to copy the effects produced on the banks of the thames by wise and browne. marie antoinette fell in with the prevailing taste. she imported english drawings and hired english, gardeners. she visited in person the count de caraman, and one or two other nobles, who had already done something by their example to inoculate the parisians with the new fashion. and presently lawns and shrubberies, widening invariably simple flower-beds, supplanted the stately uniformity of terraces, alleys converging on central fountains, or on alcoves as solid and stiff as the palace itself, and trees cut into all kinds of fantastic shapes, which had previously been regarded as the masterpieces of the gardeners' invention. her happiness was at its height when, at the end of a few months, all was completed to her liking, and she could invite her husband to an entertainment in a retreat which was wholly her own, and the chief beauties of which were her own work. as yet, therefore, all was happiness, and prospect of happiness. even maria teresa, whose unceasing anxiety for her daughter often induced her to see the worst side of things, was rendered for a moment almost playful by the reports which reached vienna of the universal popularity of "louis xvi. and his little queen!" "she blushed," she said, "to think that in thirty-three years of her reign she had not done as much as louis had done in thirty-three days.[ ]" but she still warned her daughter that every thing depended on keeping up the happy impression already made; that much still remained to be done. and the queen's answer showed that her new authority had brought with it some cares. "it is true," she writes, "that the praises of the king resound everywhere. he deserves it well by the uprightness of his heart, and the desire which he has to act rightly; but this french enthusiasm disquiets me for the future. the little that i understand of business shows me that some matters are full of difficulty and embarrassment. all agree that the late king has left his affairs in a very bad state. men's minds are divided; and it will be impossible to please all the world in a country where the vivacity of the people wants every thing to be done in a moment. my dear mamma is quite right when she says we must lay down principles, and not depart from them. the king will not have the same weakness as his grandfather. i hope that he will have no favorites; but i am afraid that he is too mild and too easy. you may depend upon it that i will not draw the king into any great expenses." (the empress had expressed a fear lest the trianon might prove a cause of extravagance.) "on the contrary, i, of my own accord, have refused to make demands on him for money which some have recommended me to make." some relaxations, too, of the formality which had previously been maintained between the sovereign and the subordinate members of the royal family, and especially an order of the king that his brothers and sisters were not in private intercourse to address him as his majesty, had grated on the empress's sense of the distance always to be preserved between a monarch and the very highest of his subjects. and she had complained that reports had reached her that "there was no distinction between the queen and the other princesses; and that the familiarity subsisting in the court was extreme." but marie antoinette replied, in defense of the king and herself, that there was "great exaggeration in these reports, as indeed there was about every thing that went on at the court; that the familiarity spoken of was seen but by very few. it is not for me," she said, "to judge; but it seems to me that what exists among us is only the air of kindly affection and gayety which is suitable to our age. it is true that the count d'artois" (who had been the special subject of some of the empress's unfavorable comments) "is very lively and very giddy, but i can always keep him in order. as for my aunts, no one can any longer say that they lead me; and as for monsieur and madame, i am very far from placing entire confidence in them. "i must confess that i am fond of amusement, and am not very greatly inclined to grave subjects. i hope, however, to improve by degrees; and, without ever mixing myself up in intrigues, to qualify myself gradually to be of service to the king when he makes me his confidante, since he treats me at all times with the most perfect affection." her reflections on the impulsiveness and impatience of the french character, and of the difficulties which those qualities placed in the path of their rulers, justify the praises which mercy had lavished on her sagacity, for it is evident that to them the chief troubles of her later years may be clearly traced. and it is difficult to avoid agreeing with her rather than with her mother, and thinking the most entire freedom of intercourse between the king and his nearest relations as desirable as it was natural. royalty is, as the empress herself described it, a burden sufficiently heavy, without its weight being augmented by observances and restrictions which would leave the rulers without a single friend even among the members of their own family. and probably the empress herself might have seen less reason for her admonitions on the subject, had it not been for the circumstance, which was no doubt unfortunate, that the royal family at this time contained no member of a graver age and a settled respectability of character who might, by his example, have tempered the exuberance natural to the extreme youth of the sovereigns and their brothers. not that marie antoinette was content to limit the number of those whom she admitted to familiarity to her husband's kinsmen and kinswomen. still fretting in secret over the want of any object on whom to lavish a mother's tenderness, she sought for friendship as a substitute, shutting her eyes to the fact that persons in her rank, as having no equals, can have no friends, in the true sense of the word. nor, had such a thing been possible anywhere, was france the country in which to find it. there disinterestedness and integrity had long been banished from her own sex almost as completely as from the other; and most of those whom she took into favor made it their first object to render that favor profitable to themselves. if she professed in their society to forget for a few hours that she was queen, they never forgot it; they never lost sight of the fact that she could confer places and pensions, and they often discarded moderation and decency in the extravagance of their solicitations; while she frequently, with an overamiable facility, surrendering her own judgment to their importunities, not only granted their requests, but at times even adopted their prejudices, and yielded herself as an instrument to gratify their antipathies or resentments. and the same feeling of vacancy in her heart, of which she was ever painfully conscious, produced in her also a constant restlessness, and a craving for excitement which exhibited itself in an insatiable appetite for amusement (as she confessed to her mother), and led her to seek distraction even in pastimes for which naturally she had but little inclination. in these respects it can not be said that, during the first year of her reign, she was as uniformly prudent as she had been while dauphiness. the restraint in which she had lived for those four years had not been unwholesome for one so young; but it had no doubt been irksome to her. and the feeling of complete liberty and independence which had succeeded it had, by a sort of natural reaction, sharpened the energy with which she now pursued her various diversions. it is possible, too, that the zest with which she indulged herself may have derived additional keenness from the knowledge that her ill-wishers found in it pretext for misconstruction and calumny; and that, being conscious of entire purity in thought, word, and deed, she looked on it as due to her own character to show that she set all such detraction and detractors at defiance. to all cavilers, as also to her mother, whose uneasiness was frequently aroused by gossip which reached vienna from paris, her invariable reply was that her way of life had the king her husband's entire approbation. and while he felt a conjugal satisfaction in the contemplation of his queen's attractions and graces, the qualities in which, as he was well aware, he himself was most deficient, louis might well also cherish the most absolute reliance on her unswerving rectitude, knowing the pride with which she was wont to refer to her mother's example, and to boast that the lesson which, above all others, she had learned from it was that to princes of her birth and rank wickedness and baseness were unpardonable. indeed, many of the amusements louis not only approved, but shared with her, while she associated herself with those in which he delighted, as far as she could, joining his hunting parties twice a week, either on horseback or in her carriage, and at all times exhibiting a pattern of domestic union of which the whole previous history of the nation afforded no similar example. the citizens of paris could hardly believe their eyes when they saw their king and queen walk arm-in-arm along the boulevards; and the courtiers received a lesson, if they had been disposed to profit by it, when on each sunday morning they saw the royal pair repair to the parish church for divine service, the day being closed by their public supper in the queen's apartment. and this appearance of domestic felicity was augmented by the introduction of what may be called private parties, with which, at the queen's instigation, louis consented to vary the cold formality of the ordinary entertainments of the court. in the autumn they followed the example of louis xv. by exchanging for a few weeks the grandeur of versailles for the comparative quiet of some of their smaller palaces; and, while they were at choisy, they issued invitations once or twice a week to several of the parisian ladies to come out and spend the day at the palace, when, as the principal officers of the household were not on duty, they themselves did the honors to their guests, the queen conversing with every one with her habitual graciousness, while the king also threw off his ordinary reserve, and seemed to enter into the pleasures of the day with a gayety and cordiality which surprised the party, and which, from the contrast that it presented to his manner when he was by himself, was very generally attributed to the influence of the queen's example. and these quiet festivities were so much to his taste that afterward, when the court moved to fontainebleau, and when they settled at versailles for the winter, he cheerfully agreed to a proposal of marie antoinette to have a weekly supper party; adopting also another suggestion of hers which was indispensable to render such reunions agreeable, or even, it may be said, practicable. at her request he abolished the ridiculous rule which, under the last two kings, had forbidden gentlemen to be admitted to sit at table with any princess of the royal family. but natural as the idea seemed, it was not carried out without opposition on the part of madame adelaide and her sisters, who remonstrated against it as an infraction of all the old observances of the court, till it became a contest for superiority between the queen and themselves. marie antoinette took counsel with mercy, and, by his advice, pointed out to her husband that to abandon the plan after it had been announced, in submission to an opposition which the princesses had no right to make, would be to humiliate her in the eyes of the whole court. louis had not yet shaken off all fear of his aunts; but they were luckily absent, so he yielded to the influence which was nearest. the suppers took place. he and the queen themselves made out the lists of the guests to be invited, the men being named by him, and the ladies being selected by the queen. they were a great success; and, as the history of the affair became known, the court and the parisians generally rejoiced in the queen's triumph, and were grateful to her for this as for every other innovation which had a tendency to break down the haughty barrier which, during the last two reigns, had been established between the sovereign and his subjects. nor were these pleasant informal parties the only instances in which, great inroads were made on the old etiquette. the comte de mirabeau, a man fatally connected in subsequent years with some of the most terrible of the insults which were offered to the royal family, about this time described etiquette as a system invented for the express purpose of blunting the capacity of the french princes, and fixing them in position of complete dependence. and marie antoinette seems to have regarded it with similar eyes; her dislike of it being quickened by the expectations which its partisans and champions entertained that her every movement was to be regulated by it. and its requirements were sufficiently burdensome to tax a far better-trained patience that was natural to one who though a queen, was not yet nineteen. not only was no guest of the male sex, except the king, allowed to sit at table with her, but no man-servant, no male officer of her household, might be present when the king and she dined together, as indeed usually happened; even his presence could not sanction the introduction of any other man. the lady of honor, on her knees, though in full dress, presented him the napkin to wipe his fingers and filled his glass; ladies in waiting in the same grand attire changed the plates of the royal pair; and after dinner, as indeed throughout the day, the queen could not quit one room in the palace for another, unless some of her ladies were at hand in complete court dress to attend upon her.[ ] these usages, which were in reality so many chains to restrain all freedom, and to render comfort impossible, were abolished in the first few months of the new reign; but, little as was the foundation which they had in common sense, and equally little as was the addition which they made to the royal dignity, it is certain that many of the courtiers, besides madame de noailles, were greatly disconcerted at their extinction. they regarded the queen's orders on the subject as a proof of a settled preference for austrian over french fashions. they began to speak of her as "the austrian," a name which, though madame adelaide had more than once chosen it to describe her during the first year of her marriage, had since that time been almost forgotten, but which was now revived, and was continually reproduced by a certain party to cast odium on many of her most simple tastes and most innocent actions. her enemies oven affirmed that in private she was wont to call the trianon her "little vienna,[ ]" as if the garden, which she was laying out with a taste that long made it the admiration of all the visitors to versailles, were dear to her, not as affording a healthful and becoming occupation, nor for the sale of the giver, but only because it recalled to her memory the gardens of schönbrunn, to which, as their malice suggested, she never ceased to look back with unpatriotic regret. in one point of view they were unquestionably correct. the queen did undoubtedly desire to establish in the french court the customs and the feelings which, during her childhood, had prevailed at vienna; but they were wholly wrong in thinking them austrian usages. they were lorrainese in their origin; they had been imported to vienna for the first time by her own father, the emperor francis; when she referred to them, it was as "the patriarchal manners of the house of lorraine[ ]" that she spoke of them; and her preference for them was founded on the conviction that it was to them that her mother and her mother's family were indebted for the love and reverence of the people which all the trials and distresses of the struggle against frederic had never been able to impair. nor was it only the old stiffness and formality, which had been compatible with the grossest license, that was now discountenanced. a wholly new spirit was introduced to animate the conversation with which those royal entertainments were enlivened. under louis xv., and indeed before his reign, intrigue and faction had been the real rulers of the court, spiteful detraction and scandal had been its sole language. but, to the dispositions, as benevolent as they were pure, of the young queen and her husband, malice and calumny were almost as hateful as profligacy itself. she held, with the great english dramatist, her contemporary, that true wit was nearly allied to good-nature;[ ] and she showed herself more decided in nothing than in discouraging and checking every tendency to disparagement of the absent, and diffusing a tone of friendly kindness over society. on one occasion, when she heard some of her ladies laughing over a spiteful story, she reproved them plainly for their mirth as "bad taste." on another she asked some who were thus amusing themselves, "how they would like any one to speak thus of themselves in their absence, and before her?" and her precept, fortified by example (for no unkind comment on any one was ever heard to pass her lips), so effectually extinguished the habit of detraction that in a very short time it was remarked that no courtier ventured on an ill-natured word in her presence, and that even the comte de provence, who especially aimed at the reputation of a sayer of good things, and affected a character for cynical sharpness, learned at last to restrain his sarcastic tongue, and at least to pretend a disposition to look at people's characters and actions with as much indulgence as herself. chapter x. settlement of the queen's allowance.--character and views of turgot.--she induces gluck to visit paris.--performance of his opera of "iphigénie en aulide."--the first encore.--marie antoinette advocates the re-establishment of the parliaments, and receives an address from them.-- english visitors at the court.--the king is compared to louis xii. and henri iv.--the archduke maximilian visits his sister.--factious conduct of the princes of the blood.--anti-austrian feeling in paris.--the war of grains.--the king is crowned at rheims.--feelings of marie antoinette.-- her improvements at the trianon.--her garden parties there.--description of her beauty by burke, and by horace walpole. maria teresa had warned her daughter against extravagance, a warning which would have been regarded as wholly misplaced by any other of the french princes, who were accustomed to treat the national treasury as a fund intended to supply the means for their utmost profusion, but which certainly coincided with the views of marie antoinette herself, who, as we have seen, vindicated herself from the charge of prodigality, and declared that she took great care that her improvements at the trianon should not be beyond her means. yet it would not have been surprising if they had been found to be so, since, even after she became queen, her income continued to be far too narrow for her rank. the nominal allowance of all former kings and queens had been fixed at an unreasonably low rate, from the pernicious custom of drawing on the treasury for all deficiencies; but this mode of proceeding was inconsistent with the notions of propriety entertained by the new sovereigns, and with those of the new finance minister. maurepas himself had never been distinguished for ability, but he was sufficiently clear-sighted to be aware that the principal difficulties of the state arose from the disorder into which the profligacy and prodigality of the late reign, ever since the death of the wise fleury, had thrown its finances; and he had made a most happy choice for the office of comptroller-general of finance, appointing to it a man named turgot, who, as intendant of the limousin, had brought that province into a condition of prosperity which had made it a model for the rest of the kingdom. in his new and more enlarged sphere of action, turgot's abilities expanded; or, perhaps it should rather be said, had a fairer field for their display. he showed himself equally capable in every department of his duties; as a financial reformer, as an administrator, and as a legislator. no minister in the history of the nation had ever so united large-minded genius with disinterested integrity. he had not accepted office without a full perception of its difficulties. he saw all that had to be done, and applied himself to putting the finances of the nation on a healthy footing, as an indispensable preface to other reforms equally necessary. he easily secured the co-operation of the king and queen, louis cheerfully adopting the retrenchments which he recommended, though some of them, such as the reduction in the hunting establishment, touched his personal tastes. but at the same time, as there was no illiberality in his economy, or, rather, as he saw that real economy could only be practiced if the sovereigns had a fixed income really adequate to the call upon it, he placed their allowances on a more satisfactory footing than had ever been fixed for them before, the queen's privy purse being settled at a sum which mercy agreed with him would prove sufficient for all her expenses, though it was but , francs a year. and so it was generally found to be; for, with the exception of an occasional fancy for some splendid jewel, marie antoinette had no expensive tastes. her economy was even far greater than her attendants approved, extending to details which they would have wished her to regard as beneath the dignity of a sovereign;[ ] and so judiciously did she manage her resources that she was able to defray out of her privy purse the pensions which she occasionally conferred on men eminent in arts or literature, whom she rightly judged it a royal duty to encourage. one of her first acts of liberality of this kind was exercised in favor of a countryman of her own, the celebrated gluck. music was one of her most favorite accomplishments. she still devoted a portion of almost every day in taking lessons on the harp; but the french music was not to her taste; while, since the death of handel, gluck's superiority to all his other musical contemporaries had been generally acknowledged in all countries. she now, by the gift of a pension of francs, induced him to visit paris. it was at the french opera that many of his most celebrated works were first given to the world; and an incident which took place at the performance of one of them showed that, if the frequenters of versailles were dissatisfied at the inroads lately made on the old etiquette, the queen had a compensation in the warm attachment with which she had inspired the parisians. instead of conveying the performers to versailles, as had been the extravagant practice of the late reign, louis and marie antoinette went into paris when they desired to visit the theatre. the citizens, delighted at the contrast which their frequent visits to the capital afforded to the marked dislike of it shown by the late king, crowded the theatre on every night on which they were expected; and on one of these occasions gluck's "iphigénie" was the opera selected for performance. it contains a chorus in which, according to the design of the dramatist, achilles was directed to turn to his followers with the words "chantez, célébrez votre reine." but the french opera-singers were a courtly race. the french opera had been established a century before as a royal academy of music by louis xiv., who had issued letters patent which declared the profession of an opera-singer one that might be followed even by a nobleman; and it seemed, therefore, quite consistent with the rank thus conferred on them that they should take the lead in paying loyal compliments to their princes. accordingly, when the performer who represented the invincible son of thetis, the popular tenor singer, le gros, came to the chorus in question, he was found to have prepared a slight change in his part. he did not address himself to the myrmidons behind him, but he came forward, and, with a bow to the boxes and pit, substituted the following, "chantons, célébrons notre reine, l'hymen, que sous ses lois l'enchaîne, va nous rendre à jamais heureux." the audience was taken by surprise, but it was a surprise of delight. the whole house rose to its feet, cheering and clapping their hands. for the first time in theatrical history, the repetition of a song was demanded. the now familiar term of "encore!" was heard and obeyed. the queen herself was affected to tears by the enthusiastic affection displayed toward her, nor at such a moment did she suffer her feeling of the evanescent character of popularity among so light-minded a people to dwell in her mind, or to mar the pleasure which such a reception was well calculated to impart. popularity at this moment seemed doubly valuable to her, because she was not ignorant that the feeling of disappointment at the unproductiveness of her marriage had recently been increased by the knowledge that the young countess d'artois was about to become a mother. and the attachment which she inspired was not confined to the play-goers; it was shared by a body so little inclined to exhibitions of impulsive loyalty as the parliament. it has been seen that louis xv. had abolished that body; but one of the first proposals made by maurepas to the new king had had its re-establishment for its object. the question had been discussed in the king's council, and also in the royal family, with great eagerness. the ablest of the ministers protested against the restoration of an assembly which had invariably shown itself turbulent and usurping, and the king himself was generally understood to share their views. but marie antoinette, led by the advice of choiseul, was eager in her support of maurepas, and it was believed that her influence decided louis. if it was so, it was an exertion of her power that she had ample cause to repent at a subsequent period; but at the time she thought of nothing but showing her sense of the general superiority of choiseul, and so requiting some of the obligations under which she considered that she lay to him for arranging her marriage; and she received a deputation from the re-established parliament with marked pleasure, and replied to their address with a graciousness which seemed intended to show that she sincerely rejoiced at the event which had given cause for it. it was not till christmas that the royal family went out of mourning; but, as soon as it was left off, the court returned to its accustomed gayety-- balls, concerts, and private theatricals occupying the evenings; though the people remarked with undisguised satisfaction that the expenses of former years had been greatly retrenched. it was also noticed that many foreigners of distinction, and especially some english ladies of high rank, gladly accepted invitations to the balls, which they certainly would not have done while their presence was likely to bring them into contact with madame du barri. lady ailesbury is especially mentioned as having been received with marked distinction by the queen, and also by the king, who was careful to show his approval of her entertainments by the share which he took in them; and, as he paraded the saloons arm-in-arm with her, to distinguish those whom she noticed, so that, to quote the words of one of the most lively chroniclers of the day, their example seemed to be fast bringing conjugal love and fidelity into fashion. she even persuaded him to depart still further from his usual reserve, so as to appear in costume at more than one fancy ball; the dress which he chose being that of the only predecessor of his own house whom he could in any point have desired to resemble, henry iv. he had already been indirectly compared to that monarch, the first bourbon king, by the ingenious flattery of a print- *seller. in the long list of sovereigns who had reigned over france in the five hundred years which had passed by since the warrior-saint of the crusades had laid down his life on the sands of tunis, there had been but two to whom their countrymen could look back with affection or respect-- louis xii., to whom his subjects had given the title of the good, and henry, to whom more than one memorial still preserved the surname of the great. and the courtly picture-dealer, eager to make his market of the gratitude with which his fellow-citizens greeted the reforms with which the reigning sovereign had already inaugurated his reign, contrived to extract a compliment to him even out of the severe prose of the multiplication-table; publishing a joint portrait of the three kings, louis xii., henry iv., and louis xvi., with an inscription beneath to testify that and made . in the spring of , marie antoinette received a great pleasure in a visit from her younger brother, maximilian. he was the only member of her family whom she had seen in the five years that had elapsed since she left vienna. but, eagerly as she had looked forward to his visit, it did not bring her unmixed satisfaction, being marred by the ill-breeding of the princes of the blood, and still more by the approval of their conduct displayed by the citizens of paris, which seemed to afford a convincing evidence of the small effect which even the queen's virtues and graces had produced in softening the old national feeling of enmity to the house of austria. the archduke, who was still but a youth, did not assert his royal rank while on his travels, but preserved such an _incognito_ as princes on such occasions are wont to assume, and took the title of count de burgau. the king's brothers, however, like the king himself, paid no regard to his disguise, but visited him at the first instant of his arrival; but the princes of the blood stood on their dignity, refused to acknowledge a rank which was not publicly avowed, or to recollect that the visitor was a foreigner and brother to their queen, and insisted on receiving the attention of the first visit from him. the excitement which the question caused in the palace, and the queen's indignation at the slight thus offered, as she conceived, to her brother, were great. high words passed between her and the duc d'orléans, the chief of the recusants, on the subject; and one part of her remonstrance throws a curious additional light on the strange distance which, as has been already pointed out, the etiquette of the french court had established between the sovereigns and the very highest of their subjects, even the nearest of their relations. the duke had insisted on the _incognito_ as debarring maximilian from all claim to attention from a prince like himself whose rank was not concealed. she urged that the king and his brothers had not regarded it in that light. "the duke knew," she said, "that the king had treated maximilian as a brother; that he even invited him to sup in private with himself and her, an honor to which no prince of the blood had ever pretended." and, finally, warming with her subject, she told him that, though her brother would be sorry not to make the acquaintance of the princes of the blood, he had many other things in paris to see, and would manage to do without it.[ ] her expostulation was fruitless. the princes adhered to their resolution, and she to hers. they were not admitted to any of the festivities of the palace during the archduke's stay, and were even excluded from all the private entertainments which were given in his honor, since she made it known that the king and she would refuse to attend any to which they were invited. but, though their conduct was surely both discourteous to a foreigner and disrespectful to their sovereign, the parisian populace took their part; and some of them who showed themselves ostentatiously in the streets of the city on days on which there were parties at versailles were loudly applauded by a crowd which was not entirely drawn from the lower classes. it was noticed that the duc de chartres, the son of the duc d'orléans, was one of the foremost in exciting this anti-austrian feeling, the outbreak of which was especially remarkable as the first instance in which the enthusiasm of the citizens for marie antoinette seemed to have cooled, or at least to have been interrupted. and this change in their feelings produced so painful an impression on her mind, that, after her brother's departure, she abandoned her intention of going to the opera, though gluck's "orfeo" was to be performed, lest she should meet with a reception less cordial than that to which she had hitherto been accustomed. this ebullition against the house of austria, however, was at the moment dictated rather by discontent with the home government than by any settled feeling on the subject of foreign politics. corn had been at a rather high price in paris and its neighborhood throughout the winter; and the dearness was taken advantage of by the enemies of turgot, and employed by them as an argument to prove the impolicy of his measures to introduce freedom of trade. they even organized[ ] formidable riots at paris and versailles, which, however, turgot, whose resolution was equal to his capacity, prevailed on the king to repress by acts of vigor very unusual to him, and very foreign to his disposition. the troops were called out; the parliament was summoned to a bed of justice, and enjoined to put the law in force against the guilty; two of the most violent revolters were executed; order was restored, and the wholly factitious character of the outbreak was proved by the tranquillity which ensued, though the price of bread remained unaltered till the commencement of the harvest, the citizens themselves presently making a jest of their sedition, and nicknaming it the war of the grains.[ ] in france, one excitement soon drives out another, and the whole attention of the nation was now fixed on the coronation, which had been appointed to take place in june. after some discussion, it had been settled that louis should be crowned alone. there had not been many precedents for the coronation of a queen in france; and the last instance, that of marie de medicis, as having been followed by the assassination of her husband, was regarded by many as a bad omen. if marie antoinette had herself expressed any wish to be her husband's partner in the solemnity, it would certainly have been complied with, and their subsequent fate would have been regarded as a confirmation of the evil augury. but she was indifferent on the subject, and quite contented to behold it as a spectator. it took place on sunday, the th of june, in the grand cathedral at rheims. the progress of the royal family, which had quit versailles for that city on the preceding monday, had resembled a triumphant procession, so enthusiastic had been the acclamations which had greeted the king and queen at each town through which they had passed; and all the previous displays of joy were outdone by the demonstrations afforded by the citizens of rheims itself. it was midnight, on the th of june, when the queen reached the gates; but the road outside and the streets inside were thronged with a crowd as dense as midday could have produced, which followed her to the archbishop's palace, making the whole city resound with their loyal cheers; and which, the next morning, awaited her coming-forth after holding a grand reception of all the nobles of the province, to meet the king when he made his solemn entry in the afternoon. the ceremony in the cathedral was one of great magnificence; but, in the account of the day which, after her return to versailles, she wrote to her mother, she does not enter into details, as being necessarily known to the empress in their general character; confining herself rather to a description of the impression which the manifest cordiality with which the whole people had entered into the spirit of the solemnity had made upon her own mind and heart.[ ] "the coronation was perfect in every respect. it was made plain that every one was highly delighted with the king, and so he deserves that all his subjects should be. great and small, all displayed the greatest interest in him; and at the moment of placing the crown on his head the ceremonies of the church were interrupted by the most touching acclamations. i could not restrain myself; my tears flowed in spite of all my efforts, and the people were pleased to see them. during the whole time of our journey i did my best to correspond to the earnestness of the people; and although the heat was great, and the crowd immense, i do not regret my fatigue, which, moreover, has not injured my health. it is a very astonishing circumstance, but at the same time a very pleasant one, to be so well received only two months after the revolt, and in spite of the high price of bread, which unhappily still continues. it is a strange peculiarity in the french character to allow themselves to be so easily led away by mischievous suggestions, and then immediately to return to good behavior. it is very certain that when we see people, even in times of distress, treating us so well, we are the more bound to labor for their happiness. the king seems to me penetrated with this truth. as for me, i feel that all my life, even if i were to live a hundred years, i shall never forget the coronation day." but all the tumultuous pomp and exultation only made her return with renewed pleasure to her quiet retreat of the trianon, which, with the assistance of the illustrious buffon, then superintendent of the king's gardens, and of bernard de jussieu, director of the jardin des plantes, and celebrated as one of the first botanists of europe, she was laying out with a delicate taste that long rendered it one of the chief attractions to all the inhabitants of the district. for the sentiment which she expressed in the letter to the empress, which has just been quoted, was not the mere formal utterance of a barren philanthropy, but was dictated and carried out by an active benevolence. she felt in her inmost heart the duty which she there professed, of exerting herself to promote the happiness of the people, and was far too unselfish to desire to keep to herself the whole of the delight her gardens were calculated to afford. the trianon was a possession exactly calculated to gratify her taste for innocent rural pleasure. as she said herself, at versailles she was a queen; here she was a plain country lady, superintending not only her flowers, but her farm-yard and her dairy, taking pride in her stock and her produce. she would invite the king and the rest of the royal family to garden parties, where, at a table set out under a bower of honeysuckle, she would pour out their coffee with her own hands, boasting of the thickness of her cream, the freshness of her eggs, the ruddiness and flavor of her strawberries, as so many proofs of her skill in managing her establishment; and would not fear to shock her aunts by tempting one of her sisters-in-law to a game at ball, or battledoor and shuttlecock. but she probably enjoyed still more the power of gratifying the inhabitants of versailles and the neighborhood. the moment that her improvements were completed, she opened the gardens to the public to walk in, and gave out-of-door parties and children's dances, to which all the inhabitants of versailles who presented themselves in decent apparel were admitted. she would even open the dance herself with some well-conducted boy, and afterward stroll among the crowd, talking affably to all the company, even to the governesses and nurses, and delighting the parents with the interest which she exhibited in the characters, the growth, and even the names of the children. there were some who, startled at the unwonted sight of a sovereign so treating her subjects as fellow-creatures, confessed a fear that such familiarity was not without its dangers;[ ] but the objects of her condescension worshiped her for it; and for a time at least the great majority of the nation forgot that she was austrian. she was now nearly twenty years of age. her form had developed into a rare perfection of elegance. her features had added to the original brilliancy of her girlish loveliness something of that higher beauty which judgment and sagacity inspire, and which dignity renders only the more imposing; while the same benevolence and purity beamed in every look which were remarked as her most sterling characteristics on her first arrival in the country. and it is not to her french or german admirers alone that we are reduced to trust for the impression which at this time she made on all beholders. we have seen that english gentlemen and ladies of rank were frequent visitors to the french court; and from two of these, men of widely different characters, talents, and turns of mind, we have a striking concurrence of testimony as to the power of the fascination which she exerted on all who came within the sphere of her influence. burke was the earlier visitor. indeed, it was in the last months of the preceding reign, while she was still dauphiness, that she had excited in his enthusiastic imagination those emotions which he afterward described in words which will live as long as the english language. it was in the spring of that it seemed to him that "surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. i saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in-- glittering like the morning-star, full of life, and splendor, and joy." no one could be less like burke than horace walpole, a cynical observer, who piqued himself on indifference, and especially on a superiority to the vulgar belief in the merits and attractions of kings and princes. yet his report of the charms of marie antoinette, as he saw them in the autumn of this year, , reveals an admiration of them as vivid as that of the warm-hearted and more poetical irishman. he saw her, as he reports to lady ossory, first at a state court hall,[ ] given on the occasion of the marriage of the princess clotilde, in the theatre of the palace; and he would have desired to give his correspondent some description of the beauty of the building; "the bravest in the universe, and yet one in which taste predominates over expense;" but he was absorbed by the still more powerful attractions of the princess whom he had seen in it: "what i have to say i can tell your ladyship in a word, for it was impossible to see any thing but the queen. hebes, and floras, and helens, and graces are street-walkers to her. she is a statue and beauty when standing or sitting; grace itself when she moves." as he is writing to a lady, he proceeds to describe her dress, which to ladies of the present day may still have its interest: "she was dressed in silver, scattered over with _laurier_ roses; few diamonds; and feathers, much lower than the monument." he proceeds to describe the ball itself, and some of the company, which was, however, very select; but at every sentence or two he comes back to the queen, so deep and so real was the impression which she had made on him. "monsieur is very handsome. the comte d'artois is a better figure and a better dancer. their characters approach to those of two other royal dukes.[ ] there were but eight minuets, and, except the queen and princesses, only eight lady dancers; i was not so much struck with the dancing as i expected. for beauty i saw none, or the queen effaced all the rest. after the minuets were french country-dances, much incumbered by the long trains, longer tresses, and hoops. in the intervals of dancing, baskets of peaches, china oranges (a little out of season), biscuits, ices, and wine-and-water were presented to the royal family and dancers. the ball lasted just two hours. the monarch did not dance, but for the first two rounds of the minuet even the queen does not turn her back to him. yet her behavior is as easy as divine." such was a french court ball on days of most special ceremony, a somewhat solemn affair, which required graciousness such as that of marie antoinette to make admission to every one a very enviable privilege; even though its stiffness had been in some degree relieved by a new regulation of the queen, that the invitations, which had hitherto been confined to matrons, should be extended to unmarried girls. scarcely any change produced greater consternation among the admirers of old customs. the dowagers searched all the registers of those who had been admitted to the court balls since the beginning of the century to fortify their objections. but, to their dismay, some of the early festivities in the time of marie leczinska proved to have been shared by one or two noble maidens. the discovery was of little importance, since marie antoinette had shown that she was not afraid of making precedents. but still it in some degree silenced the grumblers, and for the rest of the reign no one contested the queen's right to decide who should, and who should not, be admitted to her society. chapter xi. tea is introduced.--horse-racing of count d'artois.--marie antoinette goes to see it--the queen's submissiveness to the reproofs of the empress.-- birth of the duc d'angoulême.--she at times speaks lightly of the king.-- the emperor remonstrates with her.--character of some of the queen's friends.--the princess de lamballe.--the countess jules de polignac.-- they set the queen against turgot.--she procures his dismissal.--she gratifies madame polignac's friends.--her regard for the french people.-- water parties on the seine.--her health is delicate.--gambling at the palace. nor were these the only innovations which marked the age. a rage for adopting english fashions--_anglomanie_, as it was called--began to prevail; and, among the different modes in which it exhibited itself, it is especially noticed that tea[ ] was now introduced, and began to share with coffee the privileges of affording sober refreshment to those who aspired in their different ways to give the tone to french society. a less innocent novelty was a passion for horse-racing, in which the comte d'artois and the duc de chartres set the example of indulging, establishing a race-course in the bois de boulogne. the count had but little difficulty in persuading the queen to attend it, and she soon showed so decided a fancy for the sport, and became so regular a visitor of it, that a small stand was built for her, which in subsequent years provoked some unfavorable comments, when the princess obtained her leave to give luncheon in it to some of their racing friends, who were not in all instances of a character deserving to be brought into a royal presence. she pursued this, as she pursued every other amusement which she took up, with great keenness for a while, so much so as to provoke earnest remonstrances from her mother, whose letters were commonly dictated by mercy's reports and suggestions. nor, if she felt uneasiness, did maria teresa spare her daughter, or take any great care to moderate her language of reproof. at times her tone is so severe as to excite a feeling of wonder at the submissiveness with which her letters were received. no express eulogy of her admirers could give so great an idea of marie antoinette's amiability, good-nature, genuine modesty, and sincere affection for her mother, as the ingenuousness with which she admits errors, or the temper with which she urges excuses. to that venerated parent she is just as patient of admonition, now that she is seated on a throne, as she could have been in her schoolroom at schönbrunn; and, in reply to the scoldings (no milder word can do justice to the earnest vehemence of the letters which at this time she received from vienna), she pleads not only that an appetite for amusement is natural to her age, but that she enters into none of which the king does not fully approve, and none which are ever allowed to interfere with her giving him full enjoyment of her society whenever he has leisure or inclination for it. but her replies to her mother hint also at the continuance of the old causes for her restlessness, and for her eager pursuit of new diversions to distract her thoughts. her natural desire for children of her own was greatly increased when, on the th of august, her sister-in-law, the countess d'artois, presented her husband with a son.[ ] she treated the young mother with a sisterly kindness suited to the occasion, which extorted the unqualified praise of mercy himself; but she could not restrain her feelings on the subject to her mother, and she expressed to her frankly the extreme pain "which she suffered at thus seeing an heir to the throne who was not her own child." nor is it strange that at such moments she should feel hurt at the coldness with which her husband continued to behave toward her, or that she should ran eagerly after any excitement which might aid in diverting her mind from a comparison of her own position with that of her happier sister-in-law.[ ] it would have been well if she had confined her expressions of disappointment to her mother. but since we may not disguise her occasional acts of imprudence, it must be confessed that at times her mortification led her to speak of her husband to strangers in a tone of disparagement which was highly unbecoming. maximilian had been accompanied by the count de rosenburg, who had in consequence been admitted to the intimate society of the court during the archduke's visit, and who had inspired marie antoinette with so favorable an opinion of his character and judgment that after his return to vienna she more than once sent him an account of the proceedings at the palace since her brother's departure. she describes to him a series of concerts, at which she had sung herself with some of her ladies. she gives him a list of the guests, remarking, with a particularity which seems to show that she expects her words to be reported to the empress, that the gentlemen, though amiable and well bred, were not young. but she also complains that the king's tastes do not resemble hers, that he cares for nothing but hunting and mechanical employments; and, indulging in an unwonted bit of sarcasm, she proceeds: "you will allow that i should not look well beside a forge. i could never become a vulcan; and the part of venus would displease him more than my real tastes, which he does not disapprove." in another letter she mentions him in a tone of contemptuous pity, almost equally unbecoming, speaking of him as "the poor man" whom she had made a tool of to further some views of her own, though mercy assured the empress that her assertion of having so treated him was a mere fiction of her imagination, to impart a sort of lively tone to her letter; that, in spite of occasional outbursts of levity, she had in reality the firmest affection and esteem for louis; and that nothing could be more irreproachable than her conduct toward him in every respect. he added that the people in general did her full justice on this head; that if her popularity with the parisians had for a moment suffered any diminution through the artifices of faction, the cloud had been blown away; and that she had been recently received at the different theatres with as fervent a loyalty as had greeted even her first appearance. the empress, however, was so uneasy that she induced her son, the emperor joseph, to add his expostulations to hers; and he, who was a prince of considerable shrewdness, as well as of a high idea of the proprieties of his rank, wrote her a long letter of remonstrance; imputing with great truth the failings, which he pointed out with sufficient plainness, to a facility of disposition which made her indulgent to the manoeuvres of those whom she admitted to her friendship, but who did not deserve such an honor. he even spoke of the society which she had gathered round her, as calculated to prevent him from performing his promise of paying her a visit; "for what should he do in a court of frivolous intriguers?" and he concluded by urging her to prevent these false friends from making a tool of her for the gratification of their own selfishness and rapacity; and to be solicitous for no friendship or confidence but that of her husband; the study of whose wishes was to her not only a state duty, but the only one which would make her permanently happy, and secure to her the lasting affection of the people. there was, however, no subject on which marie antoinette was so little amenable to advice as the choice of her friends, and none on which she more required it. above all the frequenters of the court, two ladies were distinguished by her especial favor--the princess de lamballe and the countess de polignac. the princess, a daughter of the prince de carignan in savoy, having been married to the son of the duc de penthièvre, was left a widow before she was twenty years of age. she had been originally recommended to mario antoinette in the first year of her residence in france, partly by her royal birth, and partly by her misfortunes; and the attachment which the dauphiness at once conceived for her was cemented by the ardor with which it was returned. in many respects the princess well deserved the favor with which she was regarded. her temper was sweet and amiable; her character singularly truthful and sincere; and, that she might never be separated from her friend, the place of superintendent of the queen's household was revived for her. some cavilers were disposed to grumble at the re-establishment of an office which had been suppressed as useless and costly; but no one could allege that madame de lamballe abused the royal favor, and her share in the calamities of later days justified the queen's choice by the proof it afforded of the princess's unalterable fidelity and devotion. but the countess was a very different character. she had, indeed, a well-bred air of good humor, but that, with her youth (she was but twenty years of age), was her only qualification; for her capacity was narrow, her disposition selfish and grasping, and she was so inveterate a manoeuvrer, that, when she had no intrigues of her own on foot, she was always ready to lend herself to the plots of others. what was worse, she did not enjoy an untainted character. the name of the comte de vaudreuil was often coupled with hers in the scandals of the court. and the queen, since she could hardly be ignorant of the reports which were circulated, incurred, by the marked favor which she showed to the countess, the imputation of shutting her eyes to the frailties of her friends, and thus showing that dissoluteness was not an insuperable barrier to her partiality. it was only the earnest remonstrance of mercy which prevented her from conferring the place of lady of honor on the countess; but she allowed her to exert a pernicious influence over her in many ways, for the countess was unwearied in soliciting appointments and pensions for her relatives; at times making demands in such numbers, and of so exorbitant a character, that the queen herself was forced to admit the impossibility of granting them all, though she still sought to gratify her to far too great an extent, and would not allow the proved insatiability of her and her family to open her eyes to her real character. it was, however, a far more mischievous submission to the influence of the countess and her coterie, when she permitted them to prejudice her against turgot, whom she had more than once described to her mother as an upright statesman, and who had constantly shown, so far as he could make compliance consistent with his duty to the state, a sincere desire to consult her wishes. but as the polignac party saw in his prudence, integrity, and firmness the most formidable obstacle to their project of using the queen's favor to enrich themselves, she now yielded up her judgment to their calumnies. forgetting her former praises of the minister's integrity, she began to disparage him as one whose measures caused general dissatisfaction, and at last she pushed her hostility to him so far that she actually tried to induce louis not to be content with dismissing him from office, but to send him as a prisoner to the bastille.[ ] that she could not avoid feeling some shame at the part which she had acted may be inferred from the pains which she took to conceal it from her mother, whom she assured that, though she was not sorry for his dismissal, she had in no degree interfered in the matter; but "her conduct and even her intentions were well known, and known to be far removed from all manoeuvres and intrigues.[ ]" unfortunately the ambassador's letters tell a different story. as a sincere friend as well as a loyal servant of marie antoinette, he expresses to the empress his deep feeling that, "as the comptroller- general enjoyed a great reputation for integrity, and was beloved by the people, it was a melancholy thing that his dismissal should be in part the queen's work,[ ]" and his fear that her conduct in the affair may "hereafter bring upon her the reproaches of the king her husband, and even of the entire nation." the foreboding thus uttered was but too sadly realized. she had driven from her husband's councils the only man who combined with the penetration to perceive the absolute necessity of a large reform and the character of the changes required, the genius to devise them and the firmness to carry them out. thirteen years later, a variety of causes, some of which will be unfolded in the course of this narrative, had contributed to irritate the impatience of the nation, while the unskillfulness of the existing minister had disarmed the royal authority. and the very same reforms which would now have been accepted with general thankfulness were then only used by demagogues as a pretext for further inflaming the minds of the multitude against every thing which bore the slightest appearance of authority, even against the very sovereign who had granted them. france and all europe to this day feel the sad effects of marie antoinette's interference. she had given fatal proof of the truth of the words wrung from her by nervous excitement at the moment of the late king's death, when she declared that louis and she were too young to reign; and the best excuse that can be found for her is that she was not yet one-and-twenty. it was not, however, wholly from submission to the interested malevolence of others that she had shown herself the enemy of the great financier and statesman. she had a spontaneous dislike to the retrenchments which necessarily formed a great portion of his economical measures; not as interfering with the indulgence of any extravagant tastes of her own, but as restraining her power of gratifying her friends. for she was entirely impressed with the idea that no person or body could have any right to call in question the king's disposal of the national revenue; and that there was no prerogative of the crown of which the exercise was more becoming to the royal dignity than that of granting pensions or creating sinecures with no limitations but such as might be imposed by his own will or discretion. and on this point her husband fully shared her feelings. "what," said he, on one occasion to turgot, who was urging him to refuse an utterly unwarrantable application for a pension. "what are a thousand crowns a year?" "sire," replied the minister, "they are the taxation of a village." the king acquiesced for the moment, but probably not without some secret wincing at the control to which he seemed to be subjected; and we may, perhaps, suppose that even the queen's disapproval of the minister would have been less effectual had it not been re-enforced by the king's own feelings. in fact, that the part which she took against the great minister was the fruit of mere inconsiderateness and ignorance of the feelings and necessities of the nation, and that, if she had known the depth of the people's distress, and the degree in which it was caused by the viciousness of the whole existing system of government, she would gladly have promoted every measure which could tend to their relief, we may find abundant proof in a letter which she had written to her mother, a few weeks earlier. maria teresa had spoken with some harshness of the french fickleness. marie antoinette replies:[ ] "you are quite right in all you say about french levity, but i am truly grieved that on that account you should conceive an aversion for the nation. the disposition of the people is very inconsistent, but it is not bad. pens and tongues utter a great many things which are not in their heart. the proof that they do not cherish hatred is that on the very slightest occasion they speak well of one, and even praise one much more than one deserves. i have just this moment myself had experience of this. there had been a terrible fire in paris in the palace of justice, and the same day i was to have gone to the opera, so i did not go, but sent two hundred louis to relieve the most pressing cases of distress;[ ] and ever since the fire, the very same people who had been circulating libels and songs against me[ ] have been extolling me to the skies." these revelations of her inmost thoughts to her mother show how real and warm was her affection for the french as a nation, as well as how little she claimed any merit for her endeavors to benefit them; though a subsequent passage in the same letter also shows that she had been so much annoyed by some pasquinades and libels, of which she had been the subject, that she had become careful not to furnish fresh opportunities to her enemies: "we have had here such a quantity of snow as has not been seen for many years, so that people are going about in sledges, as they do at vienna. we were out in them yesterday about this place; and to-day there is to be a grand procession of them through paris. i should greatly have liked to be able to go; but, as a queen has never been seen at such things, people might have made up stories if i had gone, and i preferred giving up the pleasure to being worried by fresh libels." she was still as eager as ever in the pursuit of amusement, and especially of novelties in that way, when not restrained by considerations such as those which she here mentions. when at choisy, she gave water parties on the river in boats with awnings, which she called gondolas, rowing down as far as the very entrance to the city. it was not quite a prudent diversion for her, for at this time her health was not very strong. she easily caught cold, and the reports of such attacks often caused great uneasiness at vienna; but the watermen were highly delighted, looking on her act in putting herself under their care as a compliment to their craft; and some of them, to increase her pleasure, jumped overboard and swam about. their well-meant gallantry, however, was nearly having an unfavorable effect; unaware that it was not an accident, she thought that their lives were in danger, and the fear for them turned her sick, while madame de lamballe fainted away. but when she perceived the truth, the qualm passed away, and she rewarded them handsomely for their ducking; begging, however, that it might not be repeated, and assuring them that she needed no such proof to convince her of their dutiful and faithful loyalty. but the craving for excitement which was bred and nourished by the continuance of her unnatural position with respect to her husband in some parts of his treatment of her, was threatening to produce a very pernicious effect by leading her to become a gambler. some of those ladies whom she admitted to her intimacy were deeply infected with this fatal passion; and one of the most mischievous and intriguing of the whole company, the princess de guimenée, introduced a play-table at some of her balls, which she induced marie antoinette to attend. at first the queen took no share in the play; as she had hitherto borne none, or only a formal part, in the gaming which, as we have seen, had long been a recognized feature in court entertainments; but gradually the hope of banishing vexation, if only by the substitution of a heavier care, got dominion over her, and in the autumn of we find mercy commenting on her losses at lansquenet and faro, at that time the two most fashionable round games, the stakes at which often rose to a very considerable amount. though she continued to indulge in this unhealthy pastime for some time, in mercy's opinion she never took any real interest in it. she practiced it only because she wished to pass the time, and to drive away thought; and because the one accomplishment she wanted was the art of refusing. she even carried her complaisance so far as to allow professed gaming-table keepers to be brought from paris to manage a faro-bank in her apartments, where the play was often continued long after midnight. it was not the least evil of this habit that it unavoidably left the king, who never quit his own apartments in the evening, to pass a great deal of time by himself; but, as if to make up for his coldness in one way, he was most indulgent in every other, and seemed to have made it a rule never to discountenance any thing which could amuse her. his behavior to her, in mercy's eyes, seemed to resemble servility; "it was that of the most attentive courtier," and was carried so far as to treat with marked distinction persons whose character he was known to disapprove, solely because she regarded them with favor.[ ] in cases such as these the defects in the king's character contributed very injuriously to aggravate those in hers. she required control, and he was too young to exercise it. he had too little liveliness to enter into her amusements; too little penetration to see that, though many of them-- it may be said all, except the gaming-table--were innocent if he partook of them, indulgence in them, when he did not share them, could hardly fail to lead to unfriendly comments and misconstruction; though even his presence could hardly have saved his queen's dignity from some humiliation when wrangles took place, and accusations of cheating were made in her presence. the gaming-table is a notorious leveler of distinctions, and the worst-behaved of the guests were too frequently the king's own brothers; they were rude, overbearing, and ill-tempered. the count de provence on one occasion so wholly forgot the respect due to her, that he assaulted a gentleman in her presence; and the count d'artois, who played for very high stakes, invariably lost his temper when he lost his money. indeed, the queen seems to have felt the discredit of such scenes; and it is probable that it was their frequent occurrence which led to a temporary suspension of the faro-bank; as a violent quarrel on the race-course between d'artois and his cousin, the duke de chartres, whom he openly accused of cheating him, for a while disgusted her with horse-races, and led her to propose a substitution of some of the old exercises of chivalry, such as running at the ring; a proposal which had a great element of popularity in it, as being calculated to lead to a renewal of the old french pastimes, which seemed greatly preferable to the existing rage for copying, and copying badly, the fashions and pursuits of england. chapter xii. marie antoinette finds herself in debt.--forgeries of her name are committed.--the queen devotes herself too much to madame de polignac and others.--versailles is less frequented.--remonstrances of the empress.-- volatile character of the queen.--she goes to the bals d'opéra at paris.-- she receives the duke of dorset and other english nobles with favor.-- grand entertainment given her by the count de provence.--character of the emperor joseph.--he visits paris and versailles.--his feelings toward and conversations with the king and queen.--he goes to the opera.--his opinion of the queen's friends.--marie antoinette's letter to the empress on his departure.--the emperor leaves her a letter of advice. but this addiction to play, though it was that consequence of the influence of the society to which marie antoinette was at this time so devoted, which would have seemed the most objectionable in the eyes of rigid moralists, was not that which excited the greatest dissatisfaction in the neighborhood of the court. excessive gambling had so long been a notorious vice of the french princes, that her letting herself down to join the gaming-table was not regarded as indicating any peculiar laxity of principle; while the stakes which she permitted herself, and the losses she incurred, though they seemed heavy to her anxious german friends, were as nothing when compared with those of the king's brothers. even when it became known that she was involved in debt, that again was regarded as an ordinary occurrence, apparently even by the king himself, who paid the amount (about £ , ) without a word of remonstrance, merely remarking that he did not wonder at her funds being exhausted since she had such a passion for diamonds. for a great portion of the debts had been incurred for some diamond ear-rings which the queen herself did not wish for, and had only bought to gratify madame de polignac, who had promised her custom to the jeweler who had them for sale. marie antoinette had evidently become less careful in regulating her expenses, till she was awakened by the discovery of a crime which she herself imputed to her own carelessness in such matters. the wife of the king's treasurer had borrowed money in her name, and had forged her handwriting to letters of acknowledgment of the loans. the fraud was only discovered through mercy's vigilance, and the criminal was at seized and punished, but it proved a wholesome lesson to the queen, who never forgot it, though, as we shall see hereafter, if others remembered it, the recollection only served to induce them to try and enrich themselves by similar knaveries. and this devotion of the queen to the society of the polignacs and guimenées, "her society," as she sometimes called it,[ ] had also a mischievous effect in diminishing her popularity with the great body of the nobles. the custom of former sovereigns had been to hold receptions several evenings in each week, to which the men and women of the highest rank were proud to repair to pay their court. but now the royal apartments were generally empty, the king being alone in his private cabinet, while the queen was passing her time at some small private party of young people, by her presence often seeming to countenance intrigues of which she did not in her heart approve, and giddy conversation which was hardly consistent with her royal position; though mercy, in reporting these habits to the empress, adds that the queen's own demeanor, even in the moments of apparently unrestrained familiarity, was marked by such uniform self-possession and dignity, that no one ever ventured to take liberties with her, or to approach her without the most entire respect.[ ] it was hardly strange, then, that those who were not members of this society should feel offended at finding the court, as it were, closed against them, and should cease to frequent the palace when they had no certainty of meeting any thing but empty rooms. they even absented themselves from the queen's balls, which in consequence were so thinly attended that sometimes there were scarcely a dozen dancers of each sex, so that it was universally remarked that never within the memory of the oldest courtiers had versailles been so deserted as it was this winter; the difference between the scene which the palace presented now from what had been witnessed in previous seasons striking the queen herself, and inclining her to listen more readily to the remonstrances which, at mercy's instigation, the empress addressed to her. her mother pointed out to her, with all the weight of her own long experience, the incompatibility of a private mode of life, such as is suitable for subjects, with the state befitting a great sovereign; and urged her to recollect that all the king's subjects, so long as their rank and characters were such as to entitle them to admission at court, had an equal right to her attention; and that the system of exclusiveness which she had adopted was a dereliction of her duty, not only to those who were thus deprived of the honors of the reception to which they were entitled, but also to the king, her husband, who was injured by any line of conduct which tended to discourage the nobles of the land from paying their respects to him. in the midst of all her giddiness, marie antoinette always listened with good humor, it may even be said with docility, to honest advice. no one ever in her rank was so unspoiled by authority; and more than one conversation which she held with the ambassador on the subject showed that these remonstrances, re-enforced as they were by the undeniable fact of the thinness of the company at the palace, had made an impression on her mind; though such impressions were as yet too apt to be fleeting, and too liable to be overborne by fresh temptations; for in volatile impulsiveness she resembled the french themselves, and the good resolutions she made one day were always liable to be forgotten the next. nothing as yet was steady and unalterable in her character but her kindness of heart and graciousness of manner; they never changed; and it was on her genuine goodness of disposition and righteousness of intention that her german friends relied for producing an amendment as she grew older, far more than on any regrets for the past, or intentions of improvement for the future, which might be wrung from her by any momentary reflection or vexation. if versailles was less lively than usual, paris, on the other hand, had never been so gay as during the carnival of . the queen went to several of the masked balls at the opera with one or other of her brothers-in-law and their wives; the king expressing his perfect willingness that she should so amuse herself, but never being able to overcome his own indolence and shyness so far as to accompany her. it could not have been a very lively amusement. she did not dance, but sat in an arm-chair surveying the dancers, or walked down the saloon attended by an officer of the bodyguard and one lady in waiting, both masked like herself. occasionally she would grant to some noble of high rank the honor of walking at her side; but it was remarked that those whom she thus distinguished were often foreigners; some english noblemen, such as the duke of dorset and lord strathavon being especially favored, for a reason which, as given by mercy, shows that that insular stiffness which, with national self-complacency, britons sometimes confess as a not unbecoming characteristic, was not at that time attributed to them by others; since the ambassador explains the queen's preference by the self-evident fact that the english gentlemen were the best dancers, and made the best figure in the ball-room. but all the other festivities of this winter were thrown into the shade by an entertainment of extraordinary magnificence, which was given in the queen's honor by the count de provence at his villa at brunoy.[ ] the count was an admirer of spenser, and appeared to desire to embody the spirit of that poet of the ancient chivalry in the scene which he presented to the view of his illustrious guest when she entered his grounds. every one seemed asleep. groups of cavaliers, armed _cap-a-pie_, and surrounded by a splendid retinue of squires and pages, were seen slumbering on the ground; their lances lying by their sides, their shields hanging on the trees which overshadowed them; their very horses reposing idly on the grass on which they cared not to browse. all seemed under the influence of a spell as powerful as that under which merlin had bound the pitiless daughter of arthur; but the moment that marie antoinette passed within the gates the enchantment was dissolved; the pages sprung to their feet, and brought the easily roused steeds to their awakened masters. twenty-five challengers, with scarfs of green, the queen's favorite color, on snow-white chargers, overthrew an equal number of antagonists; but no deadly wounds were given. the victory of her champions having been decided, both parties of combatants mingled as spectators at a play, and afterward as dancers at a grand ball which was wound up by a display of fire-works and a superb illumination, of which the principal ornament was a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, in many-colored fire, lighting up the inscription "vive louis! vive marie antoinette!" at last, however, the carnival came to an end. not too soon for the queen's good, since hunts and long rides by day, and balls kept up till a late hour by night, had been too much for her strength,[ ] so that even indifferent observers remarked that she looked ill and had grown thin. but even had lent not interrupted her amusements, she would have ceased for a while to regard them, her whole mind being now devoted to preparing for the reception of her brother, the emperor joseph, whose visit, which had been promised in the previous year, was at last fixed for the month of april. it was anticipated with anxiety by the empress and mercy, as well as by marie antoinette. he was a prince of a peculiar disposition and habits. before his accession to the imperial throne, he had been kept, apparently not greatly against his will, in the background. nor, while his father lived, did he give any indications of a desire for power, or of any capacity for exercising it; but since he had been placed on the throne he had displayed great activity and energy, though he was still, in the opinion of many, more of a philosopher--a detractor might said more of a pedant--than of a statesman. he studied theories of government, and was extremely fond of giving advice; and as both louis and marie antoinette were persons who in many respects stood in need of friendly counsel, mercy and maria teresa had both looked forward to his visit to the french court as an event likely to be of material service to both, while his sister regarded it with a mixed feeling of hope and fear, in which, however, the pleasurable emotions predominated. she was not insensible to the probability that he would disapprove of some of her habits; indeed, we have already seen that he had expressed his disapproval of them, and of some of her friends, in the preceding year; and she dreaded his lectures; but, on the other hand, she felt confident that a personal acquaintance with the court would prove to him that many of the tales to her prejudice which had readied him had been mischievous exaggerations, and that thus he would be able to disabuse their mother, and to tranquilize her mind on many points. she hoped, too, that a personal knowledge of each other by him and her own husband would tend to cement a real friendship between them; and that his stronger mind would obtain an influence over louis, which might induce him to rouse himself from his ordinary apathy and reserve, and make him more of a man of the world and more of a companion for her. lastly, but probably above all, she thirsted with sisterly affection for the sight of her brother, and anticipated with pride the opportunity of presenting to her new countrymen a relation of whom she was proud on account of his personal endowments and character, and whose imperial rank made his visit wear the appearance of a marked compliment to the whole french nation. high-strung expectations often insure their own disappointment, but it was not so in this instance; though the august visitor's first act displayed an eccentricity of disposition which must have led more people than one to entertain secret misgivings as to the consequences which might flow from a visit which had such a commencement. like his brother maximilian, he too traveled incognito, under the title of the count falkenstein; and he persisted in maintaining his disguise so absolutely that he refused to occupy the apartments which the queen had prepared for him in the palace, and insisted on taking up his quarters with mercy in paris, and at a hotel, for the few days which he passed at versailles. however, though by his conduct in this matter he to some extent disappointed the hope which his sister had conceived of an uninterrupted intercourse with him during his stay in france, in every other respect the visit passed off to the satisfaction of all the parties principally concerned. fortunately, at their first interview marie antoinette herself made a most favorable impression on him. she had been but a child when he had last seen her. she was now a woman, and he was wholly unprepared for the matured and queenly beauty at which she had arrived. he was not a man to flatter any one, but almost his first words to her were that, had she not been his sister, he could not have refrained from seeking her hand that he might secure to himself so lovely a partner; and each succeeding meeting strengthened his admiration of her personal graces. she, always eager to please, was gratified at the feeling she had inspired; and thus an affectionate tone was from the first established between them, and all reserve was banished from their conversation. it was not diminished by the admonitions which, as he conceived, his age and greater experience entitled him to address to her, though sometimes they took the form of banter and ridicule, sometimes that of serious reproof;[ ] but she bore all his lectures with unvarying good humor, promising him that the time should come when she would make the amendment which he desired; never attempting to conceal from him, and scarcely to excuse, the faults of which she was not unconscious, nor the vexations which in some particulars continually disquieted her. it was, at least, equally fortunate that the king also conceived a great liking for his brother-in-law at first sight. his character disposed him to receive with eagerness advice from one who had himself occupied a throne for several years, and whose relationship seemed a sufficient warrant that his counsels would be honest and disinterested. accordingly those about him soon remarked that louis treated the emperor with a cordiality that he had never shown to any one else. they had many long and interesting conversations, sometimes with marie antoinette as a third party, sometimes by themselves. louis discussed with the emperor his anxiety to have a family, and his hopes of such a result; and joseph expressed his opinion freely on all subjects, even volunteering suggestions of a change in the king's habits; as when he recommended him, as a part of his kingly duty, to visit the different provinces, sea-ports, cities, and manufacturing towns of his kingdom, so as to acquaint himself generally with the feelings and resources of the people. louis listened with attention. if there was any case in which the emperor's advice was thrown away, it was, if the queen's suspicions were correct, when he recommended to the king a line of conduct adverse to her influence. mercy had told the emperor that louis was devotedly attached to the queen, but that he feared her at least as much as he loved her; and joseph would have desired to see some of this fear transferred to and felt by her; and showed his wish that the king should exert his legitimate authority as a husband to check those habits of his wife of which they both disapproved, and which she herself did not defend. but, even if louis did for a moment make up his mind to adopt a tone of authority, his resolution faded away in his wife's presence before her superior resolution; and to the end of their days she continued to be the leader, and he to follow her guidance. it need hardly be told that so august a visitor had entertainments given in his honor. the king gave banquets at versailles, the queen less formal parties at her little trianon, though gayeties were not much to joseph's taste; and, at a visit which his sister compelled him to pay to the opera, he remained ensconced at the back of her box till she dragged him forward, and, as if by main force, presented him to the audience. the whole theatre resounded with applause, expressed in such a way as to mark that it was to the queen's brother, fully as much as to the emperor, that the homage was paid. the opera was "iphigénie," the chorus in which, "_chantons, célébrons notre reine_," had by this time been almost as fully adopted, as the expression of the national loyalty, as "god save the queen" is in england. but even on its first performance it had not been hailed with more rapturous cheering than shook the whole house on this occasion; and joseph had the satisfaction of believing that his sister's hold on the affection and on the respect of the parisians was securely established. he was less pleased at the races in the bois de boulogne, which he visited the next day. no inconsiderable part of mercy's disapproval of such gatherings had been founded on the impropriety of gentlemen appearing in the queen's presence in top-boots and leather breeches, instead of in court dress; and the emperor's displeasure appears to have been chiefly excited by the hurry and want of stately order which were inseparable from the excitement of a race-course, and which, indifferent as he was to many points of etiquette, seemed even to him derogatory to the majesty of a queen to witness so closely. but he was far more dissatisfied with the company at the princess de guimenée's, to which the queen, with not quite her usual judgment, persuaded him one evening to accompany her. he saw not only gambling for much higher stakes than could be right for any lady to venture (the queen did not play herself), but he saw those who took part in the play lose their tempers over their cards and quarrel with one another; while he heard the hostess herself accused of cheating, the gamesters forgetting the respect due to their queen in their excitement and intemperance. he spoke strongly on the subject to marie antoinette, declaring that the apartment was no better than a common gaming-house; but was greatly mortified to see that his reproofs on this subject were received with less than the usual attention, and that she allowed her partiality for those whom she called her friends to outweigh her feeling of the impropriety of disorders of which she could not deny the existence. but entertainments and amusements were not permitted to engross much of his time. if he visited the king and queen as a brother, he was visiting france and paris as a sovereign and a statesman, and as such he made a careful inspection of all that paris had most worthy of his attention--of the barracks, the arsenals, the hospitals, the manufactories. and he acquired a very high idea of the capabilities and resources of the country, though, at the same time, a very low opinion of the talents and integrity of the existing ministers. of the king himself he conceived a favorable estimate. of his desire to do his duty to his people he had always been convinced, but, in a long conversation which he had held with him on the character of the french people,[ ] and of the best mode of governing them, in which louis entered into many details, he found his correctness of judgment and general knowledge of sound principles of policy far superior to his anticipations, though at the same time he felt convinced that his want of readiness and decision, and his timidity in action, would always render and keep him very inferior to the queen, especially whenever it should be necessary to come to a prompt decision on matters of moment. after a visit of six weeks, he quit paris for his dominions in the netherlands at the end of may, and a letter of the queen to her mother is very expressive of the pleasure which she had received from his visit, and of the lasting benefits which she hoped to derive from it. "versailles, june th. "my dearest mother,--it is plain truth that the departure of the emperor has left a void in my heart from which i can not recover. i was so happy during the short time of his visit that at this moment it all seems like a dream. but one thing will never be a dream to me, and that is, the good advice and counsel which he gave me, and which is forever engraven in my heart. "i must tell my dear mamma that he gave me one thing which i earnestly begged of him, and which causes me the greatest pleasure: it is a packet of advice, which he has left me in writing. at this moment it constitutes my chief reading; and, if ever i could forget what he said to me, which i do not believe i ever could, i should still have this paper always before me, which would soon recall me to my duty. my dear mamma will have learned by the courier, who started yesterday, how well the king behaved during the last moments of my brother's visit. i can assure you that i thoroughly understand him, and that he was really affected at the emperor's departure. as he does not always recollect to pay attention to forms, he does not at all times show his feelings to the outer world, but all that i see proves to me that he is truly attached to my brother, and that he has the greatest regard for him; and at the moment of my brother's departure, when i was in the deepest distress, he showed an attention to, and a tenderness for, me which all my life i shall never forget, and which would attach me to him, if i had not been attached to him already. "it is impossible that my brother should not have been pleased with this nation. for one who, like him, knows how to estimate men, must have seen that, in spite of the exceeding levity which is inveterate in the people, there is a manliness and cleverness in them, and, speaking generally, an excellent heart, and a desire to do right. the only thing is to manage them properly.... i have this moment received your dear letter by the post. what goodness yours is, at a moment when you have so much business to think of, to recollect my name day! it overwhelms me. you offer up prayers for my happiness. the greatest happiness that i can have is to know that you are pleased with me, to deserve your kindness, and to convince you that no one in the world feels greater affection or greater respect for you than i." it is a letter very characteristic of the writer, as showing that neither time nor distance could chill her affection for her family; and that the attainment of royal authority had in no degree extinguished her habitual feeling of duty: that it had even strengthened it by making its performance of importance not only to herself, but to others. nor is the jealousy for the reputation of the french people, and the desire so warmly professed that they should have won her brother's favorable opinion, less becoming in a queen of france; while, to descend to minor points, the neatness and felicity of the language may be admitted to prove, if her education had been incomplete when she left austria, with how much pains, since her progress had depended on herself, she had labored to make up for its deficiencies. that she should have asked her brother, as she here mentions, to leave her his advice in writing, is a practical proof that her expression of an earnest desire to do her duty was not a mere form of words; while the resolution which she avows never to forget his admonitions shows a genuine humility and candor, a sincere desire to be told of and to amend her faults, which one is hardly prepared to meet with in a queen of one-and-twenty. for joseph did not spare her, nor forbear to set before her in the plainest light those parts of her conduct which he disapproved. he told her plainly that if in france people paid her respect and observance, it was only as the wife of their king that they honored her; and that the tone of superiority in which she sometimes allowed herself to speak of him was as ill-judged as it was unbecoming. he hinted his dissatisfaction at her conduct toward him as her husband in a series of questions which, unless she could answer as he wished, must, even in her own judgment, convict her of some failure in her duties to him. did she show him that she was wholly occupied with him, that her study was to make him shine in the opinion of his subjects without any thought of herself? did she stifle every wish to shine at his expense, to be affable when he was not so, to seem to attend to matters which he neglected? did she preserve a discreet silence as to his faults and weaknesses, and make others keep silence about them also? did she make excuses for him, and keep secret the fact of her acting as his adviser? did, she study his character, his wishes? did she take care never to seem cold or weary when with him, never indifferent to his conversation or his caresses? the other matters on which the emperor chiefly dwells were those on which mercy, and, by mercy's advice, maria teresa also, had repeatedly pressed her. but those questions of joseph's set plainly before us some of his young sister's difficulties and temptations, and, it must be confessed, some points in which her conduct was not wholly unimpeachable in discretion, even though her solid affection for her husband never wavered for a moment. in some respects they were an ill-assorted couple. he was slow, reserved, and awkward. she was clever, graceful, lively, and looking for liveliness. both were thoroughly upright and conscientious; but he was indifferent to the opinions formed of him, while she was eager to please, to be applauded, to be loved. the temptation was great, to one so young, at times to put her graces in contrast to his uncouthness; to be seen to lead him who had a right to lead her; and, though we may regret, we can not greatly wonder, that she had not always steadiness to resist it. one tie was still wanting to bind her to him more closely; and happily the day was not far distant when that was added to complete and rivet their union. chapter xiii. impressions made on the queen by the emperor's visit.--mutual jealousies of her favorites.--the story of the chevalier d'assas.--the terrace concerts at versailles--more inroads on etiquette.--insolence and unpopularity of the count d'artois.--marie antoinette takes interest in politics.--france concludes an alliance with the united states.--affairs of bavaria.--character of the queen's letters on politics.--the queen expects to become a mother.--voltaire returns to paris.--the queen declines to receive him.--misconduct of the duke of orléans in the action off ushant.--the queen uses her influence in his favor. the emperor's admonitions and counsels had not been altogether unfruitful. if they had not at once entirely extinguished his sister's taste for the practices which he condemned, they had evidently weakened it; even though, as the first impression wore off, and her fear of being overwhelmed with _ennui_[ ] resumed its empire, she relapsed for a while into her old habits, it was no longer with the same eagerness as before, and not without frequent avowals that they had lost their attraction. she visibly drew off from the entanglements of the coterie with which she had surrounded herself. the members had grown jealous of one another. madame de polignac feared the influence of the superior disinterestedness of the princess de lamballe; madame de guimenée, who was suspected of a want of even common honesty, grudged every favor that was bestowed on madame de polignac; and their rivalry, which was not always suppressed even in the queen's presence, was not only felt by her to be degrading to herself, but was also wearisome. throughout the autumn her occupations and amusements were of a simpler kind. she read more, and agreeably surprised de vermond by the soundness of her reflections on many incidents and characters in history. accounts of chivalrous deeds had an especial charm for her. hume was still her favorite author. and it happened that, while the gallantry of the loyal champions of charles i. was fresh in her memory, a casual conversation threw in her way an opportunity of doing honor to the self-devoted heroism of a french soldier whom the proudest of the british cavaliers might have welcomed as a brother, but whose valiant and self-sacrificing fidelity had been left unnoticed by the worthless sovereign in whose service he had perished, and by his ministers, who thought only of securing the favor of the reigning mistress--favor to be won by actions of a very different complexion. in the seven years' war, when the french army, under the marshal de broglie, and the prussians, under prince ferdinand of brunswick, were watching one another in the neighborhood of wesel, the chevalier d'assas, a captain in the regiment of auvergne, was in command of an outpost on a dark night of october. he had strolled a little in advance of his sentries into the wood which fronted his position, when suddenly he found himself surrounded and seized by a body of armed enemies. they were the advanced guard of the prince's army, who was marching to surprise de broglie by a night attack, and they threatened him with instant death if he made the slightest noise. if he were but silent, he was safe as a prisoner of war; but his safety would have been the ruin of the whole french army, which had no suspicion of its danger. he did not for even a moment hesitate. with all the strength of his voice he shouted to his men, who were within hearing, that the enemy were upon them, and fell, bayoneted to death, almost before the words had passed his lips. he had saved his comrades and his commander, and had influenced the issue of the whole campaign. the enemy, whose well-planned enterprise his self-devotion had baffled, paid a cordial tribute of praise to his heroism, ferdinand himself publicly expressing his regret at the fate of one whose valor had shed honor on every brother-soldier; but not the slightest notice had been taken of him by those in authority in france till his exploit was accidentally mentioned in the queen's apartments. it filled her with admiration. she asked what had been done to commemorate so noble a deed. she was told "nothing;" the man and his gallantry had been alike forgotten. "had he left descendants or kinsmen?" "he had a brother and two nephews; the brother a retired veteran of the same regiment, the nephews officers in different corps of the army." the dead hero was forgotten no longer. marie antoinette never rested till she had procured an adequate pension for the brother, which was settled in perpetuity on the family; and promotion for both the nephews; and, as a further compliment, clostercamp, the name of the village which was the scene of the brave deed, was added forever to their family name. the pension is paid to this day. for a time, indeed, it was suspended while france was under the sway of the rapacious and insensible murderers of the king who had granted it; but napoleon restored it; and, amidst all the changes that have since taken place in the government of the country, every succeeding ruler has felt it equally honorable and politic to recognize the eternal claims which patriotic virtue has on the gratitude of the country. marie antoinette had thus the honor of setting an example to the government and the nation. her heart was getting lighter as the vexations under which she had so long fretted began to disappear. the late card-parties were often superseded, throughout the autumn, by concerts on the terrace at versailles, where the regimental bands were the performers, and to which all the well-dressed towns-people were admitted, while the queen, attended by the princesses and her ladies, and occasionally escorted by louis himself, strolled up and down and among the crowd, diffusing even greater pleasure than they themselves enjoyed; marie antoinette, as usual, being the central object of attraction, and greeting all with a teaming brightness of expression, and an affability as cordial as it was dignified, which deserved to win all hearts. one of the entertainments which she gave to the king at the little trianon may he recorded, not for any unusual sumptuousness of the spectacle, but as having been the occasion on which she made one more inroad on the established etiquette of the court in one of its most unaccountable restrictions: to such royal parties the king's ministers had never been regarded as admissible, but on this night marie antoinette commanded the company of the count and countess de maurepas. and the innovation was regarded not only by them as a singular favor, but by all their colleagues as a marked compliment to the whole body of ministers, and served to increase their desire to consult her inclinations in every matter in which she took an interest. and the esteem which she thus conciliated was at this time not destitute of real importance, since the conduct of the other members of the royal family excited very different feelings. the count de provence was generally distrusted as intriguing and insincere. and the count d'artois, whose bad qualities were of a more conspicuous character, was becoming an object of general dislike, not so much from his dissipated mode of life as from the overbearing arrogance which he imparted into his pleasures. no rank was high enough to protect the objects of his displeasure from his insolence; even ladies were not safe from it;[ ] while his extravagance was beyond all bounds since he considered himself entitled to claim from, the national treasury whatever he might require in addition to his stated income. he was at the same time repairing one castle, that of st. germain, which the king had given him; rebuilding another large house which he had purchased in the same neighborhood; and pulling down and rebuilding a third, named bagatelle, in the bois de boulogne, which he had just bought, and as to which he had laid an enormous wager that it should be completed and furnished in sixty days. to win his bet nearly a thousand workmen were employed day and night, and, as the requisite materials could not be provided at so short a notice, he sent patrols of his regiment to scour the roads, and seize every cart loaded with stones or timber for other employers, which he thus appropriated to his own use. he did, indeed, pay for the goods thus seized, and he won his bet, but when the princes of the land made so open a parade of their disregard of all law and all decency, one can hardly wonder that men in secret began, to talk of a revolution, or that all the graces and gentleness of the queen should be needed to outweigh such grave causes of discontent and indignation. as the new year opened, affairs of a very different kind began to occupy the queen's attention. on political questions, the advice which the empress gave her differed in some degree from that of her embassador. maria teresa was an earnest politician, but she was also a mother; and, as being eager above all things for her daughter's happiness, while she entreated marie antoinette to study politics, history, and such other subjects as might qualify her to be an intelligent companion of the king, and so far as or whenever he might require it, his chief confidante, she warned her also against ever wishing to rule him. but mercy was a statesman above every thing, and, feeling secure of being able to guide the queen, he desired to instill into her mind an ambition to govern the king. on one most important question she proved wholly unable to do so, since the decision taken was not even in accordance with the judgment or inclination of louis himself; but he allowed himself to be persuaded by two of his ministers to adopt a course against which joseph had earnestly warned him in the preceding year, and which, as he had been then convinced, was inconsistent alike with his position as a king and with his interests as king of france. england had been for some years engaged in a civil war with her colonies in north america, and from the commencement of the contest a strong sympathy for the colonists had been evinced by a considerable party in france. louis, who, for several reasons disliked england and english ideas, was at first inclined to coincide in this feeling as a development of anti-english principles: he was far from suspecting that its source was rather a revolutionary and republican sentiment. but he had conversed with his brother-in-law on the possibility of advantages which might accrue to france from the weakening of her old foe, if french aid should enable the americans to establish their independence. joseph's opinion was clear and unhesitating: "i am a king; it is my business to be royalist." and he easily convinced louis that for one sovereign to assist the subjects of another monarch who were in open revolt, was to set a mischievous example which might in time be turned against himself. but since his return to vienna, unprecedented disasters had befallen england; a whole army had laid down its arms; the ultimate success of the americans seemed to every statesman in europe to be assured, and the prospect gave such encouragement to the war party in the french cabinet that louis could resist it no longer. in february, , a treaty was concluded with the united states, as the insurgents called themselves; and france plunged into a war from which she had nothing to gain, which involved her in enormous expenses, which brought on her overwhelming defeats, and which, from its effects upon the troops sent to serve with the american army, who thus became infected with republican principles, had no slight influence in bringing about the calamities which, a few years later, overwhelmed both king and people. all marie antoinette's language on the subject shows that she viewed the quarrel with england with even greater repugnance than her husband; but it is curious to see that her chief fear was lest the war should be waged by land, and that she felt much greater confidence in the french navy than in the army;[ ] though it was just at this time that voltaire was pointing out to his countrymen that england had always enjoyed and always would possess a maritime superiority which different inquirers might attribute to various causes, but which none could deny.[ ] even before the conclusion of this treaty, however, the americans had found sympathizers in france, to one of whom some of the circumstances of the war which they were now waging gave a subsequent importance to which no talents or virtues of his own entitled him. the marquis de la fayette was a young man of ancient family, and of fair but not excessive fortune. he was awkward in appearance and manner, gawky, red-haired, and singularly deficient in the accomplishments which were cultivated by other youths of his age and rank.[ ] but he was deeply imbued with the doctrines of the new philosophy which saw virtue in the mere fact of resistance to authority; and when the colonists took up arms, he became eager to afford them such aid as he could give. he made the acquaintance of silas deane, one of the most unscrupulous of the american agents, who promised him, though he was only twenty years of age, the rank of major-general. as he was at all times the slave of a most overweening conceit, he was tempted by that bait; and, though he could not leave france without incurring the forfeiture of his military rank in the army of his own country, in april, , he crossed over to america to serve as a volunteer under washington, who naturally received with special distinction a recruit of such political importance. he was present at more than one battle, and was wounded at brandywine; but the exploit which made him most conspicuous was a ridiculous act of bravado in sending a challenge to lord carlisle, the chief of the english commissioners who in were dispatched to america to endeavor to re-establish peace. however, the close of the war, which ended, as is well known, in the humiliation of great britain and the establishment of the independence of the colonies, made him seem a hero to his countrymen on his return. the queen, always eager to encourage and reward feats of warlike enterprise, treated him with marked distinction, and procured him from her husband not only the restoration of his commission, but promotion to the command of a regiment;[ ] kindness which, as will be seen, he afterward requited with the foulest ingratitude. nor was this most imprudent war with england the only question of foreign politics which at this time interested marie antoinette. her native land, her mother's hereditary dominions, were also threatened with war. on the death of the elector of bavaria at the end of , joseph, who had been married to his sister, claimed a portion of his territories; and frederick of prussia, that "bad neighbor," as marie antoinette was wont to call him, announced his resolution to resist that claim, by force of arms if necessary. if he should carry out the resolution which he had announced, and if war should in consequence break out, much would depend on the attitude which france would assume on her fidelity to or disregard of the alliance which had now subsisted more than twenty years. so all-important to austria was her decision, that maria teresa forgot the line which, as a general rule of conduct, she had recommended to her daughter, and wrote to her with the most extreme earnestness to entreat her to lose no opportunity of influencing the king's council. if it depended upon maria teresa, the claim would probably not have been advanced; but joseph had made it on the part of the empire, and, when it was once made, the empress could not withhold her support from her son. she therefore threw herself into the quarrel with as much earnestness as if it had been her own. indeed, since joseph had as yet no authority over her hereditary possessions, it was only by her armies that it could be maintained; and in her letters to her daughter she declared that marie antoinette had her happiness, the welfare of her house, and of the whole austrian nation in her hands; that all depended on her activity and affection. she knew that the french ministers were inclined to favor the views of frederick, but if the alliance should be dissolved it would kill her.[ ] marie antoinette grew pale at reading so ominous a denunciation. it required no art to inflame her against frederick. the seven years' war had begun when she was but a year old; and all her life she had heard of nothing more frequently than of the rapacity and dishonesty of that unprincipled aggressor. she now entered with eagerness into her mother's views, and pressed them on louis with unremitting diligence and considerable fertility of argument, though she was greatly dismayed at finding that not only his ministers, but he himself, regarded austria as actuated by an aggressive ambition, and compared her claim to a portion of bavaria to the partition of poland, which, six years before, had drawn forth unwonted expressions of honorable indignation from even his unworthy grandfather. the idea that the alliance between france and the empire was itself at stake on the question, made her so anxious that she sent for the ministers themselves, pressing her views on both maurepas and vergennes with great earnestness. but they, though still faithful to the maintenance of the alliance, sympathized with the king rather than with her in his view of the character of the claim which the emperor had put forward; and they also urged another argument for abstaining from any active intervention, that the finances of the country were in so deplorable a state that france could not afford to go to war. it was plain, as she told them, that this consideration should at least equally have prevented their quarreling with england. but, in spite of all her persistence, they were not to be moved from this view of the true interest of france in the conjuncture that had arisen; and, accordingly, in the brief war which ensued between the empire and prussia, france took no part, though it is more than probable that her mediation between the belligerents, which had no little share in bringing about the peace of teschen,[ ] was in a great degree owing to the queen's influence. for she was not discouraged by her first failure, but renewed her importunities from time to time; and at last did succeed in wringing a promise from her husband that if prussia should invade the flemish provinces of austria, france would arm on the empress's side. so fully did the affair absorb her attention that it made her indifferent to the gayeties which the carnival always brought round. she did, indeed, as a matter of duty, give one or two grand state balls, one of which, in which the dancers of the quadrilles were masked, and in which their dresses represented the male and female costumes of india, was long talked of for both the magnificence and the novelty of the spectacle; and she attended one or two of the opera-balls, under the escort of her brothers-in-law and their countesses; but they had begun to pall upon her, and she made repeated offers to the king to give them up and to spend her evenings in quiet with him. but he was more inclined to prompt her to seek amusement than to allow her to sacrifice any,[ ] even such as he did not care to partake of; nevertheless, he was pleased with the offer, and it was observed by the courtiers that the mutual confidence of the husband and wife in each other was more marked and more firmly established than ever. he showed her all the dispatches, consulted her on all points, and explained his reasons when he could not adopt all her views. as marie antoinette wrote to her brother, "if it were possible to reckon wholly on any man, the king was the one on whom she could thoroughly rely.[ ]" so greatly, indeed, did the quarrel between austria and prussia engross her, that it even occupied the greater part of letters whose ostensible object is to announce prospects of personal happiness which might have been expected to extinguished every other consideration. in one, after touching briefly on her health and hopes, she proceeds: "how kind my dear mamma is, to express her approval of the way in which i have conducted myself in these affairs up to the present time! alas! there is no need for you to feel obliged to me; it was my heart that acted in the whole matter. i am only vexed at not being able to enter myself into the feelings of all these ministers, so as to be able to make them comprehend how every thing which has been done and demanded by the authorities at vienna is just and reasonable. but unluckily none are more deaf than those who will not hear; and, besides, they have such a number of terms and phrases which mean nothing, that they bewilder themselves before they come to say a single reasonable thing. i will try one plan, and that is to speak to them both in the king's presence, to induce them, at least, to hold language suitable to the occasion to the king of prussia; and in good truth it is for the interest and glory of the king[ ] himself that i am anxious to see this done; for he can not but gain by supporting allies who on every account ought to be so dear to him. "in other respects, and especially in my present conditions, he behaves most admirably, and is most attentive to me. i protest to you, my dear mamma, that my heart would be torn by the idea that you could for a moment suspect his good-will in what has been done. no; it is the terrible weakness of his ministers, and tis own great want of self-reliance, which does all the mischief; and i am sure that if he would never act but on his own judgment, every one would see his honesty, his correctness of feeling, and his tact, which at present they are far from appreciating.[ ]" and at the end of the month she writes again: "i saw mercy a day or two ago: he showed me the articles which the king of prussia sent to my brother. i think it is impossible to see any thing more absurd than his proposals. in fact, they are so ridiculous that they must strike every one here; i can answer for their appearing so to the king. i have not been able to see the ministers. m. de vergennes has not been here [she is writing from marly]; he is not well, so that i must wait till we return to versailles. "i had seen before the correspondence of the king of prussia with my brother. it is most abominable of the former to have sent it here, and the more so since, in truth, he has not much to boast of. his imprudence, his bad faith, and his malignant temper are visible in every line. i have been enchanted with my brother's answers. it is impossible to put into letters more grace, more moderation, and at the same time more force. i am going to say something which is very vain; but i do believe that there is not in the whole world any one but the emperor, the son of my dearest mother, who has the happiness of seeing her every day, who could write in such a manner." there is no trace in these letters of the levity and giddiness of which mercy so often complains, and which she at times did not deny. on the contrary, they display an earnestness as well as a good sense and an energy which are gracefully set off by the affection for her mother, and the pride in her brother's firmness and address which they also express. with respect to the conduct of louis at this crisis we may perhaps differ from her; and may think that he rarely showed so much self-reliance, the general want of which was in truth his greatest defect, as when he preferred the arguments of vergennes to her entreaties. but if her praises of the emperor are, as she herself terms them, vanity, it is the vanity of sisterly and patriotic affection, which can not but be regarded with approval; and we may see in it an additional proof of the correctness of an assertion, repeated over and over again in mercy's correspondence, that, whenever marie antoinette gave the rein to her own natural impulses, she invariably both thought and acted rightly. in one of the extracts which have just been quoted, the queen alludes to her own condition; and that, in any one less unselfish, might well have driven all other thoughts from her head. for the event to which she had so long looked forward as that which was wanted to crown her happiness, and which had been so long deferred that at times she had ceased to hope for it at all, was at last about to take place--she was about to become a mother. her own joy at the prospect was shared to its full extent by both the king and the empress. louis, roused out of his usual reserve, wrote with his own hand to both the empress and the emperor, to give the intelligence; and maria teresa declared that she had nothing left to wish for, and that she could now close her eyes in peace. and the news was received with almost equal pleasure by the citizens of paris, who had long desired to see an heir born to the crown; and by those of vienna, who had not yet forgotten the fair young princess, the flower of her mother's flock, as they had fondly called her, whom they had sent to fill a foreign throne. her own happiness exhibited itself, as usual, in acts of benevolence, in the distribution of liberal gifts to the poor of paris and versailles, and a foundation of a hospital for those in a similar condition with herself.[ ] in the course of the spring, paris was for a moment excited even more than by the declaration of war against england, or than by the expectation of the queen's confinement, by the return of voltaire, who had long been in disgrace with the court, and had been for many years living in a sort of tacit exile on the borders of the lake of geneva. he was now in extreme old age, and, believing himself to have but a short time to live, he wished to see paris once more, putting forward as his principal motive his desire to superintend the performance of his tragedy of "irene." his admirers could easily secure him a brilliant reception at the theatre; but they were anxious above all things to obtain for him admission to the court, or at least a private interview with the queen. she felt in a dilemma. joseph, a year before, had warned her against giving encouragement to a man whose principles deserved the reprobation of all sovereigns. he himself, though on his return to vienna he had passed through geneva, had avoided an interview with him, while the empress had been far more explicit in her condemnation of his character. on the other hand, marie antoinette had not yet learned the art of refusing, when those who solicited a favor had personal access to her; and she had also some curiosity to see a man whose literary fame was accounted one of the chief glories of the nation and the age. she consulted the king, but found louis, on this subject, in entire agreement with her mother and her brother. he had no literary curiosity, and he disapproved equally the lessons which voltaire had throughout his life sought to inculcate upon others, and the licentious habits with which he had exemplified his own principles in action. she yielded to his objections, and voltaire, deeply mortified at the refusal,[ ] was left to console himself as best he could with the enthusiastic acclamations of the play-goers of the capital, who crowned his bust on the stage, while he sat exultingly in his box, and escorted him back in triumph to his house; those who could approach near enough even kissing his garments as he passed, till he asked them whether they designed to kill him with delight; as, indeed, in some sense, they may be said to have done, for the excitement of the homage thus paid to him day after day, whenever he was seen in public, proved too much for his feeble frame. he was seized with illness, which, however, was but a natural decay, and in a few weeks after his arrival in paris he died. as the year wore on, marie antoinette was fully occupied in making arrangements for the child whose coming was expected with such impatience. her mother is of course her chief confidante. she is to be the child's godmother; her name shall be the first its tongue is to learn to pronounce; while for its early management the advice of so experienced a parent is naturally sought with unhesitating deference. still, marie antoinette is far from being always joyful. russia has made an alliance with prussia; frederick has invaded bohemia, and she is so overwhelmed with anxiety that she cancels invitations for parties which she was about to give at the trianon, and would absent herself from the theatre and from all public places, did not mercy persuade her that such a withdrawal would seem to be the effect, not of a natural anxiety, but of a despondency which would be both unroyal and unworthy of the reliance which she ought to feel on the proved valor of the austrian armies. the war with england, also, was an additional cause of solicitude and vexation. the sailors in whom she had expressed such confidence were not better able than before to contend with british antagonists. in an undecisive skirmish which took place in july between two fleets of the first magnitude, the french admiral, d'orvilliers, had made a practical acknowledgment of his inferiority by retreating in the night, and eluding all the exertions of the english admiral, keppel, to renew the action. the discontent in paris was great; the populace was severe on one or two of the captains, who were thought to have taken undue care of their ships and of themselves, and especially bitter against the duke de chartres, who had had a rear-admiral's command in the fleet, and who, after having made himself conspicuous before d'orvilliers sailed, by his boasts of the prowess which he intended to exhibit, had made himself equally notorious in the action itself by the pains he took to keep himself out of danger. on his return to paris, shameless as he was, he scarcely dared show his face, till the comte d'artois persuaded the queen to throw her shield over him. it was impossible for him to remain in the navy; but, to soften his fall, the count proposed that the king should create a new appointment for him, as colonel-general of the light cavalry. louis saw the impropriety of such a step: truly it was but a questionable compliment to pay to his hussars, to place in authority over them a man under whom no sailor would willingly serve. marie antoinette in her heart was as indignant as any one. constitutionally an admirer of bravery, she had taken especial interest in the affairs of the fleet and in the details of this action. she had honored with the most marked eulogy the gallantry of admiral du chaffault, who had been severely wounded; but now she allowed herself to be persuaded that the duke's public disgrace would reflect on the whole royal family, and pressed the request so earnestly on the king that at last he yielded. in outward appearance the duke's honor was saved; but the public, whose judgment on such matter is generally sound, and who had revived against him some of the jests with which the comrades of luxemburg had shown their scorn of the duke de maine, blamed her interference; and the duke himself, by the vile ingratitude with which he subsequently repaid her protection, gave but too sad proof that of all offenders against honor the most unworthy of royal indulgence is a coward. chapter xiv. birth of madame royale.--festivities of thanksgiving.--the dames de la halle at the theatre.--thanksgiving at notre dame.--the king goes to a bal d'opéra.--the queen's carriage breaks down.--marie antoinette has the measles.--her anxiety about the war.--retrenchments of expense. mercy, while deploring the occasional levity of the queen's conduct, and her immoderate thirst for amusement, had constantly looked forward to the birth of a child as the event which, by the fresh and engrossing occupation it would afford to her mind, would be the surest remedy for her juvenile heedlessness. and, as we have seen, the absence of any prospect of becoming a mother had, till recently, been a constant source of anxiety and vexation to the queen herself--the one drop of bitterness in her cup, which, but for that, would have been filled with delights. but this disappointment was now to pass away. from the moment that it was publicly announced that the queen was in the way to become a mother, one general desire seemed to prevail to show how deep an interest the whole nation felt in the event. in cathedrals, monasteries, abbeys, universities, and parish churches, masses were celebrated and prayers offered for her safe delivery. in many instances, private individuals even gave extraordinary alms to bring down the blessing of heaven on the nation, so interested in the expected event. and on the th of december, , the prayers were answered, and the hopes of the country in great measure realized by the birth of a princess, who was instantly christened maria thérèse charlotte, in compliment to the empress, her godmother. the labor was long, and had nearly proved fatal to the mother, from the strange and senseless custom which made the queen's bed-chamber on such an occasion a reception-room for every one, of whatever rank or station, who could force his way in.[ ] in most countries, perhaps in all, the genuineness of a royal infant is assured by the presence of a few great officers of state; but on this occasion not only all the ministers, with all the members of the king's or of the queen's household, were present in the chamber, but a promiscuous rabble filled the adjacent saloon and gallery, and, the moment that it was announced that the birth was about to take place, rushed in disorderly tumult into the apartment, some climbing on the chairs and sofas, and even on the tables and wardrobes, to obtain a better sight of the patient. the uproar was great. the heat became intense; the queen fainted. the king himself dashed at the windows, which were firmly closed, and by an unusual effort of strength tore down the fastenings and admitted air into the room. the crowd was driven out, but marie antoinette continued insensible; and the moment was so critical that the physician had recourse to his lancet, and opened a vein in her foot. as the blood came she revived. the king himself came to her side, and announced to her that she was the mother of a daughter. it can hardly be said that the hopes of the nation, or of the king himself, had been fully realized, since an heir to the throne, a dauphin, that had been universally hoped for. but in the general joy that was felt at the queen's safety the disappointment of this hope was disregarded, and the little princess, madame royale, as she was called from her birth, was received by the still loyal people in the same spirit as that in which anne boleyn's lady in waiting had announced to henry viii. the birth of her "fair young maid:" "_king henry_. now by thy looks i guess thy message. is the queen delivered? say ay; and of a boy. "_lady_. ay, ay, my liege, and of a lovely boy. the god of heaven both now and ever bless her. 'tis a girl, promises boys hereafter." and a month before the empress had expressed a similar sentiment: "i trust," she wrote to her daughter in november, "that god will grant me the comfort of knowing that you are safely delivered. every thing else is a matter of indifference. boys will come after girls.[ ]" and the same feeling was shared by the parisians in general, and embodied by m. imbert, a courtly poet, whose odes were greatly in vogue in the fashionable circles, in an epigram which was set to music and sung in the theatres. "pour toi, france, un dauphin doit naître, une princesse vient pour en être témoin, sitôt qu'on voit une grâce paraître, croyez que l'amour n'est pas loin.[ ]" marie antoinette herself was scarcely disappointed at all. when the attendants brought her her babe, she pressed it to her bosom. "poor little thing," said she, "you are not what was desired, but you shall not be the less dear to me. a son would have belonged to the state; you will be my own: you shall have all my care, you shall share my happiness and sweeten my vexations.[ ]" the count de provence made no secret of his joy. he was still heir presumptive to the throne. and, though no one shared his feelings on the subject, for the next few weeks the whole kingdom, and especially the capital, was absorbed in public rejoicings. her own thankfullness was displayed by marie antoinette in her usual way, by acts of benevolence. she sent large sums of money to the prisons to release poor debtors; she gave dowries to a hundred poor maidens; she applied to the chief officers of both army and navy to recommend her veterans worthy of especial reward; and to the curates of the metropolitan parishes to point out to her any deserving objects of charity; and she also settled pensions on a number of poor children who were born on the same day as the princess; one of whom, who owed her education to this grateful and royal liberality, became afterward known to every visitor of paris as madame mars, the most accomplished of comic actresses.[ ] one portion of the rejoicings was marked by a curious incident, in which the same body whose right to a special place of honor at ceremonies connected with the personal happiness of the royal family we have already seen admitted--the ladies of the fish-market--again asserted their pretensions with triumphant success. on christmas-eve the theatres were opened gratuitously, but these ladies, who, with their friends, the coal-heavers, selected the most aristocratic theatre, la comédie française, for the honor of their visit, arrived with aristocratic unpunctuality, so late that the guards stopped them at the doors, declaring that the house was full, and that there was not a seat vacant. they declared that in any event room must be made for them. "who were in the boxes of the king and queen? for on such occasions those places were theirs of right." even they, however, were full, and the guards demurred to the ladies' claim to be considered, though for this night only, as the representatives of royalty, and to have the existing occupants of the seats demanded turned out to make room for them. the box-keeper and the manager were sent for. the registers of the house confirmed the validity of the claim by former precedents, and a compromise was at last effected. rows of benches were placed on each side of the stage itself. those on the right were allotted to the coal-heavers as representatives of louis; the ladies of the fish-market sat on the left as the deputies of marie antoinette. before the play was allowed to begin, his majesty the king of the coal-heavers read the bulletin of the day announcing the rapid progress of the queen toward recovery; and then, giving his hand to the queen of the fish-wives, the august pair, followed by their respective suites, executed a dance expressive of their delight at the good news, and then resumed their seats, and listened to voltaire's "zaire" with the most edifying gravity.[ ] it was evident that in some things there was already enough, and rather more than enough, of that equality the unreasonable and unpractical passion for which proved, a few years later, the most pregnant cause of immeasurable misery to the whole nation. but the demonstration most in accordance with the queen's own taste was that which took place a few weeks later, when she went in a state procession to the great national cathedral of notre dame to return thanks; one most interesting part of the ceremony being the weddings of the hundred young couples to whom she had given dowries, who also received a silver medal to commemorate the day. the gayety of the spectacle, since they, with the formal witnesses of their marriage, filled a great part of the antechapel; and the blessings invoked on the queen's head as she left the cathedral by the prisoners whom she had released, and by the poor whose destitution she had relieved, made so great an impression on the spectators, that even the highest dignitaries of the court added their cheers and applause to those of the populace who escorted her coach to the gates on its return to versailles. she was now, for the first time since her arrival in france, really and entirely happy, without one vexation or one foreboding of evil. the king's attachment to her was rendered, if not deeper than before, at least far more lively and demonstrative by the birth of his daughter; his delight carrying him at times to most unaccustomed ebullitions of gayety. on the last sunday of the carnival, he even went alone with the queen to the masked opera ball, and was highly amused at finding that not one of the company recognized either him or her. he even proposed to repeat his visit on shrove-tuesday; but when the evening came he changed his mind, and insisted on the queen's going by herself with one of her ladies, and the change of plan led to an incident which at the time afforded great amusement to marie antoinette, though it afterward proved a great annoyance, as furnishing a pretext for malicious stories and scandal. to preserve her _incognito_, a private carriage was hired for her, which broke down in the street close by a silk-mercer's shop. as the queen was already masked, the shop-men did not know her, and, at the request of the lady who attended her, stopped for her the first hackney-coach which passed, and in that unroyal vehicle, such as certainly no sovereign of france had ever set foot in before, she at last reached the theatre. as before, no one recognized her, and she might have enjoyed the scene and returned to versailles in the most absolute secrecy, had not her sense of the fun of a queen using such a conveyance overpowered her wish for concealment, so that when, in the course of the evening, she met one or two persons of distinction whom she knew, she could not forbear telling them who she was, and that she had come in a hackney-coach. her health seemed less delicate than it had been before her confinement. but in the spring she was attacked by the measles, and her illness, slight as it was, gave occasion to a curious passage in court history. the fear of infection was always great at versailles, and, as the king himself and some of the ladies had never had the complaint, they were excluded from her room. but that she might not be left without attendants, four nobles of the court, the duke de coigny, the duke de guines, the count esterhazy, and the baron de besenval, in something of the old spirit of chivalry, devoted themselves to her service, and solicited permission to watch by her bedside till she recovered. as has been already seen, the bed-chamber and dressing-room of a queen of france had never been guarded from intrusion with the jealousy which protects the apartments of ladies in other countries, so that the proposal was less startling than it would have been considered elsewhere, while the number of nurses removed all pretext for scandal. louis willingly gave the required permission, being apparently flattered by the solicitude exhibited for his queen's health. and each morning at seven the sick-watchers[ ] took their seats in the queen's chamber, sharing with the countess of provence, the princesse de lamballe, and the count d'artois the task of keeping order and quiet in the sick-room till eleven at night. though there was no scandal, there was plenty of jesting at so novel an arrangement. wags proposed that in the case of the king being taken ill, a list should be prepared of the ladies who should tend his sick-bed. however, the champions were not long on duty: at the end of little more than a week their patient was convalescent. she herself took off the sentence of banishment which she had pronounced against the king in a brief and affectionate note, which said "that she had suffered a great deal, but what she had felt most was to be for so many days deprived of the pleasure of embracing him." and the temporary separation seemed to have but increased their mutual affection for each other. the trianon was now more than ever delightful to her. the new plantations, which contained no fewer than eight hundred different kinds of trees, rich with every variety of foliage, were beginning, by their effectiveness, to give evidence of the taste with which they had been laid out; while with a charity which could not bear to keep her blessings wholly to herself, she had set apart one corner of the grounds for a row of picturesque cottages, in which she had established a number of pensioners whom age or infirmity had rendered destitute, and whom she constantly visited with presents from her dairy or her fruit-trees. roaming about the lawns and walks, which she had made herself, in a muslin gown and a plain straw hat, she could forget that she was a queen. she did not suspect that the intriguers, who from time to time maligned her most innocent actions, were misrepresenting even these simple and natural pleasures, and whispering in their secret cabals that her very dress was a proof that she still clung as resolutely as ever to her austrian preferences; that she discarded her silk gowns because they were the work of french manufacturers, while they were her brother's flemish subjects who supplied her with muslins. but, far beyond her plantations and her flowers, her child was to her a source of unceasing delight. she could be carried by her side about the garden a great part of the day. for, as in her anticipations and preparations she had told her mother long before, french parents kept their children as much as possible in the open air,[ ] a fashion which fully accorded with her own notions of what was best calculated to give an infant health and strength. and before the babe was five months old,[ ] she flattered herself that it already distinguished her from its nurses. that nothing might be wanting to her comfort, peace was re-established between austria and prussia; and if at this time the war with england did make her in some degree uneasy, she yet felt a sanguine anticipation of triumph for the french arms, in the event of a battle between the hostile fleets; a result of which, when the antagonists did come within sight of each other, it appeared that the french and spanish admirals felt far less confident. her anxieties and hopes are vividly set forth in a letter which, in the course of the summer, she wrote to her mother, which is also singularly interesting from its self-examination, and from the substantial proof it supplies of the correctness of those anticipations which were based on the salutary effect which her novel position as a mother might be expected to have upon her character. "versailles, august th. "my dearest mother,--i can not find language to express to my dear mamma my thanks for her two letters, and for the kindness with which she expresses her willingness to exert herself to the utmost to procure us peace.[ ] it is true that that would be a great happiness, and my heart desires it more than any thing in the world; but, unhappily, i do not see any appearance of it at present. every thing depends on the moment. our fleets, the french and spanish, being now united, we have a considerable superiority.[ ] "they are now in the channel; and i can not without great agitation reflect that at any instant the whole fate of the war may be decided. i am also terrified at the approach of september, when the sea is no longer practicable. in short, it is only on the bosom of my dearest mamma that i lay aside all my disquiet god grant that it may be groundless, but her kindness encourages me to speak to her as i think. the king is touched, quite as he should be, with all the service you so kindly propose to render him; and i do not doubt that he will be always eager to profit by it, rather than to deliver himself up to the intrigues of those who have so frequently deceived france, and whom we must regard as our natural enemies. "my health is completely re-established. i am going to resume my ordinary way of life, and consequently i hope soon to be able to announce to my dearest mother fresh news such as that of last year. she may feel quite re-assured now as to my behavior. i feel too strongly the necessity of having more children to be careless in that. if i have formerly done amiss, it was my youth and my levity; but now my head is thoroughly steadied, and you may reckon confidently on my properly feeling all my duties. besides that, i owe such conduct to the king as a reward for his tenderness, and, i will venture to say it, his confidence in me, for which i can only praise him more find more. "... i venture to send my dear mamma the picture of my daughter: it is very like her. the dear little thing begins to walk very well in her leading-strings. she has been able to say "papa" for some days. her teeth have not yet come through, but we can feel them all. i am very glad that her first word has been her father's name. it is one more tie for him. he behaves to me most admirably, and nothing could be wanting to make me love him more. my dear mamma will forgive my twaddling about the little one; but she is so kind that sometimes i abuse her kindness." it was well for marie antoinette's happiness that her husband was one in whom, as we have seen that she told her mother, she could feel entire confidence, for during her seclusion in the measles the intriguers of the court had ventured to try and work upon him. mercy had reason to suspect that some were even wicked enough to desire to influence him against his wife by the same means by which the duke de richelieu had formerly alienated his grandfather from marie leczinska; and the queen herself received proof positive that maurepas, in spite of her civilities to him and his countess, had become jealous of her political influence, and had endeavored to prevent his consulting her on public affairs. but all manoeuvres intended to disturb the conjugal felicity of the royal pair were harmless against the honest fidelity of the king, the graceful affection of the queen, and the firm confidence of each in the other. the people generally felt that the influence which it was now notorious that the queen did exert on public affairs was a salutary one; and great satisfaction was expressed when it became known in the autumn that the usual visit to fontainebleau was given up, partly as being costly, and therefore undesirable while the nation had need to concentrate all its resources on the effective prosecution of the war, and partly that the king might be always within reach of his ministers in the event of any intelligence of importance arriving which required prompt decision. her letters to her mother at this time show how entirely her whole attention was engrossed by the war; and, at the same time, with what wise earnestness she desired the re-establishment of peace. even some gleams of success which had attended the french arms in the west indies, where the marquis de bouillé, the most skillful soldier of whom france at that time could boast, took one or two of the british islands, and the count d'estaing, whose fleet of thirty-six sail was for a short time far superior to the english force in that quarter, captured one or two more, did not diminish her eagerness for a cessation of the war. though it is curious to see that she had become so deeply imbued with the principles of statesmanship with which m. necker, the present financial minister, was seeking to inspire the nation, that her objections to the continuance of the war turned chiefly on the degree in which it affected the revenue and expenditure of the kingdom. she evidently sympathizes in the disappointment which, as she reports to the empress, is generally felt by the public at the mismanagement of the admiral, m. d'orvilliers, who, with forces so superior to those of the english, has neither been able to fall in with them so as to give them battle, nor to hinder any of their merchantmen from reaching their harbors in safety. as it is, he will have spent a great deal of money in doing nothing.[ ] and a month later she repeats the complaints.[ ] the king and she have renounced the journey to fontainebleau because of the expenses of the war; and also that they may be in the way to receive earlier intelligence from the army. but the fleet has not been able to fall in with the english, and has done nothing at all. it is a campaign lost, and which has cost a great deal of money. what is still more afflicting is, that disease has broken out on board the ships, and has caused great havoc; and the dysentery, which is raging as an epidemic in brittany and normandy, has attacked the land force also, which was intended to embark for england ... "i greatly fear," she proceeds, "that these misfortunes of ours will render the english difficult to treat with, and may prevent proposals of peace, of which i see no immediate prospect. i am constantly persuaded that if the king should require a mediation, the intrigues of the king of prussia will fail, and will not prevent the king from availing himself of the offers of my dear mamma. i shall take care never to lose sight of this object, which is of such interest to the whole happiness of my life." so full is her mind of the war, that four or five words in each letter to report that "her daughter is in perfect health," or that "she has cut four teeth," are all that she can spare for that subject, generally of such engrossing interest to herself and the empress; while, before the end of the year, we find her taking even the domestic troubles of england into her calculations,[ ] and speculating on the degree in which the aspect of affairs in ireland may affect the great preparations which the english ministers are making for the next campaign. the mere habit of devoting so much consideration to affairs of this kind was beneficial as tending to mature and develop her capacity. she was rapidly learning to take large views of political questions, even if they were not always correct. and the acuteness and earnestness of her comments on them daily increased her influence over both the king and the ministers, so that in the course of the autumn mercy could assure the empress[ ] that "the king's complaisance toward her increased every day," that "he made it his study to anticipate all her wishes, and that this attention showed itself in every kind of detail," while maurepas also was unable to conceal from himself that her voice always prevailed "in every case in which she chose to exert a decisive will," and accordingly "bent himself very prudently" before a power which he had no means of resisting. so solicitous indeed did the whole council show itself to please her, that when the king, who was aware that her allowance, in spite of its recent increase was insufficient to defray the charges to which she was liable, proposed to double it, necker himself, with all his zeal for economy and retrenchment, eagerly embraced the suggestion; and its adoption gave the queen a fresh opportunity of strengthening the esteem and affection of the nation, by declaring that while the war lasted she would only accept half the sum thus placed at her disposal. the continuance of the war was not without its effect on the gayety of the court, from the number of officers whom their military duties detained with their regiments; but the quiet was beneficial to marie antoinette, whose health was again becoming delicate, so much so, that after a grand drawing-room which she held on new-year's-eve, and which was attended by nearly two hundred of the chief ladies of the city, she was completely knocked up, and forced to put herself under the care of her physician. meanwhile the war became more formidable. the english admiral, rodney, the greatest sailor who, as yet, had ever commanded a british fleet, in the middle of january utterly destroyed a strong spanish squadron off cape st. vincent; and as from the coast of spain he proceeded to the west indies, the french ministry had ample reason to be alarmed for the safety of the force which they had in those regions. it was evident that it would require every effort that could be made to enable their sailors to maintain the contest against an antagonist so brave and so skillful and, as one of the first steps toward such a result, necker obtained the king's consent to a great reform in the expenditure of the court and in the civil service; and to the abolition of a great number of costly sinecures. we may be able to form some idea of the prodigality which had hitherto wasted the revenues of the country, from the circumstance that a single edict suppressed above four hundred offices; and marie antoinette was so sincere in her desire to promote such measures, that she speaks warmly in their praise to her mother, even though they greatly curtailed her power of gratifying her own favorites. "the king," she says, "has just issued an edict which is as yet only the forerunner of a reform which he designs, to make both in his own household and in mine. if it be carried out, it will be a great benefit, not only for the economy which it will introduce, but still more for its agreement with public opinion, and for the satisfaction it will give the nation." it is impossible for any language to show more completely how, above all things, she made the good of the country her first object. and she was the more inclined to approve of all that was being done in this way from her conviction that necker was both honest and able; an opinion which she shared with, if she had not learned it from, her mother and her brother, and which was to some extent justified by the comparative order which he had re-established in the finance of the country, and by the degree in which he had revived public credit. she was not aware that the real dangers of the situation had a source deeper than any financial difficulty, a fact which necker himself was unable to comprehend. and she could not foresee, when it became necessary to grapple with those dangers, how unequal to the struggle the great banker would be found. it may, perhaps, be inferred that she did suspect necker of some deficiency in the higher qualities of statesmanship when, in the spring of , she told her mother that "she would give every thing in the world to have a prince kaunitz in the ministry;[ ] but that such men were rare, and were only to be found by those who, like the empress herself, had the sagacity to discover and the judgment to appreciate such merit." she was, however, shutting her eyes to the fact that her husband had had a minister far superior to kaunitz; and that she herself had lent her aid to drive him from his service. chapter xv. anglomania in paris.--the winter at versailles.--hunting.--private theatricals.--death of prince charles of lorraine.--successes of the english in america.--education of the duc d'angoulême.--libelous attacks on the queen.--death of the empress.--favor shown to some of the swedish nobles.--the count de fersen.--necker retires from office.--his character. it is curious, while the resources of the kingdom were so severely taxed to maintain the war against england, of which every succeeding dispatch from the seat of war showed more and more the imprudence, to read in mercy's correspondence accounts of the anglomania, which still subsisted in paris; surpassing that which the letters of the empress describe as reigning in vienna, though it did not show itself now in quite the same manner as a year or two before, in the aping of english vices, gambling at races, and hard drinking, but rather in a copying of the fashions of men's dress; in the introduction of top-boots; and, very wholesomely, in the adoption of a country life by many of the great nobles, in imitation of the english gentry; so that, for the first time since the coronation of louis xiv., the great territorial lords began to spend a considerable part of the year on their estates, and no longer to think the interests and requirements of their tenants and dependents beneath their notice. the winter of and the spring of passed very happily. if versailles, from the reasons mentioned above, was not as crowded as in former years, it was very lively. the season was unusually mild; the hunting was scarcely ever interrupted, and marie antoinette, who now made it a rule to accompany her husband on every possible occasion, sometimes did not return from the hunt till the night was far advanced, and found her health much benefited by the habit of spending the greater part of even a winter's day in the open air. her garden, too, which daily occupied more and more of her attention, as it increased in beauty, had the same tendency; and her anxiety to profit by the experience of others on one occasion inflicted a whimsical disappointment of the free-thinkers of the court. the profligate and sentimental infidel rousseau had died a couple of years before, and had been buried at ermenonville, in the park of the count de girardin. in the course of the summer the queen drove over to ermenonville, and the admirers of the versatile writer flattered themselves that her object was to pay a visit of homage to the shrine of their idol; but they wore greatly mortified to find that, though his tomb was pointed out to her, she took no further notice of it than such as consisted of a passing remark that it was very neat, and very prettily placed; and that what had attracted her curiosity was the english garden which the count had recently laid out at a great expense, and from which she had been led to expect that she might derive some hints for the further improvement of her own little trianon. she had not yet entirely given up her desire for novelty in her amusements; and she began now to establish private theatricals at versailles, choosing light comedies interspersed with song, and with but few characters, the male parts being filled by the count d'artois and some of the most distinguished officers of the household, while she herself took one of the female parts; the spectators being confined to the royal family and those nobles whose posts entitled them to immediate attendance on the king and queen. she was so anxious to perform her own part well, though she did not take any of the principal characters, but preferred to act the waiting-woman rather than the mistress, that she placed herself under the tuition of michu, a professional actor of reputation from one of the parisian theatres; but, though the audience was far too courtly to greet her appearance on the stage without vociferous applause, the preponderance of evidence must lead us to believe that her majesty was not a good actress.[ ] and perhaps we may think that as the parts which she selected required rather an arch pertness than the grace and majesty which were more natural to her, so, also, they were not altogether in keeping with the stately dignity which queens should never wholly lay aside. it was well, however, that she should have amusements to cheer her, for the year was destined to bring her heavy troubles before its close: losses in her own family, which would be felt with terrible heaviness by her affectionate disposition, were impending over her; while the news from america, where the english army at this time was achieving triumphs which seemed likely to have a decisive influence on the result of the war, caused her great anxiety. how great, a letter which she wrote to her mother in july affords a striking proof. in june, when she heard of the dangerous illness of her uncle, prince charles of lorraine, now governor of the low countries, formerly the gallant antagonist of frederick of prussia, she declared that "the intelligence overwhelmed her with an agitation and grief such as she had never before experienced," and she lamented with evidently deep and genuine distress the threatened extinction of the male line of the house of lorraine. but before she wrote again, the news of sir henry clinton's exploits in carolina had arrived, and, though almost the same post informed her of the prince's death, the sorrow which that bereavement awakened in her mind was scarcely allowed, even in its first freshness, an equal share of her lamentations with the more absorbing importance of the events of the campaign beyond the atlantic. "my dearest mother,--i wrote to you the moment that i received the sad intelligence of my uncle's death; though, as the brussels courier had already started, i fear my letter may have arrived rather late. i will not venture to say more on the subject, lest i should be reopening a sorrow for which you have so much cause to grieve.... the capture of charleston[ ] is a most disastrous event, both for the facilities it will afford the english and for the encouragement which it will give to their pride. it is perhaps still more serious because of the miserable defense made by the americans. one can hope nothing from such bad troops." it is curious to contrast the angry jealousy which she here betrays of our disposition and policy as a nation, with the partiality which, as we have seen, she showed for the agreeable qualities of individual englishmen. but her uneasiness on this subject led to practical results, by inducing her to add her influence to that of a party which was discontented with the ministry; and was especially laboring to persuade the king to make a change in the war department, and to dismiss the prince de montbarey, whose sole recommendation for the office of secretary of state seemed to be that he was a friend of the prime minister, and to give his place to the count de ségur. the change was made, as any change was sure to be made in favor of which she personally exerted herself; even the partisans of m. de maurepas himself were forced to allow that the new minister was in every respect far superior to his predecessor; and mercy was desirous that she should procure the dismissal of maurepas also, thinking it of great importance to her own comfort that the prime minister should be bound to her interests. but she was far more anxious on other subjects. nearly two years had now elapsed since the birth of the princess royal; and there was as yet no prospect of a companion to her, so that the count d'artois began to make arrangements for the education of his infant son, the duc d'angoulême, with a premature solicitude, which was evidently designed to point the child out to the nation as its future sovereign.[ ] the queen was greatly annoyed; and, to add to her vexation, one of the teething illnesses to which children are subject at this time threw the little princess into convulsions, which, to a mother's anxiety, seemed even dangerous to her life; though in a day or two that apprehension passed away. but these hopes of d'artois and his flatterers again filled the court with intrigues. in the course of the summer she was made highly indignant by finding that news from the court, with malicious comments, were sent from paris across the frontier to be printed at deux-ponts or düsseldorf, and then circulated in paris and in vienna; and it was difficult to avoid connecting these libels with those who in the palace itself were manifestly building hopes on the diminution of her influence and the disparagement of her character. but this and all other vexations were presently thrown into the shade by a great grief, the more difficult to bear because it was wholly unexpected by her--the death of her mother. in reality, maria teresa had been unwell for some time; but the suspicions of the serious character of her complaint, which she secretly entertained, she had never revealed to marie antoinette; and at last the end followed too quickly on the first appearance of danger to allow time for any preparatory warnings to be received at versailles before the fatal intelligence arrived. on the th of november she was taken ill in a manner which excited the alarm of her physicians, but her family felt no apprehensions. even on the th, the emperor felt so sanguine that the cough which seemed her most distressing symptom was but temporary, that it was with the greatest unwillingness that he consented to her receiving the communion, as the physicians recommended; but the next day even he was forced to acquiesce in the hopeless view which they took of their patient; and on the th she died, after having borne sufferings, which for the last three days had been of the most painful character, with the same heroism with which, in her earlier life, she had struggled against griefs of a different kind. the dispatch announcing her death was brought to the king; and it is characteristic of his timid disposition that he could not nerve himself to communicate it to his wife, but suppressed all mention of it during the evening; and in the morning summoned the abbé de vermond, and employed him to break the news to her, reserving for himself the less painful task of approaching her with words of affectionate consolation after the first shock was over. for a time, however, she was almost overwhelmed with sorrow. she attempted to write to her brother, but after a few lines she closed the letter, declaring that her tears prevented her from seeing the paper; and those about her found that for some time she could bear no other topic of conversation than the courage, the wisdom, the greatness of her mother, and, above all, her warm affection for herself and for all her other children.[ ] with the death of the empress we lose the aid of mercy's correspondence, which has afforded such invaluable service in the light it has thrown on the peculiarities of marie antoinette's position, and the gradual development of her character during the earlier years of her residence in france. we shall again obtain light from the same source of almost greater importance, when the still more terrible dangers of the revolution rendered the queen more dependent than ever on his counsels. but for the next few years we shall be compelled to content ourselves with scantier materials than have been furnished by the empress's unceasing interest in her daughter's welfare, and the embassador's faithful and candid reports. the death of maria teresa naturally closed the court of her daughter against all gayeties during the spring of . still, one of the taxes which princes pay for their grandeur is the force which, at times, they are compelled to put upon their inclinations, when they dispense with that retirement which their own feelings would render acceptable; and, after a few weeks of seclusion, a few guests began to be admitted to the royal supper-table, among whom, as a very extraordinary favor, were some swedish nobles;[ ] one of whom, the count de stedingk, had established a claim to the royal favor by serving, with several of his countrymen, as a volunteer in the count d'estaing's fleet in the west indies. such service was highly esteemed by both king and queen, since louis, though he had been unwillingly dragged into the war by the ambition of the count de vergennes and the popular enthusiasm, naturally, when once engaged in it, took as vivid an interest in the prowess of his forces as if he had never been troubled with any misgivings as to the policy which had set them in motion; and marie antoinette was at all times excited to enthusiasm by any deed of valor, and, as we have seen, took an especial interest in the achievements of the navy. the king of sweden, the chivalrous gustavus iii., had already made the acquaintance of louis and marie antoinette in a short visit which he had paid to france the year after their marriage; and the queen now wrote to him in warm praise of m. de stedingk, and all his countrymen who had come under her notice, while the king rewarded the count's valor and the wounds which had been incurred in its exhibition by an order of knighthood,[ ] and the more substantial gift of a pension. but the swede who soon outran all his compatriots in the race for the royal favor of both king and queen was the count axel de fersen, a descendant, it was believed, of one of the scotch officers of the great macpherson clan, who, in the stormy times of the thirty years' war, had sought fame and fortune under the banner of gustavus adolphus. the beauty of his countess was celebrated throughout both sweden and france, and his own was but little inferior to it. if she was known as "the rose of the north," his name was rarely mentioned without the addition of "the handsome." he was a perfect master of all noble and knightly accomplishments, and was also distinguished for a certain high-souled and romantic[ ] enthusiasm, which lent a tinge to all his conversation and demeanor; and this combination won for him the marked favor of marie antoinette. the calumniators, whom the condition and prospects of the royal family made more busy than ever at this time, insinuated that he had touched her heart; but those who knew best the manners of life and characters of both denounced it as the vilest of libels. the count's was a loyal attachment, doing nothing but honor to him who felt it, and to the queen who inspired it; and it was marked by a permanence which distinguishes no devotion but that which is pure and noble, as he showed ten years later by the well-planned and courageous, though unsuccessful, efforts which he made for the deliverance of the queen and all her family. that marie antoinette, who from early youth had shown an intuitive accuracy of judgment in her estimate of character, should, from the very first, honorably distinguish a man capable of such devotion to her service was not unnatural; but there was another circumstance in his favor, which he shared with the other foreign nobles, english and german, who in these years were well received by the queen. their disinterestedness presented a striking contrast to the rapacity of the french. every french noble valued the court only for what he could obtain from it. even madame de polignac, whom the queen specially honored with the title of her friend, exhibited an all-grasping covetousness, of which, with all her efforts to shut her eyes to it, marie antoinette could not be unconscious; and her perception of the difference between her french and her foreign courtiers was marked by herself in a few words, when the comte de la marck, who was himself of foreign extraction, ventured once to recommend to her greater caution in her display of liking for the foreign nobles, as what might excite the jealousy of the french;[ ] and she replied that "he might be right, but the foreigners were the only people who asked her for nothing." meanwhile, the war went on in america; the colonists themselves were making but little, if any, progress, and the french contingent were certainly reaping no honor, m. de la fayette, the only officer who came in contact with a british force, showing no military skill or capacity, and not even much courage. but in the course of the spring france sustained a far heavier loss than even the defeat of an army could have inflicted on her, in the retirement of necker from the ministry. as a statesman, he was certainly not entitled to any very high rank. he had neither extensive knowledge, nor large views, nor firmness; the only project of constitutional reform which he had brought forward had been but a mutilated and imperfect copy of the system devised by the original and statesman-like daring of turgot. at a subsequent period he proved himself incapable of discerning the true character of the circumstances which surrounded him, and wholly ignorant of the feelings of the nation, and of the principles and objects of those who aspired to take a lead in its councils. but as yet his financial policy had undoubtedly been successful. he had greatly relieved the general distress, he had maintained the public credit, and he had inspired the nation with confidence in itself, and other countries also with confidence in its resources; but he had made many and powerful enemies by the retrenchments which had been a necessary part of his system. as early as the spring of , mercy had reported to the empress that both the king's brothers and the duc d'orléans complained that some of his measures infringed upon their established rights; that the count d'artois had had a very stormy discussion with necker himself, and, when he could neither convince nor overbear him, had tried, though unsuccessfully, to enlist the queen against him. the count had since employed the controller of his own household, m. boutourlin, to write pamphlets against him, and, in point of fact, many of the most elaborate details of a financial statement which necker had recently published were very ill-calculated to endure a strict scrutiny; but m. boutourlin did his work so badly that necker had no difficulty in repelling him, and for a moment seemed the stronger for the attack that had been made upon him. he had been so far right in his estimate of his position that he could rely on the support of the queen, who was aware that both her mother and her brother had a high opinion of his integrity; but though the king also had from time to time given his cordial sanction to his different measures, it was not in the nature of louis to withstand repeated pressure and solicitation. necker, too, himself unintentionally played into the hands of his enemies. he had nominally only a subordinate position in the ministry. as he was a protestant, louis had feared to offend the clergy by giving him a seat in the council, or the title of comptroller-general; but had conferred that post on m. taboureau des reaux, making necker director of the treasury under him. the real management of the exchequer was, however, placed wholly in his hands; and, as he was one of the vainest of men, he had gradually assumed a tone of importance as if his were the paramount influence in the government; going so far as even to open negotiations with foreign statesmen to which none of his colleagues were privy.[ ] it was not strange that he was not very well satisfied with a position which seemed as if it had been contrived in order to keep him out of sight, and to deprive him of the credit belonging to his financial successes; but hitherto he had been satisfied to bide his time. now, however, his triumph over m. boutourlin seemed to him so to have established his supremacy as to entitle him to insist on a promotion which should be a public recognition of his position as the real minister of finance, and as entitled to a preponderating voice in all matters of general policy. he accordingly demanded admission to the council, and, on its being refused, at once resigned his office. the consternation was universal; the general public had gradually learned to place such confidence in him that they looked on his loss as irreparable. some even of the princes who had originally striven to prepossess the king against him either changed their minds or feared to show their disagreement with the common feeling. and marie antoinette, who fully shared his views as to the primary importance of finance in all questions of government, condescended to admit him to an interview; requested him, as a personal favor to herself, to recall his resignation, urging upon him that patience would surely in time procure him all that he asked; and, in her honest earnestness for the welfare of the nation, wept when he withdrew without having yielded to her solicitations. it was late in the evening and dark when he took his leave, and afterward, when he was told that he had drawn tears from her eyes by his refusal, he said that, had he seen them, he should have submitted to a wish so enforced, even at the sacrifice of his own comfort and reputation. chapter xvi. the queen expects to be confined again.--increasing unpopularity of the king's brothers.--birth of the dauphin.--festivities.--deputations from the different trades.--songs of the dames de la halle.--ball given by the body-guard.--unwavering fidelity of the regiment.--the queen offers up her thanksgiving at notre dame.--banquet at the hôtel de ville.--rejoicing in paris. how irreparable his loss was, was shown by the rapid succession of finance ministers who, in the course of the next seven years, successively held the office of comptroller-general. all were equally incompetent, and under their administration, sometimes merely incapable, sometimes combining recklessness and corruption with incapacity, the treasury again became exhausted, the resources of the nation dwindled away, and the distress of all but the wealthiest classes became more and more insupportable. but for a time the attention of marie antoinette was drawn off from political embarrassments by the event which alone seemed wanting to complete her personal happiness, and to place her position and popularity on an impregnable foundation. in the spring she discovered that she was again about to become a mother. the whole nation expected the result with an intense anxiety. the king's brothers were daily becoming more and more deservedly unpopular. the count d'artois, who as the father of a son, occupied more of the general attention than his elder brother, seemed to take pains to parade his contempt for the commercial class, and still more for the lower orders, and his disapproval of every proposal which had for its object to conciliate the traders or to relieve the sufferings of the poor; while the count de provence openly established a mistress, the countess de balbi, at the luxembourg palace, his residence in the capital, where she presided over the receptions which he took upon himself to hold, to the exclusion of his lawful princess. the countess de provence was not well calculated to excite admiration or sympathy, since she was plain and ungracious. but madame de balbi, whose character had been disgracefully notorious even before her connection with the count, was not more attractive in appearance or manner than the savoy princess; and the citizens of paris, who in this instance faithfully represented the feelings of the entire nation, did not disguise their anxiety that the child about to be born should be a prince, who might extinguish the hopes and projects of both his uncles. their wishes were gratified. on the morning of the d of october the king was starting from the palace on a hunting expedition with his brothers, when it was announced to him that the queen was taken ill.[ ] he at once returned to her room, and, mindful of the danger which she had incurred on the occasion of the birth of madame royale from the greatness and disorder of the crowd, he broke through the ancient custom, and ordered that the doors should be closed, and that no one should be admitted beyond a very small number of the great officers, male and female, of the household. his cares were rewarded by a comparatively easy birth; and his anxiety to protect his wife from agitation was further shown by a second arrangement, which was perhaps hardly so easy to carry out, but which was also perfectly successful. as was most natural, the queen and himself fully shared the ardent wishes of the nation that the expected child should prove an heir to the throne; and he consequently feared that, should it not be so, the disappointment might produce an injurious effect on the mother's health; or, should their hopes be realized, that the excessive joy might be equally dangerous. with a desire, therefore, to avoid exposing her to either shock in the first moments of weakness, he forbade any announcement of the sex of the child being made to any one but himself. the instant that the child was born, he hastened to the bedside to judge for himself whether she could bear the news. presently she came to herself; and it seemed to her that the general silence indicated that she had become the mother of a second daughter. but she desired to be assured of the fact. "see," said she to louis, "how reasonable i am. i ask no questions.[ ]" and louis, who from joy was scarcely able to contain himself, seeing her freedom from agitation, thought he might safely reveal to her the whole extent of their happiness. he called out, so as to be heard by the princess de guimenée, who still held the post of governess to the royal children, and who had already exhibited the child to the witnesses in the antechamber, and was now awaiting his summons at the open door, "my lord the dauphin begs to be admitted." the princess de guimenée brought "my lord the dauphin" to his mother's arms, and for a few minutes the small company in the room gazed in respectful silence while the father and mother mingled tears of joy with broken words of thanksgiving. yet even in this moment of exultation marie antoinette could not forget her first-born, nor the feelings which had made her rejoice at the birth of a daughter, who still had, as it were, no rival in her eyes, because no rival claim to her own could be set up with respect to a princess. she kissed the long-wished-for infant over and over again; pressed him fondly to her heart; and then, after she had perused each feature with anxious scrutiny, and pointed out some resemblances, such as mothers see, to his father, "take him," said she, to madame de guimenée; "he belongs to the state; but my daughter is still mine.[ ]" presently the chamber was cleared; and in a few minutes the glad tidings were carried to every corner of the palace and town of versailles, and, as speedily as expresses could gallop, to the anxious city of paris. by a somewhat whimsical coincidence, the count de stedingk, who, from having been one of the intended hunting-party, had been admitted into the antechamber, rushing down-stairs in his haste to spread the intelligence, met the countess de provence on the staircase. "it is a dauphin, madame," he cried; "what a happy event!" the countess made him no reply. nor did she or her husband pretend to disguise their mortification. the count d'artois was a little less open in the display of his discontent, which was, however, sufficiently notorious. but, with these exceptions, all france, or at least all france sufficiently near the court to feel any personal interest in its concerns, was unanimous in its exultation. as soon as the new-born child was dressed, his father took him in his arms, and, carrying him to the window, showed him to the crowd[ ] which, on the first news of the queen's illness, had thronged the court-yard, and was waiting in breathless expectation the result. a rumor had already begun to penetrate the throng that the child was a son, and the moment that the happy tidings were confirmed, and the infant--their future king, as they undoubtingly hailed him--was presented to their view, their joy broke forth in such vociferous acclamations that it became necessary to silence them by an appeal to them to show consideration for the mother's weakness. for the next three months all was joy and festivity. when the little duc d'angoulême, now a sprightly boy of six years old, was taken into the nursery to see, or, in the court language, to pay his homage to, the heir to the throne, he said to his father, as he left the room, "papa, how little my cousin is!" "the day will come, my boy," replied the count, "when you will find him quite great enough." and it seemed as if the whole nation, and especially the city of paris, thought no celebration of the birth of its future king could be too sumptuous for his greatness. it was a real heart-felt joy that was awakened in the people. on the day following the birth, chroniclers of the time remarked that no other subject was spoken of; that even strangers stopped one another in the streets to exchange congratulations.[ ] the different trades and guilds led the way in the expression of these loyal felicitations. when his royal highness was a week old, he held a grand reception. deputations from different bodies of artisans, each with a band of music at its head, and each carrying some emblem of its occupation, marched in a long procession to versailles. the chimney-sweeps bore aloft a chimney entwined with garlands, on the top of which was perched one of the smallest of their boys; the chairmen carried a chair superbly gilt, on which sat in state a representative of the royal nurse, with a child in her arms in royal robes; the butchers drove a fat ox; the pastry-cooks bore on a splendid tray a variety of pastry and sweetmeats such as might tempt children of a larger growth than the little prince they had come to honor; the blacksmiths beat an anvil in time to their cheers; the shoe-makers brought a pair of miniature boots; the tailors had devoted elaborate and minute pains to the embroidering of a uniform of the dauphin's regiment, such as might even now fit its young colonel, if his parents would permit him to be attired in it. the crowd was too great to be received in even the largest saloon of the palace; but it filled the court-yard beneath; and, as the weather was luckily favorable, the dauphin was brought to the balcony and displayed to the people, while they greeted him with cheers, which were renewed from time to time, even after he had been withdrawn, till the shouting seemed as if it would have no end. one deputation, consisting of members of the fairer sex, received even higher honors. fifty ladies of the fish-market vindicated the long-acknowledged claims of their body by forming a separate procession. each dame was dressed in a gown of rich black silk, their established court-dress, and nearly every one had diamond ornaments. to them, the celebrated antechamber, from the oval window at the end known as the bull's eye, was opened;[ ] and three of their body were admitted even into the queen's room, and to the side of the bed. the popular poet la harpe, whom the partiality of voltaire had designated as the heir of his genius, had composed an address, which the spokeswoman of the party had written out on the back of her fan, and now read with a sweet voice, which had procured her the honor of being so selected,[ ] and with very appropriate delivery. the queen made a brief but most gracious answer, and then, on their retirement, the whole company, with a train of fish-women of the lower class, was entertained at a grand banquet, which they enlivened with songs composed for the occasion. one of them so hit the fancy of the king and queen that they quoted it more than once in their letters to their correspondents, and marie antoinette even sung it occasionally to her harp: "ne craignez pas, cher papa, d' voir augmenter vot' famille, le bon dieu z'y pourvoira: fait's en tant qu' versailles en fourmille y eut-il cent bourbons chez nous, y a du pain, du laurier pour tous." the body-guard celebrated the auspicious event by giving a grand ball in the concert-room of the palace to the queen on her recovery; it was attended by the whole court, and marie antoinette opened it herself, dancing a minuet with one of the troop, whom his comrades had selected for the honor, and whom the king promoted, as a memorial of the occasion and as a testimony of his approval of the loyalty of that gallant regiment. amidst all the troubles of later years, the fidelity of those noble troops never wavered. they had even in one hour of terrible danger the honor, in the same palace, of saving the life of their queen. but it is a melancholy proof of the fleeting character and instability of popular favor which is supplied by the recollection that these very artisans who were now so vociferous, and undoubtedly at this moment so sincere in their profession of loyalty, were afterward her foul and ferocious enemies. and yet between and there had been no change in the character or conduct of the king and queen, or rather, it may be said, the intervening years had been a period during which a countless series of acts of beneficence had displayed their unceasing affection for their subjects. the festivities were crowned in the most appropriate manner by a public thanksgiving, offered by the queen herself to heaven for the gift of a son, and for her own recovery. but that celebration was necessarily postponed till her strength was entirely re-established; and it was not till the st of january that the physicians would allow her to encounter the excitement of so interesting but fatiguing a day. the court had quit versailles for la muette the day before, to be nearer the city; and on the appointed morning, which the watchers for omens delightedly remarked as one of midsummer brilliancy,[ ] the most superb procession that even paris had ever witnessed issued from the gates of the old hunting-lodge, whose earlier occupants had been animated by a very different spirit.[ ] that the honors of the day might be wholly the queen's, louis himself did not accompany her, but followed her three hours later, to meet her at the hôtel de ville. nineteen coaches, glittering with burnished gold, and every panel of which was embellished with crowns, wreaths, or allegorical pictures, marching on at a stately walk toward the city gate, conveyed the queen, radiant with beauty and happiness, the sisters and aunts of the king, the long train of her and their ladies, and all the great officers of her household. squadrons of the body-guard furnished the escort, riding in front of the queen's carriage and behind it, but not on either side, she herself having forbidden any arrangement which might intercept the full sight of herself from a single citizen. companies of other regiments awaited the procession at different points, and closed up behind it as it passed, swelling the vast train which thus grew at every step. an additional escort, almost an army in itself, in double rank, lined the whole road from the barrier of the champs Élysées of the great cathedral; and, as the royal coach passed through the city gate, a herald proclaimed that "the king wishing to consecrate by fresh acts of kindness the happy moment when god showered his mercies on him by the birth of a dauphin, and at the same time to give to the inhabitants of his good city of paris some special mark of his beneficence, granted an exemption from the poll-tax to all the burgesses, traders, and artisans who were not in such circumstances as made the payment easy." the proclamation was received with all the thankfulness of surprise; the cheers, which had never censed from the moment that the procession first came in sight, were redoubled, and it was amidst shouts of congratulation both to themselves and to her that the queen proceeded onward to notre dame. having paid her vows and made her offerings in the cathedral of the nation, she passed on to the church of ste. geneviève, the especial patroness of the city, and repeated her thanksgiving before the tomb of clovis, the founder of the monarchy. at the hôtel de ville she was met by the king, with the princess, his brothers, the great officers of his household, and the ministers; and there (after having first come forward on the balcony to afford the multitude, who completely filled the vast square in front of the building, a sight of their sovereigns), the royal pair, sitting side by side, presided at a banquet of unsurpassed magnificence and luxury. in compliance with the strictest laws of the old etiquette, none but ladies were admitted to the king's table, but other tables were provided for the male guests. the most renowned musicians performed the sweetest airs, but the melodies of gluck and grétry were drowned in the cheers of the multitude outside, who thus relieved their impatience for the re-appearance of their queen. the banquet was succeeded by a grand reception, with its singular but invariable accompaniment of a gaming-table,[ ] and the whole was concluded by a grand illumination and display of fireworks, in which the pyrotechnists had exhausted their allegorical ingenuity. a temple of hymen occupied the centre, and the god of marriage--never, so far as present appearances indicated, more auspiciously employed--presented to france the precious infant who was the most recent fruit of his favor; while the flame upon his altar, which never had burned with a brighter light, was fed by the thank-offerings of the whole french people. as each new feature of the display burst upon their eyes, the acclamations of the populace redoubled, and their enthusiasm was kindled to the utmost pitch when louis and marie antoinette descended the stairs, and, arm-in-arm, walked out among the crowd, ostensibly to see the illuminations from the different points which presented the most imposing spectacle; but really, as the citizens perceived, to show their sympathy with the joy of the people by mingling with the multitude, and thus allowing all to approach and even to accost them; while they, and especially the queen, replied to every loyal cheer or homely word of congratulation by a cordial smile or expression of approval or thanks, which long dwelt in the memory of those to whom they were addressed. chapter xvii. madame de guimenée resigns the office of governess of the royal children. --madame de polignac succeeds her.--marie antoinette's views of education.--character of madame royale.--the grand duke paul and his grand duchess visit the french court.--their characters.--entertainments given in their honor.--insolence of the cardinal de rohan.--his character and previous life.--grand festivities at chantilly.--events of the war.-- rodney defeats de grasse.--the siege of gilbralter fails.--m. de suffrein fights five drawn battles with sir e. hughes in the indian seas.--the queen receives him with great honor on his return. the post of governess to the royal children was one which was conferred for life, and did not even cease on the accession of a new sovereign, and the birth of a new royal family. madame de guimenée, therefore, having been appointed to that office on the birth of the first child of the late dauphin, the father of louis xvi., still retained it, and on the birth of madame royale transferred her services to that princess. the arrangement had been far from acceptable to marie antoinette, who had no great liking for the lady, though, with her habitual kindness of disposition, she had accepted her attentions, and had often condescended to appear as a guest at her evening parties, taking only the precaution of ascertaining beforehand whom she was likely to meet there.[ ] but, in the spring of , the prince de guimenée became involved in pecuniary difficulties that compelled him to retire from the court, and his princess to resign her appointment, which marie antoinette at once bestowed on madame de polignac. her attachment to that lady affords a striking exemplification of one feature in her character, a steady adherence to friendships once formed, which can never be otherwise than amiable, even when, as it may be thought was the case in this and one or two other instances, she carried it to excess; for she could hardly fail to be aware that madame de polignac was most unpopular with all classes, and that her unpopularity was not undeserved. she was covetous for herself, and she had a number of relations, equally rapacious, who regarded her court favor solely as a means of enriching the whole family. she had procured a valuable reversion for her husband; and subsequently the rare favor of an hereditary dukedom; and it was characteristic of her disposition that she might have attained the rank of duchess for herself at an earlier date, but that she preferred to it the chance of other favors of a more practically useful nature; nor was it till she had received such sums of money that nothing more could well be asked, that she turned her ambition to titles, and to the much-coveted dignity of a stool to sit upon in the presence of royalty.[ ] but the more people spoke ill of her, the more the queen protected her; and if she received the resignation of madame de guimenée with pleasure, much of her joy seemed to be owing to the opportunity which it afforded her of promoting the new duchess to the vacant place, while madame de polignac had even the address to persuade her that she accepted the post unwillingly, and, in undertaking it, was making a sacrifice to loyalty and friendship. but if the queen was duped on that point, she was not deceived on others. she knew that the duchess had no qualifications for the office; that she was neither clever nor accomplished. but her absence of any special qualifications was, in fact, her best recommendation in the eyes of her patroness; for marie antoinette had high ideas of the duty which a mother owes to her children. she thought herself bound to take upon herself the real superintendence of their education, and, having this view, she preferred a governess who would be content that her children's minds should receive their color from herself. her own idea of education, as we shall see it hereafter described by herself,[ ] was that example was more powerful than precept, and that love was a better teacher than fear; and, acting on this principle, from the moment that her little daughter was old enough to comprehend her intentions and wishes, she began to make her her companion; abandoning, or at least relaxing, her pursuit of other pleasures for that which was now her chief delight, as well as in her eyes her chief duty--the task of watching over the early promise, the opening talents and virtues of those who were destined, as she hoped, to have a predominant influence on the future welfare of the nation. especially she made a rule of taking the little princess with her on the different errands of humanity and benevolence, which, wherever she might be, and more particularly while she was at versailles, formed an almost habitual part of her occupations. she saw that much of the distress which now seemed to be the normal condition of the humbler classes, and much of the discontent, which was felt by all classes but the highest, were caused by the pride of the princes and nobles, who, in france, drew a far more rigorous and unbending line of demarkation between themselves and their inferiors than prevailed in other countries; and she desired from their earliest infancy to imbue her children with a different principle, and to teach them by her own example that none could be so lowly as to be beneath the notice even of a sovereign; and that, on the contrary, the greater the depression of the poor, the greater claim did it give them on the solicitude and protection of their princes and rulers. nor were these lessons, which even worldly policy might have dictated, the only ones which she sought to inculcate on the little princess before the more exciting pursuits of society should have rendered her less susceptible to good impressions. unfriendly as her husband's aunts had always been to herself, and little as there was that was really amiable in their characters, there was yet one, the princess louise, the nun of st. denis, whose renunciation of the world seemed to point her out to her family as a model of holiness and devotion; and as, above all things, marie antoinette desired to inspire her little daughter with a deep sense of religious obligation, she soon began to take her with her in all her visits to the convent, and to encourage her to converse with the other sisters of the house. nor did she abandon the practice even when it was suggested to her that such an intercourse with those who were notoriously always on the watch to attract recruits of rank or consideration, might have the result of inclining the child to follow her great-aunt's example; and perhaps, by renouncing the world, to counteract plans which her parents might have preferred for her establishment in life. marie antoinette declared that should the princess express such a desire, far from being annoyed, "she should feel flattered by it;[ ]" she would, it may be presumed, have regarded it as a convincing testimony of the soundness of her own system of education, and of the purity of the instruction which she had given. but such was not to be the destiny of her whose life at this moment seemed to beam with prospects of happiness which it would have been cruel to allow her to exchange for the gloom of a convent, though, even before she arrived at womanhood, the most austere seclusion of such an abode would have seemed a welcome asylum from dangers yet undreamed of. her destiny was indeed to be one of trials and afflictions even to the end; trials very different in their kind from those which the gates of the carmelite sisterhood would have opened to her. but her mother's early lessons of humility and piety, and still more her mother's virtuous and heroic example, never ceased to bear their fruit in their influence on her character, amidst all the vicissitudes of fortune. the unhappy daughter,[ ] as she was styled by the faithful and eloquent champion of her race, lived to win the respect even of its enemies,[ ] supplying, at more than one critical moment, a courage and decision of which her male relatives were destitute; and, in the second and final ruin of her house, her fortitude and resignation still commanded the loyal adherence of a large party among her countrymen, and the esteem of foreign statesmen, who gladly recognized in her no small portion of the nobility of her female ancestors. in the spring of the attention of the parisians was occupied for a while by the arrival of two visitors from a nation which as yet had sent forth but few of its sons to mingle in society with those of other countries. the grand duke of russia, who had indeed been its rightful emperor ever since the murder of his father twenty years before, but who had been compelled to postpone his claims to those of his ambitious and unscrupulous mother, catherine ii., had conceived a desire so far to imitate the example of his great ancestor, the founder of the russian empire, peter the great, as to make a personal investigation of the manners of other people besides his own. to use the language in which the empress communicated to louis xvi. her son's wish to pay him a visit, he sought, in the first instance, "to take lessons in courtesy and nobility from the most elegant court in the world." and as louis had responded with a cordial invitation to versailles, at the end of may he, with his grand duchess, a princess of würtemberg, arrived at the palace. paul had not as yet given any indications of the brutal and ferocious disposition which distinguished him in his later years, till it gradually developed into a savage insanity which neither his nobles nor even his sons could endure. he appeared rather a young man of frank and open temper, somewhat more unguarded in his language, especially concerning his own affairs and position, than was quite prudent or becoming; but kind in intention, sometimes even courteous in manner, shrewd in discerning what things and what persons were most worthy of his notice, and showing no deficiency of judgment in the observations which he made upon them. the grand duchess, however, was generally regarded as greatly superior to her husband in every respect. he was almost repulsive in his ugliness. she was extremely handsome in feature, though disfigured by a stoutness extraordinary in one so young. she had also a high reputation for accomplishments and general ability, though that too was disguised by a coldness or ungraciousness of manner that gave strangers a disagreeable impression of her; which, however, a more intimate acquaintance greatly removed. their characters had preceded them, and marie antoinette, for perhaps the first time in her life, felt very uneasy as to her own power of receiving them with the dignity which became both her and them. as she afterward explained her feelings to madame de campan, "she found the part of a queen much move difficult to play in the presence of other sovereigns, or of princes who were born to become sovereigns, than before ordinary courtiers.[ ]" she even fortified her courage before dinner with a glass of water, and the medicine proved effectual. even if it cost her an effort to preserve her habitual gayety, her difficulty was unperceived, and indeed, after the few first moments, ceased to be a difficulty. paul himself cared but little for female attractions or graces; but the archduchess was charmed with her union of liveliness and dignity, which surpassed all her previous experiences of courts; and one of her ladies, madame d'oberkirch, who has left behind her some memoirs, to which all succeeding writers have been indebted for many particulars of this visit, could scarcely find words to describe the impression the queen's beauty had made upon her and all her fellow-travelers. "the queen was marvelously beautiful; she fascinated every eye. it was absolutely impossible for any one to display a greater grace and nobility of demeanor.[ ]" madame d'oberkirch, like herself, was german by birth; and marie antoinette begged her to speak german to her, that she might refresh her recollection of her native language; but she found that she had almost forgotten it. "ah," said she, "german is a fine language; but french, in the mouths of my children, seems to me the finest language in the world." and in the same spirit of entire adoption of french feelings, and even of french prejudices, she declared to the baroness that though the rhine and the danube were both noble rivers, the seine was so much more beautiful that it had made her forget them both. but her preference for every thing french did not make her neglect the duties of hospitality to her foreign visitors; she wished rather that they should carry with them as fixed an idea as she herself entertained of the superiority of france to their own country, in this as in every other particular. and she gave two magnificent entertainments in their honor at the little trianon, displaying the beauties of her garden by day, and also by night, by an illumination of extraordinary splendor. they were highly delighted with the beauty and the novelty of a scene such as they had never before witnessed; but her pleasure was in a great degree marred by the indecent boldness of one whose sacred profession, as well as his ancient lineage, ought to have restrained him from such misconduct, though it was but too completely in harmony with his previous life. prince louis de rohan was a descendant of the great duke de sully, and a member of a family which, during the last reign, had possessed an influence at court which was surpassed by that of no other house among the french nobles.[ ] he himself had reaped the full advantage of its interest. as we have already seen, he had been coadjutor of strasburg when marie antoinette passed through that city on her way to france in . he had subsequently been promoted to the rank of cardinal; and, though he was notoriously devoid of capacity, yet through the influence of his relations, and that of madame du barri, with whom they maintained an intimate connection, he had obtained the post of embassador to the court of vienna, where he had made himself conspicuous for every species of disorder. his whole life in the austrian capital had been a round of shameless profligacy and extravagance. the conduct of the inferior members of the embassy, stimulated by his example, and protected by his official character, had been equally scandalous, till at last maria teresa had felt herself bound, in justice to her subjects, to insist on his recall. the moment that he became aware that his position was in danger, he began to write abusive letters against the empress-queen, and to circulate libels at vienna against both her and marie antoinette, on whom he openly threatened to avenge himself, if his pleasures or his prospects should in any way be interfered with.[ ] since his return to france he had had the address to conciliate maurepas, who, adding the authority of his ministerial office to the solicitations of the cardinal's sister, madame de marsan, had succeeded in wringing from the unwilling king his appointment to the honorable and lucrative preferment of grand almoner. but even that post, though it made him one of the great officers of the court, did not weaken his desire to annoy the queen, for having, as he believed, used her influence to deprive him of his embassy, and for having by her marked coldness since his return from vienna, showed her disapproval of his profligate character, and of his insolence to her mother. and, unhappily, there were not wanting persons base enough to co-operate with him, generally discredited as he was, as instruments of their own secret malice. the birth of the dauphin had been a fatal blow to the hopes which had been founded on the possible succession of the king's brothers; and from this time forth the whisperers of detraction and calumny were more than ever busy, sometimes venturing to forge her handwriting, and sometimes daring, with still fouler audacity, to invent stories designed to tarnish her reputation by throwing doubts on her conjugal fidelity. at such a moment the presence of such a man as the cardinal on the stage was an evil omen. his audacity, it seemed, could hardly be purposeless, and his purpose could not be innocent. he had been most anxious to obtain admission to one of the entertainments which the queen gave to the russian princes; and, when he was disappointed, he had the silly audacity to bribe the porter of the trianon to admit him into the garden, where, as the royal party passed down the different walks, he thrust himself ostentatiously at different points into their sight, professing to disguise himself by throwing a mantle over his shoulders, but taking care that his scarlet stockings should prevent any uncertainty from being felt as to his identity. that he should have presumed to intrude into the queen's presence in her own palace without permission was in itself an insult; but those behind the scenes believed that he had a deeper design, and that he wished to diffuse a belief that marie antoinette secretly regarded him with a favor which she was unwilling to show openly, and that he had not obtained admission to her garden without her connivance. the princes of the blood, too, the prince de condé and the duke de bourbon, invited paul and his archduchess to an entertainment at chantilly, which far surpassed in splendor the display at trianon. but the queen was willing, on such an occasion, to be eclipsed by her subjects. "the princes," she said, "might well give festivities of vast cost, because they defrayed the charges out of their private revenues; but the expenses of entertainments given by the king or by herself fell on the national treasury, of which they were bound to be the guardians in the interest of the poor tax-payers." not that, in all probability, paul and his archduchess noticed the inferiority. court festivities at st. petersburg were as yet neither numerous nor magnificent, and they soon showed themselves so wearied with the round of gayety which had been forced upon them, that some of the diversions which had been projected at other royal palaces besides versailles were given up to avoid distressing them.[ ] the sight which pleased them most was the play, to which, at their own special request, the queen accompanied them, and where they were greatly struck by the magnificence of the theatre and every thing connected with the performance, as well as with the reception which the audience gave the queen. much as they had admired what they had seen, it was her grace and kind solicitude for their gratification which made the greatest impression on them; and the archduchess kept up a correspondence with her during the rest of their travels, especially dwelling on the scenes which pleased her most in germany, and on the persons she met who were known to and regarded by the queen. political affairs were at this time causing marie antoinette great anxiety. one of her most frequently expressed wishes had been that the french fleet should have an opportunity of engaging that of england in a pitched battle, when the judicious care which m. de sartines had bestowed on the marine would be seen to bear its fruit. but when the battle did take place, the result was such as to confound instead of justifying her patriotic expectations. in april, the english admiral rodney inflicted on the count de grasse a crushing defeat off the coast of jamaica. in september, the combined forces of france and spain were beaten off with still heavier loss from the impregnable fortress of gibraltar; and the only region in which a french admiral escaped disaster was the indian sea, where the bailli de suffrein, an officer of rare energy and ability, encountered the british admiral, sir edward hughes, in a series of severe actions, and, except on one occasion in which he lost a few transports, never permitted his antagonist to claim any advantage over him; the single loss which he sustained in his first combat being more than counterbalanced by his success on land, where, by the aid of hyder ali's son, the celebrated tippoo, be made himself master of cuddalore; and then, dropping down to the cingalese coast, recaptured trincomalee, the conquest of which had been one of hughes's most recent achievements.[ ] the queen felt the reverses keenly. she even curtailed some of her own expenses in order to contribute to the building of new ships to replace those which had been lost; and she received m. de suffrein, on his return from india at the conclusion of the war, with the most sincere and marked congratulations. she invited him to the palace, and, when he arrived, she caused madame de polignac to bring both her children into the room. "my children," said she, "and especially you, my son, know that this m. de suffrein. we are all under the greatest obligations to him. look well at him, and ever remember his name. it is one of the first that all my children must learn to pronounce, and one which they must never forgot.[ ]" she was acting up to her mother's example, than whom no sovereign had better known how to give their due honor to bravery and loyalty. such a queen deserved to have faithful friends; and suffrein was a man who, had his life been spared, might, like the marquis de bouillé, have shown that even in france the feelings of chivalry and devotion to kings and ladies were not yet extinguished. but he died before either his country or his queen had again need of his services, or before he had any opportunity of proving by fresh achievements his gratitude to a sovereign who knew so well how to appreciate and to honor merit. chapter xviii. peace is re-established.--embarrassments of the ministry.--distress of the kingdom.--m. de calonne becomes finance minister.--the winter of -' is very severe.--the queen devotes large sums to charity.--her political influence increases--correspondence between the emperor and her on european politics.--the state of france.--the baron de breteuil.--her description of the character of the king. the conclusion of peace between france and england was one of the earliest events of the year , but it brought no strength to the ministry; or, rather, it placed its weakness in a more conspicuous light. maurepas had died at the end of , and, since his death, the count de vergennes had been the chief adviser of the king; but his attention was almost exclusively directed to the conduct of the diplomacy of the kingdom, and to its foreign affairs, and he made no pretensions to financial knowledge. unluckily the professed ministers of finance, joly de fleury and his successor, d'ormesson, were as ignorant of that great subject as himself, and, within two years after necker's retirement, their mismanagement had brought the kingdom to the very verge of bankruptcy. d'ormesson was dismissed, and for many days it was anxiously deliberated in the palace by whom he should be replaced. some proposed that necker should he recalled, but the king had felt himself personally offended by some circumstances which had attended the resignation of that minister two years before. the queen inclined to favor the pretensions of loménie de brienne, archbishop of toulouse; not because he had any official experience, but because fifteen years before he had recommended the abbé de vermond to maria teresa; and the abbé, seeing in the present embarrassment an opportunity of repaying the obligation, now spoke highly to her of the archbishop's talents. but madame de polignac and her party persuaded her majesty to acquiesce in the appointment of m. de calonne, a man who, like turgot, had already distinguished himself as intendant of a province, though he had not inspired those who watched his career with as high an opinion of his uprightness as of his talents. he had also secured the support of the count d'artois by promising to pay his debts; and louis himself was won to think well of him by the confidence which he expressed in his own capacity to grapple with the existing, or even with still greater difficulties. nor, indeed, had he been possessed of steadiness, prudence, and principle, was he very unfit for such a post at such a time. for he was very fertile in resources, and well-endowed with both physical and moral courage; but these faculties were combined with, were indeed the parents of, a mischievous defect. he had such reliance on his own ingenuity and ability to deal with each difficulty or danger as it should arise, that he was indifferent to precautions which might prevent it from arising. the spirit in which he took office was exemplified in one of his first speeches to the queen. knowing that he was not the minister whom she would have preferred, he made it his especial business to win her confidence; and he had not been long installed in office when she expressed to him her wish that he would find means of accomplishing some object which she desired to promote. "madame," was his courtly reply, "if it is possible, it is done already. if it is impossible, i will take care and manage it." but being very unscrupulous himself, he overshot his mark when he sought to propitiate her further by offering to represent as hers acts of charity which she had not performed. the winter of was one of unusual severity. the thermometer at paris was, for some weeks, scarcely above zero; scarcity, with its inevitable companion, clearness of price, reduced the poor of the northern provinces, and especially of the capital and its neighborhood, to the verge of starvation. the king, queen, and princesses gave large sums from their privy purses for their relief; but as such supplies were manifestly inadequate, louis ordered the minister to draw three millions of francs from the treasury, and to apply them for the alleviation of the universal distress. calonne cheerfully received and executed the beneficent command. he was perhaps not sorry, at his first entrance on his duties, to show how easy it was for him to meet even an unforeseen demand of so heavy an amount; and he fancied he saw in it a means of ingratiating himself with marie antoinette. he proposed to her that he should pay one of the millions to her treasurer, that that officer might distribute it, in her name, as a gift from her own allowance; but marie antoinette disdained such unworthy artifice. she would have felt ashamed to receive praise or gratitude to which she was not entitled. she rejected the proposal, insisting that the king's gift should be attributed to himself alone, and expressing her intention to add to it by curtailing her personal expenditure, by abridging her entertainments so long as the distress should last, and by dedicating the sums usually appropriated to pleasure and festivity to the relief of those whose very existence seemed to depend on the aid which it was her duty and that of the king to furnish. for there was this especial characteristic in marie antoinette's charity, that it did not proceed solely from kindness of heart and tenderness of disposition, though these were never wanting, but also from a settled principle of duty, which, in her opinion, imposed upon sovereigns, as a primary obligation, the task of watching over the welfare of their subjects as persons intrusted by providence to their care; and such a feeling was obviously more to be depended upon as a constant motive for action than the most vivid emotion of the moment, which, if easily excited, is not unfrequently as easily overpowered by some fresh object. meanwhile events were gradually compelling her to take a more active part in politics. maurepas had been jealous of her influence, and, while that old minister lived, louis, who from his childhood had been accustomed to see him in office, committed almost every thing to his guidance. but, as he always required some one of stronger mind than himself to lean upon, as soon as maurepas was gone he turned to the queen. it was to her that he now chiefly confided his anxieties and perplexities; from her that he sought counsel and strength; and the ministers naturally came to regard her as the real ruler of the state. accordingly, we find from her correspondence of this period that even such matters as the appointment of the embassadors to foreign states were often referred to her decision; and how greatly the habit of considering affairs of importance expanded her capacity we may learn from the opinion which her brother, the emperor, who was never disposed to flatter, or even to spare her, had evidently come to entertain of her judgment. in one long letter, written in september of the year , he discussed with her the attitude which france had assumed toward austria ever since the dismissal of choiseul; the willingness of her ministers to listen to prussian calumnies; the encouragement which they had given to the opposition in the empire; and their obsequiousness to prussia; while austria had not retaliated, as she had had many opportunities of doing, by any complaisance toward england, though the english statesmen had made many advances toward her. it is a curious instance of fears being realized in a sense very different from that which troubled the writer at the moment, that among the acts of france of which, had he been inclined to be captious, he might justly have complained, he enumerates her recent acquisition of corsica, as one which, "for a number of reasons, might be very prejudicial to the possessions of the house of austria and its branches in italy." it did indeed prove an acquisition which largely influenced the future history, not only of austria, but of the whole world, when the little island, which hitherto had been but a hot-bed of disorder, and a battle-field of faction burdensome to its genoese masters, gave a general to the armies of france whose most brilliant exploits were a succession of triumphs over the austrian commanders in every part of the emperor's dominion. his letter concludes with warnings drawn from the present condition and views of the different states of europe, and especially of france, whose "finances and resources, to speak with moderation, have been greatly strained" in the recent war; embracing in their scope even the designs of russia on the independence of turkey; and with a request that his sister would inform him frankly what he is to believe as to the opinions of the king; and in what light he is to regard the recent letters of vergennes, which, to his apprehension, show an indifference to the maintenance of the alliance between the two countries.[ ] it is altogether a letter such as might pass between statesmen, and proves clearly that joseph regarded his sister now as one fully capable of taking large views of the situation of both countries. and her answer shows that she fully enters into all the different questions which he has raised, though it also shows that she is guided by her heart as well as by her judgment; still looks on the continuance of the friendship between her native and her adopted country as essential not only to her comfort, but even in some degree to her honor, and also that on that account she is desirous at times of exerting a greater influence than is always allowed her. "versailles, september th, . "shall i tell you, my dear brother, that your letter has delighted me by its energy and nobleness of thought and why should i not tell you so? i am sure that you will never confound your sister and your friend with the tricks and manoeuvres of politicians. "i have read your letter to the king. you may be sure that it, like all your other letters, shall never go out of my hands. the king was struck with many of your reflections, and has even corroborated them himself. "he has said to me that he both desired and hoped always to maintain a friendship and a good understanding with the empire; but yet that it was impossible to answer for it that the difference of interests might not at times lead to a difference in the way of looking at and judging of affairs. this idea appeared to me to come from himself alone, and from the distrust with which people have been inspiring him for a long time. for, when i spoke to him, i believe it to be certain that he had not seen m. de vergennes since the arrival of your courier. m. de mercy will have reported to you the quietness and gentleness with which this minister has spoken to him. i have had occasion to see that the heads of the other ministers, which were a little heated, have since cooled again. i trust, that this quiet spirit will last, and in that case the firmness of your reply ought to lead to the rudeness of style which the people here adopted being forgotten. you know the ground and the characters, so you can not be surprised if the king sometimes allows answers to pass which he would not have given of his own accord. "my health, considering my present condition,[ ] is perfect. i had a slight accident after my last letter; but it produced no bad consequences: it only made a little more care necessary. accordingly i shall go from choisy to fontainebleau by water. my children are quite well. my boy will spend his time at la muette while we are absent. it is just a piece of stupidity of the doctors, who do not like him to take so long a journey at his age, though he has two teeth and is very strong. i should be perfectly happy if i were but assured of the general tranquillity, and, above all, of the happiness of my much-loved brother, whom i love with all my heart.[ ]" another letter, written three months later, explains to the emperor the object of some of the new arrangements which calonne had introduced, having for one object, among others, the facilitation of a commercial intercourse, especially in tobacco, with the united states. she hopes that another consequence of them will be the abolition of the whole system of farmers-general of the revenue; and she explains to him both the advantages of such a measure, and at the same time the difficulties of carrying it out immediately after so costly a war, since it would involve the instant repayment of large sums to the farmers, with all the clearness of a practiced financier. she mentions also the appointment of the baron de breteuil as the new minister of the king's household,[ ] and her estimate of his character is rendered important by his promotion, six years later, to the post of prime minister. the emperor also had ample means of judging of it himself, since the baron had succeeded the cardinal de rohan as embassador at vienna. "i think, with you, that he requires to be kept within bounds; and he will be so more than other ministers by the nature of his office, which is very limited, and entirely under the eyes of the king and of his colleagues, who will be glad of any opportunities of mortifying his vanity. however, his activity will be very useful in a thousand details of a department which has been neglected and badly managed for the last sixty years." and though it is a slight anticipation of the order of our narrative, it will not be inconvenient to give here some extracts from a third letter to the same brother, written in the autumn of the following year, in which she describes the king's character, and points out the difficulties which it often interposes to her desire of influencing his views and measures. it may perhaps be thought that she unconsciously underrates her influence over her husband, though there can be no doubt that he was one of those men whom it is hardest to manage; wholly without self-reliance, yet with a scrupulous wish to do right that made him distrustful of others, even, of those whose advice he sought, or whose judgment he most highly valued. "september d, . "i will not contradict you, my dear brother, on what you say about the short-sightedness of our ministry. i have long ago made some of the reflections which you express in your letter. i have spoken on the subject more than once to the king; but one must know him thoroughly to be able to judge of the extent to which, his character and prejudices cripple my resources and means of influencing him. he is by nature very taciturn; and it often happens that he does not speak to me about matters of importance even when he has not the least wish to conceal them from me. he answers me when i speak to him about them, but he scarcely ever opens the subject; and when i have learned a quarter of the business, i am then forced to use some address to make the ministers tell me the rest, by letting them think that the king has told me every thing. when i reproach him for not having spoken to me of such and such matters, he is not annoyed, but only seems a little embarrassed, and sometimes answers, in an off-hand way, that he had never thought of it. this distrust, which is natural to him, was at first strengthened by his govern--or before my marriage. m. de vauguyon had alarmed him about the authority which his wife would desire to assume over him, and the duke's black disposition delighted in terrifying his pupil with all the phantom stories invented against the house of austria. m. de maurepas, though less obstinate and less malicious, still thought it advantageous to his own credit to keep up the same notions in the king's mind. m. de vergennes follows the same plan, and perhaps avails himself of his correspondence on foreign affairs to propagate falsehoods. i have spoken plainly about this to the king more than once. he has sometimes answered me rather peevishly, and, as he is never fond of discussion, i have not been able to persuade him that his minister was deceived, or was deceiving him. i do not blind myself as to the extent of my own influence. i know that i have no great ascendency over the king's mind, especially in politics; and would it be prudent in me to have scenes with his ministers on such subjects, on which it is almost certain that the king would not support me? without ever boasting or saying a word that is not true, i, however, let the public believe that i have more influence than i really have, because, if they did not think so, i should have still less. the avowals which i am making to you, my dear brother, are not very flattering to my self-love; but i do not like to hide any thing from you, in order that you may be able to judge of my conduct as correctly as is possible at this terrible distance from you, at which my destiny has placed me.[ ]" a melancholy interest attunes to sentences such as these, from the influence which the defects in her husband's character, when joined to those of his minister, had on the future destinies of both, and of the nation over which he ruled. it was natural that she should explain them to a brother; and though, as a general rule, it is clearly undesirable for queens consort to interfere in politics, it is clear that with such a husband, and with the nation and court in such a condition as then existed in france, it was indispensable that marie antoinette should covet, and, so far as she was able, exert, influence over the king, if she were not prepared to see him the victim or the tool of caballers and intriguers who cared far more for their own interests than for those of either king or kingdom. but as yet, though, as we see, these deficiencies of louis occasionally caused her annoyance, she had no foreboding of evil. her general feeling was one of entire happiness; her children were growing and thriving, her own health was far stronger than it had been, and she entered with as keen a relish as ever into the excitements and amusements becoming her position, and what we may still call her youth, since she was even now only eight-and-twenty. chapter xix. "the marriage of figaro"--previous history and character of beaumarchais. --the performance of the play is forbidden.--it is said to be a little altered.--it is licensed.--displeasure of the queen.--visit of gustavus iii. of sweden.--fête at the trianon.--balloon ascent. in the spring of , the court and capital wore wrought up to a high pitch of excitement by an incident which was in reality of so ordinary and trivial a character, that it would be hard to find a more striking proof how thoroughly unhealthy the whole condition and feeling of the nation must have been, when such a matter could have been regarded as important. it was simply a question whether a play, which had been recently accepted by the manager of the principal theatre in paris, should receive the license from the theatrical censor which was necessary to its being performed. the play was entitled "the marriage of figaro." the history of the author, m. beaumarchais, is curious, as that of a rare specimen of the literary adventurer of his time. he was born in the year . his father was a watch-maker named caron, and he himself followed that trade till he was three or four and twenty, and attained considerable skill in it. but he was ambitious. he was conscious of a handsome face and figure, and knew their value in such a court as that of louis xv. he gave up his trade as a watch-maker, and bought successively different places about the court, the last of which was sold at a price sufficient to entitle him to claim gentility; so that, in one of his subsequent railings against the nobles, he declared that his nobility was more incontestable than that of most of the body, since he could produce the stamped receipt for it. following the example of molière and voltaire, he changed his name, and called himself beaumarchais. he married two rich widows. he formed a connection with the celebrated financier, paris duverney, who initiated him in the mysteries of stock-jobbing. being a good musician, he obtained the protection of the king's daughters, taught them the harp, and conducted the weekly concerts which, during the life of marie leczinska, they gave to the king and the royal family. he wrote two or three plays, none of which had any great success, while one was a decided failure. he became involved in lawsuits, one of which he conducted himself against the best ability of the parisian bar, and displayed such wit and readiness that he not only gained his cause, but established a notoriety which throughout life was apparently his dearest object. he crossed over to england, where he made the acquaintance of wilkes, and one or two agents of the american colonies, then just commencing their insurrection; and, partly from political sympathy with their views of freedom, partly, as he declared, to retaliate on england for the injuries which france had suffered at her hands in the seven years' war, he became a political agent himself, procuring arms and ships to be sent across the atlantic, and also a great quantity of stores of a more peaceful character, out of which he had hoped to make a handsome profit. but the americans gave him credit for greater disinterestedness; the president of congress wrote him a letter thanking him for his zeal, but refused to pay for his stores, for which he demanded nearly a hundred and fifty thousand francs. he commenced an action for the money in the american courts, but, as he could not conduct it himself, he did not obtain an early decision; indeed, the matter imbittered all his closing days, and was not settled when he died. but while he was in the full flush of self-congratulation at the degree in which, as he flattered himself, he had contributed to the downfall of england, the exuberance of his spirits prompted him to try his hand at a fourth play, a sort of sequel to one of his earlier performances--"the barber of seville." he finished it about the end of the year , and, as the manager of the theatre was willing to act it, he at once applied for the necessary license. but it had already been talked about: if one party had pronounced it lively, witty, and the cleverest play that had been seen since the death of molière, another set of readers declared it full of immoral and dangerous satire on the institutions of the country. it is almost inseparable from the very nature of comedy that it should be to some extent satirical. the offense which those who complained of "the marriage of figaro" on that account really found in it was, that it satirized classes and institutions which could not bear such attacks, and had not been used to them. molière had ridiculed the lower middle class; the newly rich; the tradesman who, because he had made a fortune, thought himself a gentleman; but, as one whose father was in the employ of royalty, he laid no hand on any pillar of the throne. but beaumarchais, in "the marriage of figaro," singled out especially what were called the privileged classes; he attacked the licentiousness of the nobles; the pretentious imbecility of ministers and diplomatists; the cruel injustice of wanton arrests and imprisonments of protracted severity against which there was no appeal nor remedy; and the privileged classes in consequence denounced his work, and their complaints of its character and tendency made such an impression that the court resolved that the license should not he granted. the refusal, however, was not at first pronounced in a straightforward way; but was deferred, as if those who had resolved on it feared to pronounce it. for a long time the censor gave no reply at all, till beaumarchais complained of the delay as more injurious to him than a direct denial. when at last his application was formally rejected, he induced his friends to raise such a clamor in his favor, that louis determined to judge for himself, and caused madame de campan to read it to himself and the queen. he fully agreed with the censor. many passages he pronounced to be in extremely bad taste. when the reader came to the allusions to secret arrests, protracted imprisonments, and the tedious formalities of the law and lawyers, he declared that it would be necessary to pull down the bastile before it could be acted with safety, as beaumarchais was ridiculing every thing which ought to be respected. "it is not to be performed, then?" said the queen. "no," replied the king, "you may depend upon that." similar refusals of a license had been common enough, so that there was no reason in the world why this decision should have attracted any notice whatever. but beaumarchais was the fashion. he had influential patrons even in the palace: the count d'artois and madame de polignac, with the coterie which met in her apartments, being among them; and the mere idea that the court or the government was afraid to let the play be acted caused thousands to desire to see it, who, without such a temptation, would have been wholly indifferent to its fate. the censor could not prevent its being read at private parties, and such readings became so popular that, in , one was got up for the amusement of the russian prince, who was greatly pleased by the liveliness of the dramatic situations, and, probably, not sufficiently aware of the prevalence of discontent in many circles of french society to sympathize with those who saw danger in its satire. the praises lavished on it gave the author greater boldness, which was quite unnecessary. he even meditated an evasion of the law by getting it acted in a place which was not a theatre, and tickets were actually issued for the performance in a saloon which was often used for rehearsals, when a royal warrant[ ] peremptorily forbidding such a proceeding was sent down from the palace. a clamor was at once raised by the friends of beaumarchais, as if "sealed letters" had never been issued before. they talked in a loud voice of "oppression" and "tyranny;" and any one who knew the king's disposition might have divined that such an act of vigor was sure to be followed by one of weakness. presently beaumarchais changed his tone. he gave out that he had retrenched the passages which had excited the royal disapproval, and requested that the play might be re-examined. a new censor of high literary reputation reported to the head of the police[ ] that if one or two passages were corrected, and one or two expressions, which were liable to be misinterpreted, were suppressed, he foresaw no danger in allowing the representation. beaumarchais at once promised to make the required corrections, and one of madame de polignac's friends, the count de vaudreuil, the very nobleman with whom that lady's name was by many discreditably connected, obtained the king's leave to perform it at his country house, that thus an opportunity might be afforded for judging whether or not the alterations which had been made were sufficient to render its performance innocent. the king was assured that the passages which he had regarded as mischievous were suppressed or divested of their sting. marie antoinette apparently had her suspicions; but louis could never long withstand repeated solicitations, and, as he had not, when madame de campan read it, formed any very high opinion of its literary merits, he thought that, now that it was deprived of its venom, it would be looked upon as heavy, and would fail accordingly. some good judges, such as the marquis de montesquieu, were of the same opinion. the actors thought differently. "it is my belief," said a man of fashion to the witty mademoiselle arnould, using the technical language of the theatre, "that your play will be 'damned.'" "yes," she replied, "it will, fifty nights running." but, even if louis had heard of her prophecy, he would have disregarded it. he gave his permission for the performance to take place, and on the th april, , "the marriage of figaro" was accordingly acted to an audience which filled the house to the very ceiling; and which the long uncertainty as to whether it would ever be seen or not had disposed to applaud every scene and every repartee, and even to see wit where none existed. to an impartial critic, removed both by time and country from the agitation which had taken place, it will probably seem that the play thus obtained a reception far beyond its merits. it was undoubtedly what managers would call a good acting play. its plot was complicated without being confused. it contained many striking situations; the dialogue was lively, but there was more humor in the surprises and discoveries than verbal wit in the repartees. some strokes of satire were leveled at the grasping disposition of the existing race of courtiers, whose whole trade was represented as consisting of getting all they could, and asking for more; and others at the tricks of modern politicians, feigning to be ignorant of what they knew; to know what they were ignorant of; to keep secrets which had no existence; to lock the door to mend a pen; to appear deep when they were shallow; to set spies in motion, and to intercept letters; to try to ennoble the poverty of their means by the grandeur of their objects. the censorship, of course, did not escape. the scene being laid in spain, figaro affirmed that at madrid the liberty of the press meant that, so long as an author spoke neither of authority, nor of public worship, nor of politics, nor of morality, nor of men in power, nor of the opera, nor of any other exhibition, nor of any one who was concerned in any thing, he might print what be pleased. the lawyers were reproached with a scrupulous adherence to forms, and a connivance at needless delays, which put money into their pockets; and the nobles, with thinking that, as long as they gave themselves the trouble to be born, society had no right to expect from them any further useful action. but such satire was too general, it might have been thought, to cause uneasiness, much more to do specific injury to any particular individual, or to any company or profession. figaro himself is represented as saying that none but little men feared little writings.[ ] and one of the advisers whom king louis consulted as to the possibility of any mischief arising from the performance of the play, is said to have expressed his opinion in the form of an apothegm, that "none but dead men were killed by jests." the author might even have argued that his keenest satire had been poured upon those national enemies, the english, when he declared what has been sometimes regarded as the national oath to be the pith and marrow of the english language, the open sesame to english society, the key to unlock the english heart, and to obtain the judicious swearer all that he could desire.[ ] and an english writer, with english notions of the liberty of the press, would hardly have thought it worth while to notice such an affair at all, did he not feel bound to submit his judgment to that of the french themselves. and if their view be correct, almost every institution in france must have been a dead man past all hopes of recovery, since the french historical writers, to whatever party they belong, are unanimous in declaring that it was from this play that many of the oldest institutions in the country received their death-blow, and that beaumarchais was at once the herald and the pioneer of the approaching revolution. paris had scarcely cooled down after this excitement, when its attention was more agreeably attracted by the arrival of a king, gustavus iii. of sweden. he had paid a visit to france in , which had been cut short by the sudden death of his father, necessitating his immediate return to his own country to take possession of his throne; but the brief acquaintance which marie antoinette had then made with him had inspired her with a great admiration of his chivalrous character; and in the preceding year, hearing that he was contemplating a tour in southern europe, she had written to him to express a hope that he would repeat his visit to versailles, promising him "such a reception as was due to an ancient ally of france;[ ]" and adding that "she should personally have great pleasure in testifying to him how greatly she valued his friendship." her mention of the ancient alliance between the two countries, which, indeed, had subsisted ever since the days of francis i., was very welcome to gustavus, since the object of his journey was purely political, and he desired to negotiate a fresh treaty. but those matters he, of course, arranged with the ministers. the queen was only concerned in the entertainments due from royal hosts to so distinguished a guest. most of them were of the ordinary character, there being a sort of established routine of festivity for such occasions. and it may be taken as a proof that the court had abated somewhat of its alarm at beaumarchais's play that "the marriage of figaro" was allowed to be acted on one of the king's visits to the theatre. she also gave him an entertainment of more than usual splendor at the trianon, at which all the ladies present, and the invitations were very numerous, were required to be dressed in white, while all the walks and shrubberies of the garden were illuminated, so that the whole scene presented a spectacle which he described in one of his letters as "a complete fairy-land; a sight worthy of the elysian fields themselves.[ ]" but, as usual, the queen herself was the chief ornament of the whole, as she moved graciously among her guests, laying aside the character of queen to assume that of the cordial hostess; and not even taking her place at the banquet, but devoting herself wholly to the pleasurable duty of doing honor to her guests. one of the displays was of a novel character, from which its inventors and patrons expected scientific results of importance, which, though nearly a century has since elapsed, have not yet been realized. in the preceding year, montgolfier had for the first time sent up a balloon, and the new invention was now exhibited in the court of versailles: the queen allowed the balloon to be called by her name; and, to the great admiration of gustavus, who had a decided taste for matters which were in any way connected with practical science, the "marie antoinette" made a successful voyage to chantilly. the date of another invention, if, indeed, it deserves so respectable a title, is also fixed by this royal visit. mesmer had recently begun to astonish or bewilder the parisians with his theory of animal magnetism; and gustavus spent some time in discussing the question with him, and seems for a moment to have flattered himself that he comprehended his principles. but the only durable result which arose from his stay in france was the sincere regard and esteem which he and the queen mutually conceived for each other. they established a correspondence, in which marie antoinette repeatedly showed her eagerness to gratify his wishes and to attend to his recommendations; and when, at a later period, unexpected troubles fell on her and her husband, there was no one whom their troubles inspired with greater eagerness to serve them than gustavus, whose last projects, before he fell by the hand of an assassin, were directed to their deliverance from the dangers which, though neither he nor they were as yet fully alive to their magnitude, were on the point of overwhelming them. chapter xx. st. cloud is purchased for the queen.--libelous attacks on her.--birth of the duc de normandie.--joseph presses her to support his views in the low countries.---the affair of the necklace.--share which the cardinal de rohan had in it.--the queen's indignation at his acquittal.--subsequent career of the cardinal. marie antoinette had long since completed her gardens at the trianon, but the gradual change in the arrangements of the court had made a number of alterations requisite at versailles, with which the difficulty of finding money rendered it desirable to proceed slowly. it was reckoned that it would be necessary to give up the greater part of the palace to workmen for ten years; and as the other palaces which the king possessed in the neighborhood of paris were hardly suited for the permanent residence of the court, the queen proposed to her husband to obtain st. cloud from the duc d'orléans, giving him in exchange la muette, the castle of choisy, and a small adjacent forest. such an arrangement would have produced a considerable saving by the reduction of the establishments kept up at those places, at which the court only spent a few days in each year. and as the duke was disposed to think that he should be a gainer by the exchange, it is not very easy to explain how it was that the original project was given up, and that st. cloud was eventually sold to the crown for a sum of money, choisy and la muette being also retained. st. cloud was bought; and marie antoinette, still eager to prevent her own acquisition from being too costly, proposed to the king that it should he bought in her name, and called her property; since an establishment for her would naturally lie framed on a more moderate scale than that of any palace belonging to the king, which was held always to require the appointment of a governor and deputy-governors, with a corresponding staff of underlings, while she should only require a porter at the outer gate. the advantage of such a plan was so obvious that it was at once adopted. the porters and servants wore the queen's livery; and all notices of the regulations to be observed were signed "in the queen's name.[ ]" yet so busy were her enemies at this time, that even this simple arrangement, devised solely for the benefit of the people who were intimately concerned in every thing that tended to diminish the royal expenditure, gave rise to numberless cavils. some affirmed that the issue of such notices in the name of the queen instead of in that of the king was an infringement on his authority. one most able and influential counselor of the parliament, duval d'esprémesnil, who in more than one discussion in subsequent years showed that in general he fully appreciated the principles of constitutional government, but who at this time seems to have been animated by no other feeling than that of hatred for the existing ministers, even went the length of affirming that there was "something not only impolitic but immoral in the idea of any palace belonging to a queen of france.[ ]" but when the arrangements had once been made, marie antoinette not unnaturally thought her honor concerned in not abandoning it in deference to clamor so absurd, as well as so disrespectful to herself; and st. cloud, to which she had always been partial, continued hers, and for the next five years divided her attention with the trianon. but though she herself disregarded all such attacks with the calm dignity which belonged to her character, her friends were not free from serious apprehensions as to the power of persistent detraction and calumny. it was one of the penalties which the nation had to pay for the infamies which had stained the crown during the last three centuries, that the people had learned to think that nothing was too bad to say and to believe of their kings; and marie antoinette seemed as yet a fairer mark than usual for slanderous attack, because her position was weaker than that of a king.[ ] it depended on the life of her husband and of a single son, who was already beginning to show signs of weakness of constitution. it was therefore with exceeding satisfaction that in the autumn of her friends learned that she was again about to become a mother. they prayed with inexpressible anxiety that the expected child should prove a son; and on the th of march, , their prayers were granted. a son was born, whom his delighted father at once took in his arms, calling him "his little norman," and, saying "that the name alone would bring him happiness," created duke of normandy. no prophecy was ever so sadly falsified; no king's son had ever so miserable a lot; but no forebodings of evil as yet disturbed his parents. their delight was fully shared by the body of the people; for the cabals against the queen were as yet confined to the immediate precincts of the court, and had not descended to infect the middle classes. it was with difficulty when, after her confinement, she paid her visit to paris to return thanks at notre dame and st. geneviève, that the citizens could he prevented from unharnessing her horses and dragging her coach in triumph through the streets.[ ] and their exultation was fully shared by the better-intentioned class of courtiers, and by all marie antoinette's real friends, who felt assured that the birth of this second son had given her the security which had hitherto been wanting to her position. meanwhile, she was again led to interest herself greatly in foreign politics, though in truth she hardly regarded any thing in which her brother's empire was interested as foreign, so deep was her conviction that the interests of france and austria were identical and inseparable, and so unwearied were her endeavors to make her husband's ministers see all questions that concerned her brother's dominions with her eyes. throughout the latter part of , and the earlier months of , joseph, who was always restless in his ambition, was full of schemes of aggrandizement which he desired to carry out through the favor and co-operation of france. at one moment he projected obtaining bavaria in exchange for the netherlands, at another he aimed at procuring the opening of the scheldt by threatening the dutch with instant war if they resisted. but, as all these schemes were eventually abandoned, they would hardly require to be mentioned here, were it not for the proofs which his correspondence with his sister affords of his increasing esteem for her capacity, and his evident conviction of her growing influence in the french government, and for the light which some of her answers to his letters throw on her relations with the ministers, which had perhaps some share in increasing the annoyance that the affair of "the necklace," as will be presently mentioned, caused her before the end of the year. her difficulties with louis himself were the same as she had already described to her brother on former occasions. "it was impossible to induce him to take a strong line, so as to speak resolutely to m. de vergennes in her presence, and equally so to prevent his changing his mind afterward;[ ]" while she distrusted the good faith of the minister so much that, though she resolved to speak to him strongly on the subject, she would not do so till she could discuss the question with him "in the presence of the king, that he might not be able to disfigure or to exaggerate what she said." yet she did not always find her precautions effectual. louis's judgment was always at the mercy of the last speaker. she assured her brother that "he had abundant reason to be contented with the king's personal feelings on the subject. when he received the emperor's letter, he spoke to her about it in a way that delighted her. he regarded joseph's demands as just, and his motives as most reasonable. yet--she blushed to own it even to her brother--after he had seen his minister, his tone was no longer the same; he was embarrassed; he shunned the subject with her, and often found some new objection to weaken the effect of his previous admissions." at one time she even feared a rupture between the two countries. vergennes was urging the king to send an army of observation to the frontier; and, if it were sent, the proximity of such a force to the austrian troops in the netherlands would, to her apprehension, be full of danger. there was sound political acuteness in her remark that the dispatch of an army of observation was not "in itself a declaration of war, but that when two armies are so near to one another an order to advance is very soon executed;" and, with a shrewd perception of the argument which was most likely to influence the humane disposition of her husband, she pressed upon him that "the delays and shuffling of his ministers might very probably involve him in war, in spite of his own intentions." however, eventually the clouds which had caused her anxiety were dissipated; the mediation of france had even some share in leading to a conclusion of these disputes in a manner in which joseph himself acquiesced; and the good understanding between the two crowns, on which, as marie antoinette often declared, her happiness greatly depended, was preserved, or, as she hoped, even strengthened, by the result of these negotiations. but on one occasion of real moment to the personal comfort and credit of the queen, louis behaved with a clear good sense, and, what was equally important, with a firmness which she gratefully acknowledged,[ ] and contrasted remarkably with the pusillanimous advice that had been given by more than one of the ministers. that the affair in which he exhibited these qualities should for a moment have been regarded as one of political importance, is another testimony to the diseased state of the public mind at the time; and that it should have been possible so to use it as to attach the slightest degree of discredit to the queen, is a proof as strange as melancholy how greatly the secret intrigues of the basest cabal that ever disgraced a court had succeeded in undermining her reputation, and poisoning the very hearts of the people against her.[ ] boehmer, the court jeweler, had collected a large number of diamonds of unusual size and brilliancy, which he had formed into a necklace, in the hope of selling it to the queen, whose fancy for such jewels had some years before been very great. she had at one time spent sums on diamond ornaments, large enough to provoke warm remonstrances from her mother, though certainly not excessive for her rank; and louis, knowing her partiality for them, had more than once made her costly gifts of the kind. but her taste for them had cooled; her children now engrossed far more of her attention than her dress, and she was keenly alive to the distress which still prevailed in many parts of the kingdom, and to the embarrassments of the revenue, which the ingenuity of calonne did not relieve half so rapidly as his rashness encumbered it. accordingly, her reply to boehmer's application that she would purchase his necklace was that her jewel-case was sufficiently full, and that she had almost given up wearing diamonds; and that if such a sum as he asked, which was nearly seventy thousand pounds, were available, she should greatly prefer its being spent on a ship for the nation, to replace the _ville de paris_, whose loss still rankled in her breast. the king, who thought that she must secretly wish for a jewel of such unequalled splendor, offered to make her a present of the necklace, but she adhered to her refusal. boehmer was greatly disappointed; he had exhausted his resources and his credit in collecting the stones in the hope of making a grand profit, and declared loudly to his patrons that he should be ruined if the queen could not be induced to change her mind. his complaints were so unrestrained that they reached the ears of those who saw in his despair a possibility of enriching themselves at his expense. there was in paris at the time a countess de la mothe, who, as claiming descent from a natural son of henri ii., had added valois to her name, and had her claim to royal birth so far allowed that, as she was in very destitute circumstances, she had obtained a small pension from the crown. her pension and her pretensions had perhaps united to procure her the hand of the count de la mothe, who had for some time been discreditably known as one of the most worthless and dangerous adventurers who infested the capital. but her marriage had been no restraint on a life of unconcealed profligacy, and among her lovers she reckoned the cardinal de rohan, who, as we have already seen, was as little scrupulous or decent as herself. as, however, the cardinal's extravagance had left him with little means of supplying her necessities, madame la mothe conceived the idea of swindling boehmer out of his necklace, and of making de rohan an accomplice in the fraud. the one thing which in the transaction is difficult to determine is whether the cardinal was her willing and conscious assistant, or her dupe. that his capacity was of the very lowest order was notorious, but he was a man who had been bred in courts; he knew the manner in which princes transacted their business, and in which queens signed their names. he had long been acquainted with marie antoinette's figure and gestures and voice; while, unhappily, there was nothing in his character which was incompatible with his becoming an accomplice in any act of baseness. what followed was a drama of surprises. it was with as much astonishment as indignation that marie antoinette learned that boehmer believed that she had secretly bought the necklace, which openly and formally she had refused, and that he was looking to her for the payment of its price. and about a fortnight later it was like a thunder-clap that a summons came upon the cardinal de rohan, who had just been performing mass before the king and queen, to appear before them in louis's private cabinet, and that he found himself subjected to an examination by louis himself, who demanded of him with great indignation an explanation of the circumstances that had led him to represent himself to boehmer as authorized to buy a necklace for the queen. terrified and confused, he gave an explanation which was half a confession; but which was too complicated to be thoroughly intelligible. he was ordered to retire into the next room and write out his statement. his written narrative proved more obscure than his spoken words. in spite of his prayers that he might be spared the degradation of being arrested while still clad in his pontifical habits, he was at once sent to the bastile. a day or two afterward madame la mothe was apprehended in the provinces, and louis directed that a prosecution should be instantly commenced against all who had been concerned in the transaction. for the queen's name had been forged. the cardinal did not deny that he had represented himself to boehmer as employed by her for the purchase of the jewel which, as he said, she secretly coveted, and for the payment of its price by installments. but, as his justification, he produced a letter desiring him to undertake the business, and signed "marie antoinette de france." he declared that he had never suspected the genuineness of this letter, though it was notorious that such an addition to their christian names was used by none but the sons and daughters of the reigning sovereign, and never by a queen. and eventually his whole story was found to be that madame la mothe had induced him to believe that she was in the queen's confidence, and also that the queen coveted the necklace and was resolved to obtain it; but that she was unable at once to pay for it; and that, being desirous to make amends to the cardinal for the neglect with which she had hitherto treated him, she had resolved on employing him to make arrangements with boehmer for the instant delivery of the ornament, and for her payment of the price by installments. this was strange enough to have excited the suspicions of most men. what followed was stranger still. not content with forging the queen's handwriting, madame la mothe had even, if one may say so, forged the queen herself. she had assured the cardinal that marie antoinette had consented to grant him a secret interview; and at midnight, in the gardens of versailles, had introduced him to a woman of notoriously bad character named oliva, who in height resembled the queen, and who, in a conference of half a minute, gave him a letter and a rose with the words, "you know what this means." she had hardly uttered the words when madame la mothe interrupted the pair with the warning the countesses of provence and artois were approaching. the mock queen retired in haste. the cardinal pressed the rose to his heart; acted on the letter; and protested that he had never doubted that he had seen the queen, and had been acting on her commands in obtaining the necklace from boehmer and delivering it to madame la mothe, though he now acknowledged that he had been imposed upon, and offered to pay the jeweler for his property. there were not wanting those who advised that this offer should be accepted, and that the matter should be hushed up, rather than that a prince of the church should be publicly disgraced by a prosecution for fraud. but louis and marie antoinette both rightly judged that their duty as sovereigns of the kingdom forbade them to compromise justice by screening dishonesty. it was but two years before that a great noble, the most eloquent of all french orators, had singled out marie antoinette's love of justice as one of her most conspicuous, as it was one of her most noble, qualities; and the words deserve especially to be remembered from the melancholy contrast which his subsequent conduct presents to the voluntary tribute which he now paid to her excellence. in , the young count de mirabeau, pleading for the restitution of his conjugal rights, put the question to the judges at aix before whom he was arguing, "which of you, if he desired to consecrate a living personification of justice, and to embellish it with all the charms of beauty, would not set up the august image of our queen?" she and her husband might well have felt they were bound to act up to such a eulogy. some of their advisers also, and especially the baron de breteuil and the abbé de yermond, fortified their decision with their advice; being, in truth, greatly influenced by a reason which they forbore to mention, namely, by their suspicion that the untiring malice of the queen's enemies would not have failed to represent that the suppression of the slightest particle of the truth could only have been dictated by a guilty consciousness which felt that it could not bear the light; and that the queen had forborne to bring the cardinal into court solely because she knew that he was in a situation to prove facts which would deservedly damage her reputation. it is impossible to doubt that the resolution which was adopted was the only one consistent with either propriety or common sense. however plausible may be the arguments which in this or that case may be adduced for concealment, the common instinct of mankind, which rarely errs in such matters, always conceives a suspicion that it is dictated by secret and discreditable motives; and that he who screens manifest guilt from exposure and punishment makes himself an accomplice in the wrong-doing, if he was not so before. but, though louis judged rightly for his own and his queen's character in bringing those who were guilty of forgery and robbery to a public trial, the result inflicted an irremediable wound on one great institution, furnishing an additional proof how incurably rotten the whole system of the government must have been, when corruption without shame or disguise was allowed to sway the highest judicial tribunal in the country. the parliament of paris, constantly endeavoring throughout its whole history to encroach upon the royal prerogative, had always founded its pretensions on its purity and disinterestedness. since its re-establishment at the beginning of the present reign, it had advanced its claim to the possession of those virtues more loudly than ever; yet now, in the very first case which came before it in which a noble of the highest rank was concerned, it was made apparent not only that it was wholly destitute of every quality which ought to belong to a judicial bench, of a regard for truth and justice, and even of a knowledge of the law; but that no one gave it credit for them, and that every one regarded the decision to be given as one which would depend, not on the merits of the case, but on the interest which the culprits might be able to make with the judges.[ ] the trial took place in may of the following year. we need not enter into its details; the denials, the admissions, the mutual recriminations of the persons accused. in the fate of the la mothes and mademoiselle oliva no one professed to be concerned; but the friends of the cardinal were numerous, rich, and powerful; and for months had been and still were indefatigable in his cause. some days before the trial, the attorney- general had become aware that nearly the whole of the parliament had been gained by them; he even furnished the queen with a list of the names of those judges who had promised their verdict beforehand, and of the means by which they had been won over. and on the decisive morning the cardinal and his friends made a theatrical display which was evidently intended to overawe those members of the parliament who were yet unconvinced, and to enlist the sympathies of the public in general. he himself appeared at the bar in a long violet cloak, the mourning robe of cardinals; and all the passages leading to the hall of justice were lined by his partisans, also in deep mourning; and they were not solely his own relations, the nobles of the different branches of his family, the soubises, the rohans, the guimenées; but though, as princes of the blood, the condés were nearly allied to the king and queen, they also were not ashamed to swell the company assembled, and to solicit the judges as they passed into the court to disregard alike justice and their own oaths, and to acquit the cardinal, whatever the evidence might be which had been, or was to be, produced against him. they were only asking what they had already assured themselves of obtaining. the queen's signature was indeed declared to be a forgery, and the la mothes, mademoiselle oliva, and a man named retaux de villette, who had been the actual writer of the forged letters, were convicted and sentenced to the punishment which the counsel for the crown had demanded. but the cardinal was acquitted, as well as a notorious juggler and impostor of the day, called cagliostro, who had apparently been so entirely unconnected with the transaction that it is not easy to see how he became included in the prosecution; and permission was given to the cardinal to make his acquittal public in any manner and to any extent which he might desire.[ ] the subsequent history of the la mothes was singular and characteristic. the countess, who had been sentenced to be flogged, branded, and imprisoned for life, after a time contrived, it is believed by the aid of some of the rohan family, to escape from prison. she fled to london, where for some time she and her husband lived on the proceeds of the necklace, which they had broken up and sold piecemeal to jewelers in london and other cities; but they were soon reduced to great distress. after the revolution had broken out in paris, they tried to make money by publishing libels on the queen, in which they are believed to have obtained the aid of some who in former times had been under great personal obligations to marie antoinette. but the scheme failed: they were overwhelmed with debt; writs were issued against them, and in trying to escape from the sheriff's officers, the countess fell from a window at the top of a house, and received injuries which proved fatal. a most accomplished writer of the present day, who has devoted much care and ability to the examination of the case, has pronounced an opinion that the cardinal was innocent of dishonesty,[ ] and limits his offense to that of insulting the queen by the mere suspicion that she could place her confidence in such an unworthy agent as madame la mothe, or that he himself could be allowed to recover her favor by such means as he had employed. but his absolute ignorance of the countess's schemes is not entirely consistent with the admitted fact that, when he was arrested, his first act was to send orders to his secretary to burn all the letters which he had received from her on the subject; and unquestionably neither louis nor marie antoinette doubted his full complicity in the conspiracy. louis at once deprived him of his office of grand almoner, and banished him from the court, declaring that "he knew too well the usages of the court to have believed that madame la mothe had really been admitted to the queen's presence and intrusted with such a commission.[ ]" and marie antoinette gave open expression to her indignation at the acquittal "of an intriguer who had sought to ruin her, or to procure money for himself, by abusing her name and forging her signature," adding, with undeniable truth, that still more to be pitied than herself was a "nation which had for its supreme tribunal a body of men who consulted nothing but their passions; and of whom some were full of corruption, and others were inspired with a boldness which always vented itself in opposition to those who were clothed with lawful authority.[ ]" but her magnanimity and her sincere affection for the whole people were never more manifest than now even in her first moments of indignation. even while writing to madame de polignac that she is "bathed in tears of grief and despair," and that she can "hope for nothing good when perverseness is so busy in seeking means to chill her very soul," she yet adds that "she shall triumph over her enemies by doing more good than ever, and that it will be easier for them to afflict her than to drive her to avenging herself on them.[ ]" and she uses the same language to her sister christine, even while expressing still more strongly her indignation at being "sacrificed to a perjured priest and a shameless intriguer." she demands her sister's "pity, as one who had never deserved such injurious treatment;[ ] but who had only recollected that she was the daughter of maria teresa--to fulfill her mother's exhortations, always to show herself french to the very bottom of her heart;" but she concludes by repeating the declaration that "nothing shall tempt her to any conduct unworthy of herself, and that the only revenge that she will take shall he to redouble her acts of kindness." it is pleasing to be able to close so odious a subject by the statement that the disgrace which the cardinal had thus brought upon himself may be supposed in some respects to have served as a lesson to him, and that his conduct in the latter days of his life was such as to do no discredit to the noble race from which he sprung. a great part of his diocese as bishop of strasburg lay on the german side of the rhine; and thither,[ ] when the french revolution began to assume the blood-thirsty character which has made it a warning to all future ages, he was fortunate to escape in safety from the fury of the assassins who ruled france. and though he was no longer rich, his less fortunate countrymen, and especially his clerical brethren, found in him a liberal protector and supporter.[ ] he even levied a body of troops to re-enforce the royalist army. but, when the first consul wrung from the pope a concordat of which he disapproved, he resigned his bishopric, and shortly afterward died at ettenheim,[ ] where, had he remained but a short time longer, he, like the duke d'enghien, might have found that a residence in a foreign land was no protection against the ever-suspicious enmity of bonaparte. chapter xxi. the king visits cherbourg.--rarity of royal journeys.--the princess christine visits the queen--hostility of the duc d'orléans to the queen.-- libels on her.--she is called madame deficit.--she has a second daughter, who dies.--ill health of the dauphin.--unskillfulness and extravagance of calonne's system of finance.--distress of the kingdom.--he assembles the notables.--they oppose his plans.--letters of marie antoinette on the subject.--her ideas of the english parliament.--dismissal of calonne.-- character of archbishop loménie de brienne.--obstinacy of necker.--the archbishop is appointed minister.--the distress increases.--the notables are dissolved.--violent opposition of the parliament--resemblance of the french revolution to the english rebellion of .--arrest of d'esprémesnil and montsabert. it was owing to marie antoinette's influence that louis himself in the following year began to enter on a line of conduct which, if circumstances had not prevented him from persevering in it, might have tended, more perhaps than any thing else that he could have done, to make him also popular with the main body of the people. the emperor, while at versailles, had strongly pressed upon him that it was his duty, as king of the nation, to make himself personally acquainted with every part of his kingdom, to visit the agricultural districts, the manufacturing towns, the fortresses, arsenals, and harbors of the country. joseph himself had practiced what he preached. no corner of his dominions was unknown to him; and it is plain that there can be no nation which must not be benefited by its sovereign thus obtaining a personal knowledge of all the various interests and resources of his subjects. but such personal investigations were not yet understood to be a part of a monarch's duties. louis's contemporary, our own sovereign, george iii., than whom, if rectitude of intention and benevolence of heart be the principal standards by which princes should be judged, no one ever better deserved to be called the father of his country, scarcely ever went a hundred miles from windsor, and never once visited even those midland counties which before the end of his reign had begun to give undeniable tokens of the contribution which their industry was to furnish to the growing greatness of his empire; and the last two kings of france, though in the course of their long reigns they had once or twice visited their armies while waging war on the flemish or german frontier, had never seen their western or southern provinces. but now marie antoinette suggested to her husband that it was time that he should extend his travels, which, except when he had gone to rheims for his coronation, had never yet carried him beyond compiègne in one direction and fontainebleau in another; and, as of all the departments of government, that which was concerned with the marine of the nation interested her most (we fear that she was secretly looking forward to a renewal of war with england), she persuaded him to select for the object of his first visit the fort of cherbourg in normandy, where those great works had been recently begun which have since been constantly augmented and improved, till they have made it a worthy rival to our own harbors on the opposite side of the channel. he was received in all the towns through which he passed with real joy. the normans had never seen their king since henry iv. had made their province his battle-field; and the queen, who would gladly have accompanied him, had it not been that such a journey undertaken by both would have resembled a state procession, and therefore have been tedious and comparatively useless, exulted in the reception which he had met with, and began to plan other expeditions of the same kind for him, feeling assured that his presence would be equally welcomed in other provinces--at bourdeaux, at lyons, or at toulon. and a series of such visits would undoubtedly have been calculated to strengthen the attachment of the people everywhere to the royal authority; which, already, to some far-seeing judges, seemed likely soon to need all the re-enforcement which it could obtain in any quarter. in the summer of she had a visit from her sister christine, the princess of teschen, who, with her husband, had been joint governor of hungary, and since the death of her uncle, charles of lorraine, had been removed to the netherlands. she had never seen her sister since her own marriage, and the month which they spent together at versailles may be almost described as the last month of perfect enjoyment that marie antoinette ever knew; for troubles were thickening fast around the government, and were being taken wicked advantage of by her enemies, at the head of whom the duc d'orléans now began openly to range himself. he was a man notorious, as has been already seen, for every kind of infamy; and though he well knew the disapproval with which marie antoinette regarded his way of life and his character, it is believed that he had had the insolence to approach her with the language of gallantry; that he had been rejected with merited indignation; and that he ever afterward regarded her noble disdain as a provocation which it should be the chief object of his life to revenge. in fact, on one occasion he did not scruple to avow his resentment at the way in which, as he said, she had treated him; though he did not mention the reason.[ ] calumny was the only weapon which could be employed against her; but in that he and his partisans had long been adept. every old libel and pretext for detraction was diligently revived. the old nickname of "the austrian" was repeated with pertinacity as spiteful as causeless; even the king's aunts lending their aid to swell the clamor on that ground, and often saying, with all the malice of their inveterate jealousy, that it was not to be expected that she should have the same feelings as their father or louis xiv., since she was not of their blood, though it was plain that the same remark would have applied to every queen of france since anne of brittany. even the embarrassments of the revenue were imputed to her; and she, who had curtailed her private expenses, even those which seemed almost necessary to her position, that she might minister more largely to the necessities of the poor--who had declined to buy jewels that the money might be applied to the service of the state--was now held up to the populace as being by her extravagance the prime cause of the national distress. pamphlets and caricatures gave her a new nickname of "madame deficit;" and such an impression to her disfavor was thus made on the minds of the lower classes, that a painter, who had just finished an engaging portrait of her surrounded by her children, feared to send it to the exhibition, lest it should be made a pretext for insult and violence. her unpopularity did not, indeed, last long at this time, but was superseded, as we shall presently see, by fresh feelings of gratitude for fresh labors of charity; nevertheless, the outcry now raised left its seed behind it, to grow hereafter into a more enduring harvest of distrust and hatred. she had troubles, too, of another kind which touched her more nearly. a second daughter, sophie[ ], had been born to her in the summer of ; but she was a sickly child, and died, before she was a year old, of one of the illnesses to which children are subject, and for some months the mother mourned bitterly over her "little angel," as she called her. her eldest boy, too, was getting rapidly and visibly weaker in health: his spine seemed to diseased, marie antoinette's only hope of saving him rested on the fact that his father had also been delicate at the same age. luckily his brother gave her no cause for uneasiness; as she wrote to the emperor[ ]--"he had all that his elder wanted; he was a thorough peasant's child, tall, stout, and ruddy.[ ]" she had also another comfort, which, as her troubles thickened, became more and more precious to her, in the warm affection that had sprung up between her and her sister-in-law, the princess elizabeth. a letter[ ] has been preserved in which the princess describes the death of the little sophie to one of her friends, which it is impossible to read without being struck by the sincerity of the sympathy with which she enters into the grief of the bereaved mother. in these moments of anguish she showed herself indeed a true sister, and, the two clinging to one another the more the greater their dangers and distresses became, a true sister she continued to the end. meanwhile the embarrassments of the government were daily assuming a more formidable appearance. calonne had for some time endeavored to meet the deficiency of the revenue by raising fresh loans, till he had completely exhausted the national credit; and at last had been forced to admit that the scheme originally propounded by turgot, and subsequently in a more modified degree by necker, of abolishing the exemptions from taxation which were enjoyed by the nobles--the privileged classes, as they were often called--was the only expedient to save the nation from the disgrace and ruin of total bankruptcy. but, as it seemed probable that the nobles would resist such a measure, and that their resistance would prove too strong for him, as it had already been found to be for his predecessors, he proposed to the king to revive an old assembly which had been known by the title of the notables; trusting that, if he succeeded in obtaining the sanction of that body to his plans, the nobles would hardly venture to insist on maintaining their privileges in defiance of the recorded judgment of so respectable a council. his hopes were disappointed. he might fairly have reckoned on obtaining their concurrence, since it was the unquestioned prerogative of the king to nominate all the members; but, even when he was most deliberate and resolute, his rashness and carelessness were incurable. he took no pains whatever to select members favorable to his views; and the consequence was that, in march, , in the very first month of the session of the notables, the whole body protested against one of the taxes which he desired to impose; and his enemies at once urged the king to dismiss him, basing their recommendation on the practice of england, where, as they affirmed, a minister who found himself in a minority on an important question immediately retired from office. marie antoinette, who, as we have seen, had been a diligent reader of hume, had also been led to compare the proceedings of the refractory notables with the conduct of our english parliamentary parties, and to an english reader some of her comments can not fail to be as interesting as they are curious. the duchess de polignac was drinking the waters at bath, which at that time was a favorite resort of french valetudinarians, and, while she was still in that most beautiful of english cities, the queen kept up an occasional correspondence with her. we have two letters which marie antoinette wrote to her in april; one on the th, the very day on which calonne was dismissed; the second, two days latter; and even the passages which do not relate to politics have their interest as specimens of the writer's character, and of the sincere frankness with which she laid aside her rank and believed in the possibility of a friendship of complete equality. "april th, . "i thank you, my dear heart, for your letter, which has done me good. i was anxious about you. it is true, then, that you have not suffered much from your journey. take care of yourself, i insist on it, i beg of you; and be sure and derive benefit from the waters, else i should repent of the privation i have inflicted on myself without your health being benefited. when you are near i feel how much i love you; and i feel it much more when you are far away. i am greatly taken up with you and yours, and you would be very ungrateful if you did not love me, for i can not change toward you. "where you are you can at least enjoy the comfort of never hearing of business. although you are in the country of an upper and a lower house, you can stop your ears and let people talk. but here it is a noise that deafens one in spite of all i can do. the words 'opposition' and 'motions' are established here as in the english parliament, with this difference, that in london, when people go into opposition, they begin by denuding themselves of the favors of the king; instead of which, here numbers oppose all the wise and beneficent views of the most virtuous of masters, and still keep all he has given them. it may be a cleverer way of managing, but it is not so gentleman-like. the time of illusion is past, and we are tasting cruel experience. we are paying dearly to-day for our zeal and enthusiasm for the american war. the voice of honest men is stifled by members and cabals. men disregard principles to bind themselves to words, and to multiply attacks on individuals. the seditious will drag the state to its ruin rather than renounce their intrigues." and in her second letter she specifies some of the opposition by name; one of whom, as will be seen hereafter, contributed greatly to her subsequent miseries.... "the repugnance which you know that i have always had to interfering in business is today put cruelly to the proof; and you would be as tired as i am of all that goes on. i have already spoken to you of our upper and lower house,[ ] and of all the absurdities which take place there, and of the nonsense which is talked. to be loaded with benefits by the king, like m. de beauvau, to join the opposition, and to surrender none of them, is what is called having spirit and courage. it is, in truth, the courage of infamy. i am wholly surrounded with folks who have revolted from him. a duke,[ ] a great maker of motions, a man who has always a tear in his eye when he speaks, is one of the number. m. de la fayette always founds the opinions he expresses on what is done at philadelphia.... even bishops and archbishops belong to the opposition, and a great many of the clergy are the very soul of the cabal. you may judge, after this, of all the resources which they employ to overturn the plans of the king and his ministers." calonne, however, as has already been intimated, had been dismissed from office before this last letter was written. there had been a trial of strength between him and his enemies; which he, believing that he had won the confidence of louis himself, reckoned on turning to his own advantage, by inducing the king to dismiss those of his opponents who were in office. to his astonishment, he found that louis preferred dispensing with his own services, and the general voice was probably correct when it, affirmed that it was the queen who had induced him to come to that decision. loménie de brienne, archbishop of toulouse, was again a candidate for the vacant post, and de vermond was as diligent as on the previous occasion[ ] in laboring to return the obligations under which that prelate had formerly laid him, by extolling his abilities and virtues to the queen, and recommending him as a worthy successor to calonne, whom she had never trusted or liked. in reality, the archbishop was wholly destitute of either abilities or virtues. he was notorious both for open profligacy and for avowed infidelity, so much so that louis had refused to transfer him to the diocese of paris, on the ground that "at least the archbishop of the metropolis ought to believe in god.[ ]" but marie antoinette was ignorant of his character, and believed de vermond's assurance that the appointment of so high an ecclesiastic would propitiate the clergy, whose opposition, as many of her letters prove, she thought specially formidable, and for whose support she knew her husband to be nervously anxious. some of calonne's colleagues strongly urged the king to re-appoint necker, whose recall would have been highly popular with the nation. but necker had recently given louis personal offense by publishing a reply to some of calonne's statements, in defiance of the king's express prohibition, and had been banished from paris for the act; and the queen, recollecting how he had formerly refused to withdraw his resignation at her entreaty, felt that she had no reason to expect any great consideration for the opinions or wishes of either herself or the king from one so conceited and self-willed, who would be likely to attribute his re-appointment, not to the king's voluntary choice, but to his necessities: she therefore strongly pressed that the archbishop should be preferred. in an unhappy moment she prevailed;[ ] and on the st of may, , loménie de brienne was installed in office with the title of chief of the council of finance. a more unhappy choice could not possibly have been made. the new minister was soon seen to be as devoid of information and ability as he was known to be of honesty. he had a certain gravity of outward demeanor which imposed upon many, and he had also the address to lead the conversation to points which, his hearers understood still less than himself; dilating on finance and the money market even to the ladies of the court, who had had some share in persuading the queen of his fitness for office.[ ] but his disposition was in reality as rash as that of calonne; and it was a curious proof of his temerity, as well as of his ignorance of the feeling of parties in paris, that though he knew the notables to be friendly to him, as indeed they would have been to any one who might have superseded calonne, he dismissed them before the end of the month. and the language held on their dissolution both by the ministers and by the president of the notables, and which was cheerfully accepted by the people, is remarkable from the contrast which it affords to the feelings which swayed the national council exactly two years afterward. some measures of retrenchment which the notables had recommended had been adopted; some reductions had been made in the royal households; some costly ceremonies had been abolished; and one or two imposts, which had pressed with great severity on the poorer classes, had been extinguished or modified. and not only did m. lamoignon, the keeper of the seals, in the speech in which he dismissed them, venture to affirm that these reductions would be found to have effected all that was needed to restore universal prosperity to the kingdom; but the president of the assembly, in his reply, thanked god "for having caused him to be born in such an age, under such a government, and for having made him the subject of a king whom he was constrained to love," and the thanksgiving was re-echoed by the whole assembly. but this contentment did not last long. the embarrassments of the treasury were too serious to be dissipated by soft speeches. the notables were hardly dissolved before the archbishop proposed a new loan of an enormous amount; and, as he might have foreseen, their dissolution revived the pretensions of the parliament. the queen's description of the rise of a french opposition at once received a practical commentary. the debates in the parliament became warmer than they had ever been since the days of the fronde: the citizens, sharing in the excitement, thronged the palace of the parliament, expressing their approval or disapproval of the different speakers by disorderly and unprecedented clamor; the great majority hooting down the minister and his supporters, and cheering those who spoke against him. the duc d'orléans, by open bribes, gained over many of the councilors to oppose the court in every thing. the registration of several of the edicts which the minister had sent down was refused; and one member of the orleanist party even demanded the convocation of the states- general, formerly and constitutionally the great council of the nation, but which had never been assembled since the time of richelieu. the archbishop was sometimes angry, and sometimes terrified, and as weak in his anger as in his terror. he persuaded the king to hold a bed of justice to compel the registration of the edicts. when the parliament protested, he banished it to troyes. in less than a month he became alarmed at his own vigor, and recalled it. encouraged by his pusillanimity, and more secure than ever of the support of the citizens who had been thrown into consternation by his demand of a second loan, nearly[ ] six times as large as the first, it became more audacious and defiant than ever, d'orléans openly placing himself at the head of the malcontents. loménie persuaded the king to banish the duke, and to arrest one or two of his most vehement partisans; and again in a few weeks repented of this act of decision also, released the prisoners, and recalled the duke. as a matter of course, the parliament grew bolder still. every measure which the minister proposed was rejected; and under the guidance of one of their members, duval d'esprémesnil, the councilors at last proceeded so far as to take the initiative in new legislation into their own hands. in the first week in may, , they passed a series of resolutions affirming that to be the law which indeed ought to have been so, but which had certainly never been regarded as such at any period of french history. one declared that magistrates were irremovable, except in cases of misconduct; another, that the individual liberty and property of every citizen were inviolable; others insisted on the necessity of convoking the states- general as the only assembly entitled to impose taxes; and the councilors hoped to secure the royal acceptance of these resolutions by some previous votes which asserted that, of those laws which were the very foundation of the constitution, the first was that which assured the "crown to the reigning house and to its descendants in the male line, in the order of primogeniture.[ ]" but louis, or rather his rash minister, was not to be so conciliated; and a scene ensued which is the first of the striking parallels which this period in france affords to the events which had taken place in england a century and a half before. as in charles i. had attempted to arrest members of the english parliament in the very house of commons, so the archbishop now persuaded louis to send down the captain of the guard, the marquis d'agoust, to the palace of the parliament, to seize d'esprémesnil, and another councilor named montsabert, who had been one of his foremost supporters in the recent discussions. they behaved with admirable dignity. marie antoinette was not one to betray her husband's counsels, as henrietta maria had betrayed those of charles. d'esprémesnil and his friend, wholly taken by surprise, had had no warning of what was designed, no time to withdraw, nor in all probability would they have done so in any case. when m. d'agoust entered the council hall and demanded his prisoners, there was a great uproar. the whole assembly made common cause with their two brethren who were thus threatened. "we are all d'esprémesnils and montsaberts," was their unanimous cry; while the tumult at the doors, where a vast multitude was collected, many of whom had arms in their hands and seemed prepared to use them, was more formidable still. but d'agoust, though courteous in the discharge of his duty, was intrepid and firm; and the two members voluntarily surrendered themselves and retired in custody, while the archbishop was so elated with his triumph that a few days afterwards he induced the king to venture on another imitation of the history of england, though now it was not charles, but the more tyrannical cromwell, whose conduct was copied. before the end of the month the governor of paris entered the palace of the parliament, seized all the registers and documents of every kind, locked the doors, and closed them with the king's seal; and a royal edict was issued suspending all the parliaments both in the capital and the provinces. chapter xxii. formidable riots take place in some provinces.--the archbishop invites necker to join his ministry.--letter of marie antoinette describing her interview with the archbishop, and her views.--necker refuses.--the queen sends messages to necker.--the archbishop resigns, and necker becomes minister.--the queen's view of his character.--general rejoicing.--defects in necker's character.--he recalls the parliament.--riots in paris.-- severe winter.--general distress.--charities of the king and queen.-- gratitude of the citizens.--the princes are concerned in the libels published against the queen.--preparations for the meeting of the states- general.--long disuse of that assembly.--need of reform.--vices of the old feudal system.--necker's blunders in the arrangements for the meeting of the states.--an edict of the king concedes the chief demands of the commons.--views of the queen. the whole kingdom was thrown into great and dangerous excitement by these transactions. little as were the benefits which the people had ever derived from the conduct of the parliament, their opposition to the archbishop, who had already had time to make himself generally hated and despised, caused the councilors to be very generally regarded as champions of liberty; and in the most distant provinces, in béarn, in isère, and in brittany, public meetings (a thing hitherto unknown in the history of the nation) were held, remonstrances were drawn up, confederacies were formed, and oaths were administered by which those who took them bound themselves never to surrender what they affirmed to be the ancient privileges of the nation. the archbishop became alarmed; a little, perhaps, for the nation and the king, but far more for his own place, which he had already contrived to render profitable to himself by the preferments which it had enabled him to engross. and, in the hope of saving it, he now entreated necker to join the government, proposing to yield up the management of the finances to him, and to retain only the post of prime minister. a letter from the queen to mercy shows that she acquiesced in the scheme. her disapproval of necker's past conduct was outweighed by her sense of the need which the state had of his financial talents; though, for reasons which she explains, she was unwilling wholly to sacrifice the archbishop; and the letter has a further interest as displaying some of the difficulties which arose from the peculiar disposition of the king, while every one was daily more and more learning to look upon her as the more important person in the government. on the th of august, , she writes to mercy,[ ] whom the archbishop had employed as his agent to conciliate the stubborn swiss banker: "the archbishop came to me this morning, immediately after he had seen you, to report to me the conversation which he had had with you. i spoke to him very frankly, and was touched by what he said. he is at this moment with the king, to try and get him to decide; but i very much fear that m. necker will not accept while the archbishop remains. the animosity of the public against him is pushed so far that m. necker will be afraid of being compromised, and, indeed, perhaps it might injure his credit; but, at the same time, what is to be done? in truth and conscience we can not sacrifice a man who has made for as all these sacrifices of his reputation, of his position in the world, perhaps even of his life; for i fear they would kill him. there is yet m. foulon, if m. necker refuses absolutely.[ ] but i suspect him of being a very dishonest man; and confidence would not be established with him for comptroller. i fear, too, that the public is pressing us to take a part much more humiliating for the ministers, and much more vexatious for ourselves, inasmuch as we shall have done nothing of our own will. i am very unhappy. i will close my letter after i know the result of this evening's conference. i greatly fear the archbishop will be forced to retire altogether, and then what man are we to take to place at the head of the whole? for we must have one, especially with m. necker. he must have a bridle; and the person who is above me[ ] is not able to be such; and i, whatever people may say, and whatever happens, am never any thing but second; and, in spite of the confidence which the first has in me, he often makes me feel it.... the archbishop has just gone. the king is very unwilling; and could only be brought to make up his mind by a promise that the person[ ] should only be sounded; and that no positive engagement should be made." necker refused. the next day mercy reported to the queen that, though the excitement was great, it confined itself to denunciations of the archbishop and of the keeper of the seals; and that "the name of the queen had never once been mentioned;" and on the d, marie antoinette,[ ] from a conviction of the greatness of the emergency, determined to see necker herself; and employed the embassador and de vermond to let him know that her own wish for his restoration to the direction of the finances was sincere and earnest, and to promise him that the archbishop should not interfere in that department in any way whatever. two days later,[ ] she wrote again to mention that the king had vanquished his repugnance to necker, and had come wholly over to her opinion. "time pressed, and it was more essential than ever that necker should accept;" and on the th she writes a final letter to report to mercy that the archbishop has resigned, and that she has just summoned necker to come to her the next morning. though she felt that she had done what was both right and indispensable, she was not without misgivings. "if," she writes, in a strain of anxious despondency very foreign to her usual tone, and which shows how deeply she felt the importance of the crisis, and of every step that might be taken-- "if he will but undertake the task, it is the best thing that can be done; but i tremble (excuse my weakness) at the fact that it is i who have brought him back. it is my fate to bring misfortune, and, if infernal machinations should cause him once more to fail, or if he should lower the authority of the king, they will hate me still more." in one point of view she need not have trembled at being known to have caused necker's re-appointment, since it is plain that no other nomination was possible. vergennes had died a few months before, and the whole kingdom did not supply a single statesman of reputation except necker. nor could any choice have for the moment been more universally popular. the citizens illuminated paris; the mob burned the archbishop in effigy; and the leading merchants and bankers showed their approval in a far more practical way. the funds rose; loans to any amount were freely offered to the treasury; the national credit revived; as if the solvency or insolvency of the nation depended on a single man, and him a foreigner. yet, if regarded in any point of view except that of a financier, he was extremely unfit to be the minister at such a crisis; and the queen's acuteness had, in the extract from her letter which has been, quoted above, correctly pointed out the danger to be apprehended, namely, that he might lower the authority of the king.[ ] it was, in fact, to his uniform and persistent degradation of the king's authority that the greater part, if not the whole, of the evils which ensued may be clearly traced, and the cause that led him to adopt this fatal system was thoroughly visible to one gifted with such intuitive penetration into character as marie antoinette. for he had two great defects or weaknesses; an overweening vanity, which, as it is valued applause above every thing, led him to regard the popularity which they might win for him as the natural motive and the surest test of his actions; and an abstract belief in human perfection and in the submission of all classes to strict reason, which could only proceed from a total ignorance of mankind.[ ] yet, greatly as financial skill was needed, if the kingdom was to be saved from the bankruptcy which seemed to be imminent, it was plain that a faculty for organization and legislation was no less indispensable if the vessel of the state was to be steered safely along the course on which it was entering; for the archbishop's last act had been to induce the king to promise to convoke the states-general. the st of may of the ensuing year was fixed for their meeting; and the arrangements for and the management of an assembly, which, as not having met for nearly two hundred years, could not fail to present many of the features of an entire novelty, were a task which would have severely tested the most statesman-like capacity. but, unhappily, necker's very first acts showed him equally void of resolution and of sagacity. he was not only unable to estimate the probable conduct of the people in future, but he showed himself incapable of profiting by the experience of the past; and, in spite of the insubordinate spirit which the parliament had at all times displayed, he at once recalled them in deference to the clamor of the parisian citizens, and allowed them to enter paris in a triumphal procession, as if his very object had been to parade their victory over the king's authority. their return was the signal for a renewal of riots, which assumed a more formidable character than ever. the police, and even the guardhouses, were attacked in open day, and the government had reason to suspect that the money which was employed in fomenting the tumults was supplied by the duc d'orléans. a fierce mob traversed the streets at night, terrifying the peaceable inhabitants with shouts of triumph over the king as having been compelled to recall the parliament against his will; while those who were supposed to be adverse to the pretensions of the councilors were insulted in the streets, and branded as royalists, the first time in the history of the nation that ever that name had been used as a term of reproach. yet, presently the whole body of citizens, with their habitual impulsive facility of temper, again, for a while, became royalists. the winter was one of unprecedented severity. by the beginning of december the seine was frozen over, and the whole adjacent country was buried in deep snow. wolves from the neighboring forests, desperate with hunger, were said to have made their way into the suburbs, and to have attacked people in the streets. food of every kind became scarce, and of the poorer classes many were believed to have died of actual starvation. necker, as head of the government, made energetic and judicious efforts to relieve the universal distress, forming magazines in different districts, facilitating the means of transport, finding employment for vast numbers of laborers and artisans, and purchasing large quantities of grain in foreign countries; and, not only were louis and marie antoinette conspicuous for the unstinting liberality with which they devoted their own funds to the supply of the necessities of the destitute, but the queen, in many cases of unusual or pressing suffering that were reported to her in versailles and the neighboring villages, sent trustworthy persons to investigate them, and in numerous instances went herself to the cottages, making personal inquiries into the condition of the occupants, and showing not only a feeling heart, but a considerate and active kindness, which doubled the value of her benefactions by the gracious, thoughtful manner in which they were bestowed. she would willingly have done the good she did in secret, partly from her constant feeling that charity was not charity if it were boasted of, partly from a fear that those ready to misconstrue all her acts would find pretexts for evil and calumny even in her bounty. one of her good deeds struck necker as of so remarkable a character that he pressed her to allow him to make it known. "be sure, on the contrary," she replied, "that you never mention it. what good could it do? they would not believe you;[ ]" but in this she was mistaken. her charities were too widely spread to escape the knowledge even of those who did not profit by them; and they had their reward, though it was but a short-lived one. though the majority of her acts of personal kindness were performed in versailles rather than in paris, the parisians were as vehement in their gratitude as the versaillese; and it found a somewhat fantastic vent in the erection of pyramids and obelisks of snow in different quarters of the city, all bearing inscriptions testifying the citizens' sense of her benevolence. one, which far exceeded all its fellows in size--the chief beauty of works of that sort--since it was fifteen feet high, and each of the four faces was twelve feet wide at the base, was decorated with a medallion of the royal pair, and bore a poetical inscription commemorating the cause of its erection: "reine, dont la beauté surpasse les appas près d'un roi bienfaisant occupe ici la place. si ce monument frêle est de neige et de glace, nos coeurs pour toi ne le sont pas. de ce monument sans exemple, couple auguste, l'aspect bien doux pur votre coeur sans doute vous plaira plus qu'un palais, qu'un temple que vous élèverait un peuple adulateur.[ ]" neither the queen's feelings nor her conduct had been in any way altered; but six months later the same populace who raised this monument and applauded these verses were, with ferocious and obscene threats, clamoring for her blood. and there is hardly any thing more strange or more grievous in the history of the nation, hardly any greater proof of that incurable levity which was one great cause of the long series of miseries which soon fell upon it, than that the impressions of gratitude which were so vivid at the moment, and so constantly revived by the queen's untiring benevolence, could yet be so easily effaced by the acts of demagogues and libelers, whom the people thoroughly despised even while suffering themselves to be led by them. how great a part in these libels was borne by those who were bound by every tie of blood to the king to be his warmest supporters, we have a remarkable proof in an edict of council which was issued during the ministry of the archbishop, and which deprived the palaces of the count de provence, the count d'artois, and the duc d'orléans of their usual exemption from the investigation of the syndics of the library, as those officers were called whose duty it was to search all suspected places for libelous or seditious pamphlets; the reason publicly given for this edict being that the dwellings of these three princes were a perfect arsenal for the issue of publications contrary to the laws, to morality, and to religion.[ ] with the return of spring, the severity of the distress began to pass away. but, even while it lasted, it scarcely diverted the attention of the middle classes from the preparations for the approaching meeting of the states-general, from which the whole people, with few exceptions, promised themselves great advantages, though comparatively few had formed any precise notion of the benefits which they expected, or of the mode in which they were to be attained. the states-general had been originally established in the same age which saw the organization of our own parliament, with very nearly the same powers, though the members had more of the narrower character of delegates of their constituents than was the case in england, where they were more wisely regarded as representatives of the entire nation.[ ] and it was an acknowledged principle of their constitution that they could neither propose any measure nor ask for the redress of any grievance which was not expressly mentioned in the instructions with which their constituents furnished them at the time of their election. in england, the two houses of parliament, by a vigilant and systematic perseverance, had gradually extorted from the sovereign a great and progressive enlargement of their original powers, till they had almost engrossed the entire legislative authority in the kingdom. but in france, a variety of circumstances had prevented the states-general from arriving at a similar development. and, consequently, as in human affairs very little is stationary, their authority had steadily diminished, instead of increasing, till they had become so powerless and utterly insignificant that, since the year , they had never once been convened. not only had they been wholly disused, but they seemed to have been wholly forgotten. during the last two reigns no one had ever mentioned their name; much less had any wish been expressed for their resuscitation, till the financial difficulties of the government, and the general and growing discontent of the great majority of the nation, with which, since the death of turgot, every successive minister had been manifestly incompetent to deal, had, as we have seen, led some ardent reformers to demand their restoration, as the one expedient which had not been tried, and which, therefore, had this in its favor, that it was not condemned by previous failure. that great reforms were indispensable was admitted in every quarter. there was no country in europe where the feudal system had received so little modification.[ ] every law seemed to have been made, and every custom to have been established for the exclusive benefit of the nobles. they were even exempted from many of the taxes, an exemption which was the more intolerable from the vast number of persons who were included in the list. practically it may be said that there were two classes of nobles--the old historic houses, as they were sometimes called, such as the grammonts or montmorencies, which were not numerous, and many of which had greatly decayed in wealth and influence; and an inferior class whose nobility was derived from their possession of office under the crown in any part of the kingdom. even tax-gatherers and surveyors, if appointed by royal warrant, could claim the rank; and new offices were continually being created and sold which conferred the same title. those so ennobled were not reckoned the equals of the higher class. they could not even be received at court until their patents were four hundred years old, but they had a right to vote as nobles at elections to any representative body. those whose patents were twenty-four years old could be elected as representatives; and from the moment of their creation they all enjoyed great exemptions; so that, as the lowest estimate reckoned their numbers at a hundred thousand, it is a matter for some wonder how the taxes to which they did not contribute produced any thing worth collecting. it was, of course, manifest that the exemptions enormously increased the burden to be borne by the classes which did not enjoy such privileges. but, heavy as the grievance of these exemptions was, it was as nothing when compared with the feudal rights claimed by the greater nobles. the peasants on their estates were forced to grind their corn at the lord's mill, to press their grapes at his wine-press, paying for such act whatever price he might think fit to exact, and often having their crops wholly wasted or spoiled by the delays which such a system engendered. the game-laws forbade them to weed their fields lest they should disturb the young partridges or leverets; to manure the soil with any thing which might injure their flavor; or even to mow or reap till the grass or corn was no longer required as shelter for the young coveys. some of the rights of seigniory, as it was called, were such as can hardly be mentioned in this more decorous age; some were so ridiculous that it is inconceivable how their very absurdity had not led to their abolition. in the marshy districts of brittany, one right enjoyed by the great nobles was "the silence of the frogs,[ ]" which, whenever the lady was confined, bound the peasants to spend their days and nights in beating the swamps with long poles to save her from being disturbed by their inharmonious croaking. and if this or any other feudal right was dispensed with, it was only commuted for a money payment, which was little less burdensome. the powers exercised by the crown were more intolerable still. the sovereign was absolute master of the liberties of his subjects. without alleging the commission of any crime, he could issue warrants--letters under seal, as they were called--which consigned the person named in them to imprisonment, which was often perpetual. the unhappy prisoner had no power of appeal. no judge could inquire into his case, much less release him. the arrests were often made with such secrecy and rapidity that his nearest relations knew not what had become of him, but he was cut off from the outer world, for the rest of his life, as completely as if he had at once been handed over to the executioner.[ ] it was impossible but that such customs should produce general discontent, and a resolute demand for a complete reformation of the system. and one of the problems which the minister had to determine was, how to organize the states-general so that they should be disposed to promote such measures as reform as should be adequate without being excessive; as should give due protection to the middle and lower classes without depriving the nobles of that dignity and authority which were not only desirable for themselves, but useful to their dependents; and, lastly, such as should carefully preserve the rightful prerogatives of the crown, while putting an end to those arbitrary powers, the existence of which was incompatible with the very name of freedom. in making the necessary arrangements, the long disuse of the assembly was a circumstance greatly in favor of the government, if necker had had skill to avail himself of it, since it wholly freed him from the obligation of being guided by former precedents. those arrangements were long and warmly debated in the king's council. though the records of former sessions had been so carelessly preserved that little was known of their proceedings, it seemed to be established that the representatives of the commons had usually amounted to about four-tenths of the whole body, those of the clergy and of the nobles being each about three-tenths; and that they had almost invariably deliberated and voted in separate chambers; and the princes and the chief nobles presented memorials to the king, in which they almost unanimously recommended an adherence to these ancient forms; while, with patriotic prudence, they sought to obviate all jealousy of their own pretensions or views which might be entertained or feigned in any quarter, by announcing their willingness to abandon all the exclusive privileges and exemptions which they had hitherto possessed, and which were notoriously one chief cause of the generally prevailing discontent. but the party which had originated the clamor for the states-general, now, encouraged by their success, put forward two fresh demands; the first, that the number of the representatives of the commons should equal that of both the other orders put together, which they called "the duplication of the third estate;" the second, that the three orders should meet and vote as one united body in one chamber; the two proposition taken together being manifestly calculated and designed to throw the whole power into the hands of the commons. necker had great doubts about the propriety and safety of the first proposal, and no doubt at all of the danger of the second. his own judgment was that the wisest plan would be to order the clergy and nobles to unite in an upper chamber, so as in some degree to resemble the british house of lords; while the third estate, in a lower chamber, would be a tolerably faithful copy of our house of commons. but he could never bring himself to risk his popularity by opposing what he regarded as the opinion of the masses. he was alarmed by the political clubs which were springing up in paris; one, whose president was the duc d'orléans, assuming the significant and menacing title of les enragés;[ ] and by the vast number of pamphlets which were circulated both in the capital and the chief towns of the provinces by thousands,[ ] every writer of which put himself forward as a legislator,[ ] and of which the vast majority advocated what they called the rights of the third estate, in most violent language; and, finally, he adopted the course which is a great favorite with vain and weak men, and which he probably represented to himself as a compromise between unqualified concession and unyielding resistance, though, every one possessed of the slightest penetration could see that it practically surrendered both points: he advised the king to issue his edict that the number of representatives to be returned to the states-general should be twelve hundred, half of whom were to be returned by the commons, a quarter by the clergy, and a quarter by the nobles;[ ] and to postpone the decision as to the number of the chambers till the assembly should meet, when he proposed to allow the states themselves to determine it; trusting, against all probability, that, after having thus given the commons the power to enforce their own views, he should be able to persuade them to abandon the same in deference to his judgment. louis, as a matter of course, adopted his advice; and, after several different towns--blois, tours, cambrai, and compiègne among them--had been proposed as the place of meeting, he himself decided in favor of versailles,[ ] as that which would afford him the best hunting while the session lasted. the queen in her heart disapproved of every one of these resolutions. she saw that necker had, as she had foreboded, sacrificed the king's authority by his advice on the two first questions; and she perceived more clearly than any one the danger of fixing the states- general so near to paris that the turbulent population of the city should be able to overawe the members. she pressed these considerations earnestly on the king,[ ] but it was characteristic of the course which she prescribed to herself from, the beginning, and from which she never swerved, that when her advice was overruled she invariably defended the course which had been taken. her language, when any one spoke to her either of her own opinions and wishes, or of the feelings with which the different classes of the nation regarded her, was invariably the same. "you are not to think of me for a moment. all that i desire of you is to take care that the respect which is due to the king shall not be weakened;[ ]" and it was only her most intimate friends who knew how unwise she thought the different decisions that had been adopted, or how deep were her forebodings of evil. chapter xxiii. the reveillon riot.--opening of the states-general.--the queen is insulted by the partisans of the duc d'orléans.--discussions as to the number of chambers.--career and character of mirabeau.--necker rejects his support. --he determines to revenge himself.--death of the dauphin. the meeting of the states-general, as has been already seen, was fixed for the th of may, ; and, as if it were fated that the bloody character of the period now to be inaugurated should be displayed from the very outset, the elections for the city of paris, which were only held in the preceding week, were stained with a riot so formidable as to be commonly spoken of in the records of the time as an insurrection.[ ] one of the candidates for the representation of the third estate was a paper-maker of the name of reveillon, a man eminent for his charity and general liberality, but one who was believed to regard the views of the extreme reformers with disfavor. he was so popular with his own workmen, who were very numerous, and with their friends, who knew his character from them, that he was generally expected to succeed. the opposite party, who had candidates of their own, and had the support of the purse of the duc d'orléans, were determined that he should not; and no way seemed so sure as to murder him. bands of ferocious-looking ruffians were brought in from the country districts, armed with heavy bludgeons, and, as was afterward learned, well supplied with money; and on the morning of the th of april news was brought to the baron de besenval, the commander of the royal guards, that a mob of several thousand men had collected in the streets, who had read a mock sentence, professing to have been passed by the third estate, which condemned reveillon to be hanged, after which they had burned him in effigy, and then attacked his house, which they were sacking and destroying. they even ventured to attack the first company of soldiers whom de besenval sent to the rescue; and it was not till he dispatched a battalion with a couple of field-pieces to the spot that the plunderers were expelled from the house and the riot was quelled. nearly five hundred of the mob were killed, but when the parliament proceeded to set on foot a judicial inquiry into the cause of the tumult, necker prevailed on the secretary of state to suppress the investigation, as he feared to exasperate d'orléans further by giving publicity to his machinations, which he did not yet suspect either the extent or the object.[ ] a momentary tranquility was, however, restored at paris; and all eyes were turned from the capital to versailles, where the first few days of may were devoted to the receptions of the states-general by the king and queen, ceremonies which might have had a good effect, since the bitterest adversaries of the court were favorably impressed by the grace and affability of the queen; but which many shrewd judges afterward believed to have had a contrary influence, from the offense taken by the representatives of the commons at some of the details of the ancient etiquette, which on so solemn an occasion was revived in all its stately strictness. the dignitaries of the church wore their most sumptuous robes. the nobles glittered with silk and gold lace; jeweled clasps fastened plumes of feathers in their hats; orders glittered on their breasts; and many a precious stone sparkled in the hilts of their swords. the representatives of the commons were allowed neither feathers, nor embroidery, nor swords; but were forced to content themselves with plain black cloaks, and an unadorned homeliness of attire, which seemed as if intended to exclude all idea of their being the equals of those other orders of which they had for a moment become the colleagues. and, in a similar spirit it was arranged that, after the folding-doors of the saloon in which the sovereigns were awaiting them were thrown wide open to admit the representatives of the higher orders, the commons were let in through a side door. and though in the eyes of persons habituated to the ceremonious niceties of court life these distinctions seemed matters of course, and, as such, unworthy of notice, it can hardly be wondered at if they were galling to men accustomed only to the simpler manners of a provincial town; and who, proud of their new position and deeply impressed with its importance, fancied they saw in them a settled intention to degrade both them and their constituents by thus stamping them with a badge of inferiority before all the spectators. the opening of the states-general was fixed for the th of may, and on the day before, which was sunday, a solemn mass was performed at the principal church in versailles, that of notre dame; after which the congregation proceeded to another church, that of st. louis, to hear a sermon from the bishop of nancy. it was a stately procession that moved from one church to the other, and it was afterward remembered as the very last in which the royal pair appeared before their subjects with the undiminished magnificence of ancient ceremony. first, after a splendid escort of troops, came the members of the states in their several orders; then the king marched by himself; the queen followed; and behind her came the princes and princesses of the royal family of the blood, the officers of state and of the household, and companies of the body-guard brought up the rear. the acclamations of the spectators were loud as the deputies of the states, and especially as the representatives of the commons, passed on; loud, too, as the king; moved forward, bearing himself with unusual dignity; but, when the queen advanced, though still the main body of the people cheered with sincere respect, a gang of ruffians, among whom were several women,[ ] shouted out "long live the duke of orléans!" in her ear, with so menacing an accent that, she nearly fainted with terror. by a strong mastery over herself she shook off the agitation, which was only perceived by her immediate attendants; but the disloyal feeling thus shown toward her at the outset was a sad omen of the spirit in which one party at least was prepared to view the measures of the government; and, so far as she was concerned, of the degree in which her enemies had succeeded in poisoning the minds of the people against her, as the person whose resistance to their meditated encroachments on the royal authority was likely to prove the most formidable. it was a significant hint, too, of the projects already formed by the worthless prince whose adherents these ruffians proclaimed themselves. the duc d'orléans conceived himself to have lately received a fresh provocation, and an additional motive for revenge. his eldest son, the duc de chartres,[ ] was now a boy of sixteen, and he had proposed to the king to give him madame royale in marriage; an idea which the queen, who held his character in deserved abhorrence, had rejected with very decided marks of displeasure. he was also stimulated by views of personal ambition. the history of england had been recently studied by many persons in france besides the king and queen; and there were not wanting advisers to point out to the duke that the revolution which had taken place in england exactly a century before had owed its success to the dethronement of the reigning sovereign and the substitution of another member of the royal family in his place. as william of orange was, after the king's own children, the next heir to james ii., so was the duc d'orléans now the next heir, after the king's children and brothers, to louis xvi.; and for the next five months there can be no doubt that he and his partisans, who numbered in their body some of the most influential members of the states- general, kept constantly in view the hope of placing him on the throne from which they were to depose his cousin. the next day the states were formally opened by louis in person. the place of meeting was a spacious hall which, two years before, had been used for the meeting of the notables. it had been the scene of many a splendid spectacle in times past, but had never before witnessed so imposing or momentous a ceremony. the town itself had not risen into notice till the memory of the preceding states-general had almost passed away. and now, after all the deputies had ranged themselves to receive their sovereign, the representatives of the clergy on the right of the throne, the nobles on the left, the commons in denser masses at the bottom of the hall;[ ] as the king, accompanied by the queen, leading two of her children[ ] by the hand, and attended by all the princes of the royal family and of the blood, by the dukes and peers of the kingdom, the ministers and great officers of state, entered and took his seat on the throne, the most unimpassioned spectator must have felt that he was beholding a scene at once magnificent and solemn; and one, from long desuetude, as novel as if it had been wholly unprecedented, such as might well inaugurate a new policy or a new constitution. could those who beheld it as spectators, could those who bore a part in the solemnity, have looked into futurity; could they have divined that no other hall would ever again see that virtuous and beneficent king surrounded with that pomp, or received with that reverential homage which was now paid to him as as unquestioned right; nay, that the end, of which this day was the beginning, scarcely one single person of all those now present, whether men in the flower of their strength, women in the pride of their beauty, or even children in their infantine innocence and grace, would live to behold; but that sovereigns and subjects were destined, almost without exception, to perish with circumstances of unutterable, unimaginable horror and misery, as the direct consequence of this day's pageant; we may well believe that the most sanguine of those who now greeted it with eager hope and exultation would rather have averted his eyes from the ill-omened spectacle, and would have preferred to bear the worst evils of which he was anticipating the abolition, to bringing on his country the calamities which were about to fall upon it. a large state arm-chair, a little lower than the throne, had been set beside it for the queen; the princes and princesses were ranged on each side on a row of chairs without arms; and, when all had taken their places, the king opened the session with a short speech, leaving the real business to be unfolded at greater length by his ministers. in order to feel assured of the proper emphasis and expression, he had rehearsed his speech frequently to the queen; and, as he now delivered it with unusual dignity and gracefulness, it was received with frequent acclamations, though some of those who were watching all that passed with the greatest anxiety fancied that one or two compliments to the queen which it contained met with a colder response; while, at its close, the representatives of the third estate gave an indication of their feeling toward the other orders, and provoked a display on their part which promised little cordiality to their deliberations. the king, who had uncovered himself while speaking, on resuming his seat replaced his hat. the nobles, according to the ancient etiquette, replaced theirs; and many of the commons at once asserted their equality with them by also covering themselves. such an assumption was a breach of all established custom. the nobles were indignant, and with angry shouts demanded the removal of the commons' hats. they were met with louder clamor by the commons, and in a moment the whole hall was in an uproar, which was only allayed by the presence of mind of louis himself, who, as if oppressed by the heat, laid aside his own hat, when, as a matter of course, the nobles followed his example. the deputies of the commons did the same, and peace was restored. the king's speech was followed by another short one from the keeper of the seals, which received but little attention; and by one of prodigious length from necker, which was equally injudicious and unacceptable to his hearers, both in what it said and in what it omitted. he never mentioned the question of constitutional reform. he said nothing of what the commons, at least, thought still more important--the number of chambers in which the members were to meet; and, though he dilated at the most profuse length on the condition of the finances, and on his own success in re-establishing public credit, they were by no means pleased to hear him assert that success had removed any absolute necessity for their meeting at all, and that they had only been called together in fulfillment of the king's promise, that so the sovereign might establish a better harmony between the different parts of the constitution. before any business could be proceeded with, it was necessary for the members to have the writs of their elections properly certified and registered, for which they were to meet on the following day. we need not here detail the artifices and assumptions by which the members of the third estate put forward pretensions which were designed to make them masters of the whole assembly; nor is it necessary to unfold at length the combination of audacity and craft, aided by the culpable weakness of necker, by which they ultimately carried the point they contended for, providing that the three orders should deliberate and vote together as one united body in one chamber. emboldened by their success, they even proceeded to a step which probably not one among them had originally contemplated; and, as if one of their principal objects had been to disown the authority of the king by which they had been called together, they repudiated the title of states-general, and invented for themselves a new name, that of "the national assembly," which, as it had never been heard of before, seemed to mark that they owed their existence to the nation, and not to the sovereign. but the discussions that took place before all these points were settled, presented, besides the importance of the conclusion which was adopted, another feature of powerful interest, since it was in them that the members first heard the voice of the count de mirabeau, who, more than any other deputy, was supposed during the ensuing year to be able to sway the whole assembly, and to hold the destinies of the nation in his hands. necker's daughter, the celebrated baroness de staël, wife of the swedish embassador, who was present at the opening of the states, which, as her father's daughter, she regarded with exulting confidence as the body of legislators who were to regenerate the nation, remarked, as the long procession passed before her eyes, that of the six hundred deputies of the commons[ ], the count de mirabeau alone bore a name which was previously known; and he was manifestly out of his place as a representative of the commons. his history was a strange one. he was the eldest son of a provençal noble, of italian origin, great wealth, and a ferocious eccentricity of character, which made him one of the worst possible instructors for a youth of brilliant talents, unbridled passions, and a disposition equally impetuous in its pursuit of good and of evil. even before he arrived at manhood he had become notorious for every kind of profligacy; while his father, in an almost equal degree, provoked the censure of those who interested themselves in the career of a youth of undeniable ability, by punishments of such severity as wore the appearance of vengeance rather than of fatherly correction. in six or seven years he obtained no fewer than fifteen warrants, or letters under seal, for the imprisonment of his son in different jails or fortresses, while the young man seemed to take a wanton pleasure in showing how completely all efforts for his reformation were thrown away. though unusually ugly (he himself compared his face to that of a tiger who had had the small-pox), he was irresistible among women. while one of the youngest subalterns in the army, he made love, rarely without success, to the mistresses or wives of his superior officers, and fought duel after duel with those who took offense at his gallantries, from one castle in which he was imprisoned he was aided to escape by the wife of an officer of the garrison, who accompanied his flight. from another he was delivered by the love of a lady of the highest rank, the marchioness de monnier, whom he had met at the governor's table. when, after some years of misery, the marchioness terminated them by suicide, he seduced a nun of exquisite beauty to leave her convent for his sake; and as france was no longer a safe residence for them, he fled to frederick of prussia, who, equally glad to welcome him as a frenchman, a genius, and a profligate, received him for a while into high favor. but he was penniless; and frederick was never liberal of his money. debt soon drove him from prussia, and he retired to england, where he made acquaintance with fox, fitzpatrick, and other men of mark in the political circles of the day. he was at all times and amidst all his excesses both observant and studious; and while witnessing in person the strife of parties in this country, he learned to appreciate the excellencies of our constitution, both in its theory and in its practical working. but presently debt drove him from london as it had driven him from berlin; and, after taking refuge for a short time in holland and switzerland, he was hesitating whither next to betake himself, when, hearing of the elections for the states-general, he resolved to offer himself as a candidate; and returned to provence to seek the suffrages of the nobles of his own county. unluckily, his character was too well known in his native district; and the nobles, unwilling to countenance the ambition of one who had obtained so evil a notoriety, rejected him. full of indignation, he turned to the third estate, offering himself as a representative of the commons. in his speeches to the citizens of aix and marseilles--for he canvassed both towns--he inveighed against necker and the government with an eloquence which electrified his audience, who had never before been addressed in the language of independence. he was returned for both towns, and hastened to versailles, eager to avenge on the nobles, the body which, as he felt, he had a right to have represented, the affront which had driven him, against his will, to seek the votes of a class with which he had scarcely a feeling in common; for in the whole assembly there was no man less of a democrat in his heart, or prouder of his ancestry and aristocratic privileges. he differed from most of his colleagues, inasmuch as he, from the first, had distinct views of the policy desirable for the nation, which he conceived to be the establishment of a limited constitutional monarchy, such as he had seen in england.[ ] but no man in the whole assembly was more inconsistent, as he was ever changing his views, or at least his conduct and language, at the dictates of interest or wounded pride; sometimes, as it might seem, in the mere wantonness of genius, as if he wished to show that he could lead the assembly with equal ease to take a course, or to retrace its steps--that it rested with him alone alike to do or to undo. the only object from which he never departed was that of making all parties feel and bow to his influence. and it is this very inconsistency which so especially connects his career for the rest of his life with the fortunes of the queen, since, while he misunderstood her character, and feared her power with the king and ministers as likely to be exerted in opposition to his own views, he was the most ferocious and most foul of her enemies: when he saw that she was willing to accept his aid, and when he therefore began to conceive a hope of making her useful to himself in the prosecution of his designs, no man was louder in her praise, nor, it must be admitted, more energetic or more judicious in the advice which he gave her. his language on the first occasion on which he made his voice heard in the assembly was eminently characteristic of him, so manifestly was it directed to the attainment of his own object--that of making himself necessary to the court, and obtaining either office or some pension which might enable him to live, since his own resources had long been exhausted by his extravagance. d'espresménil had strongly advocated the doctrine that the meeting of the three orders in separate chambers was a fundamental principle of the monarchy; and mirabeau, in opposition to him, moved an address to the king, which represented the third estate as desirous to ally itself with the throne, so as to enable it to resist the pretensions of the clergy and the nobles; and, as this speech of his produced no overture from the minister, in the middle of june he made a direct offer to necker to support the government, if necker had any plan at all which was in the least reasonable;[ ] and he gave proof of his sincerity by vigorously opposing some proposals of the extreme reformers. but, with incredible folly, necker rejected his support, treating his arguments to his face as insignificant, and affirming that their views were irreconcilable, since mirabeau wished to govern by policy, while he himself preferred morality. he at once resolved to revenge himself on the minister who had thus slighted him,[ ] and he was not long in finding an opportunity. on the d of june, after the states had assumed their new form, and louis at a royal sitting had announced the reforms he had resolved to grant, and which were so complete that the most extreme reformers admitted that they could have wished for nothing more, except that they should themselves have taken them, and that the king should not have given them, mirabeau took the lead in throwing down a defiance to his sovereign; refusing to consent to the adjournment of the assembly, as was natural on the withdrawal of the king, and declaring that they, the members of the commons, would not quit the hall unless they were expelled by bayonets. but, violently as versailles and paris were agitated throughout may and june, marie antoinette took no part in the discussion which these questions excited. she had a still graver trouble at home. her eldest son, the dauphin, whose birth had been greeted so enthusiastically by all classes, had, as we have seen, long been sickly. since the beginning of the year his health had been growing worse, and on the th of june he died; and, though his bereaved mother bore up bravely under his loss, she felt it deeply, and for a time was almost incapacitated from turning her attention to any other subject. chapter xxiv. troops are brought up from the frontier.--the assembly petitions the king to withdraw them.--he refuses.--he dismisses necker.---the baron de breteuil is appointed prime minister.--terrible riots in paris.--the tri-color flag is adopted.--storming of the bastile and murder of the governor.--the count d'artois and other princes fly from the kingdom.--the king recalls necker.--withdraws the soldiers and visits paris.--formation of the national guard.-insolence of la fayette and bailly.--madame de tourzel becomes governess of the royal children--letters of marie antoinette on their character, and on her own views of education. but even so solemn, a grief as that for a dead child she was not suffered to indulge long. even for such a purpose royalty is not always allowed the respite which would be conceded to those in a more moderate station; and affairs in paris began to assume so menacing a character that she was forced to rouse herself to support her husband. demagogues in paris excited the lower classes of the citizens to formidable tumults. the troops were tampered with; they mutinied; and when the assembly so violated its duty as to take the mutineers under its protection, and to intercede with the king for their pardon, louis, or, as we should probably say, necker, did not venture to refuse, though it was plain that the condign punishment of such an offense was indispensable to the maintenance of discipline for the future. and louis felt the humiliation so deeply that some of those about him, the count d'artois taking the lead in that party, were able to induce him to bring up from the frontier some german and swiss regiments, which, as not having been exposed to the contagion of the capital, were free from the prevailing taint of disloyalty. but louis was incapable of carrying out any plan resolutely. he selected the commander with judgment, placing the troops under the orders of a veteran of the seven years' war, the old marshal de broglie, who, though more than seventy years of age, gladly brought once more his tried skill and valor to the service of his sovereign. but the king, even while intrusting him with this command, disarmed him at the same moment by a strict order to avoid all bloodshed and violence; though nothing could be more obvious than that such outbreaks as the marshal was likely to be called on to suppress could not be quelled by gentle means. the orleanists and mirabeau probably knew nothing of this humane or rather pusillanimous order, though most of the secrets of the court were betrayed to them; but mirabeau saw in the arrival of the soldiers a fresh opportunity of making the king feel the folly of the minister in rejecting his advances; and in a speech of unusual power he thundered against those who had advised the bringing-up of troops, as he declared, to overawe the assembly; though, in fact, nothing but their presence and active exertions could prevent the assembly from being overawed by the mob. but, undoubtedly, at this time his own first object was to use the populace of paris to terrify the members into obedience to himself. in one of his ends he succeeded; he drove necker from office. he carried the address which he proposed, to entreat the king to withdraw the troops; but louis had for the moment resolved on adopting bolder counsels than those of necker. he declined to comply with the petition, declaring that it was his duty to keep in paris a force sufficient to preserve the public tranquillity, though, if the assembly were disquieted by their neighborhood, he expressed his unwillingness to remove their session to some more distant town. and at the same time he dismissed necker from office, banishing him from france, but ordering him to keep his departure secret. the queen had evidently had great influence in bringing him to this decision; but how cordially she approved of all the concessions which the king had already made, and how clearly she saw that more still remained to be done before the necessary reformation could be pronounced complete, the letter which on the evening of necker's dismissal she wrote to madame de polignac convincingly proves. she had high ideas of the authority which a king was legitimately entitled to exercise; and to what she regarded as undue restrictions on it, injurious to his dignity, she would never consent. she probably regarded them as abstract questions which had but little bearing on the substantial welfare of the people in general; but of all measures to increase the happiness of all classes, even of the very lowest, she was throughout the warmest advocate. "july th, . "i can not sleep, my dear heart, without letting you know that m. necker is gone. mm. de breteuil and de la vauguyon will be summoned to the council to-morrow. god grant that we may at last be able to do all the good with which we are wholly occupied. the moment will be terrible; but i have courage, and, provided that the honest folks support us without exposing themselves needlessly, i think that i have vigor enough in myself to impart some to others. but it is more than ever necessary to bear in mind that all classes of men, so long as they are honest, are equally our subjects, and to know how to distinguish those who are right-thinking in every district and in every rank. my god! if people could only believe that these are my real thoughts, perhaps they would love me a little. but i must not think of myself. the glory of the king, that of his son, and the happiness of this ungrateful nation, are all that i can, all that i ought to, wish for; for as for your friendship, my dear heart, i reckon on that always..." such language and sentiments were worthy of a sovereign. that the feelings here expressed were genuine and sincere, the whole life of the writer is a standing proof; and yet already fierce, wicked spirits, even of women (for never was it more clearly seen than in france at this time how far, when women are cruel, they exceed the worst of men in ferocity), were thirsting for her blood. already a woman in education and ability far above the lowest class, one whose energy afterward raised her to be, if not the avowed head, at least the moving spirit, of a numerous party (madame roland), was urging the public prosecution, or, if the nation were not ripe for such a formal outrage, the secret assassination, of both king and queen.[ ] but, however benevolent and patriotic were the queen's intentions, it became instantly evident that those who had counseled the dismissal of necker had given their advice in entire ignorance of the hold which he had established on the affections of the parisians; while the new prime minister, the baron de breteuil, whose previous office had connected him with the police, was, on that account, very unpopular with a class which is very numerous in all large cities. the populace of paris broke out at once in riots which amounted to insurrection. thousands of citizens, not all of the lowest class, decorated with green cockades, the color of necker's livery, and armed with every variety of weapon, paraded the streets, bearing aloft busts of necker and the duc d'orléans, without stopping, in their madness, to consider how incongruous a combination they were presenting. the most ridiculous stories were circulated about the queen: it was affirmed that she had caused the hall of the assembly to be undermined, that she might blow it up with gunpowder;[ ] and, by way of averting or avenging so atrocious an act, the mob began to set fire to houses in different quarters of the city. growing bolder at the sight of their own violence, they broke open the prisons, and thus obtained a re-enforcement of hundreds of desperadoes, ripe for any wickedness. the troops were paralyzed by louis's imbecile order to avoid bloodshed, and in the same proportion the rioters were encouraged by their inaction and evident helplessness. they attacked the great armory, and equipped themselves with its contents, applying to the basest uses time-honored weapons, monuments of ancient valor and patriotism. the spear with which dunois had cleared his country of the british invaders; the sword with which the first bourbon king had routed egmont's cavalry at ivry, were torn down from the walls to arm the vilest of mankind for rapine and slaughter. they stormed the hôtel de ville, and got possession of the municipal chest, containing three millions of francs; and now, more and more intoxicated with their triumph, and with the evidence which all these exploits afforded that the whole city was at their mercy, they proceeded to give their riot a regular organization, by establishing a committee to sit in the guildhall and direct their future proceedings. lawless and ferocious as was the main body of the rioters, there were shrewd heads to guide their fury; and the very first order issued by this committee was marked by such acute foresight, and such a skillful adaptation to the requirements of the moment and the humor of the people, that it remains in force to this day. it was hardly strange that men in open insurrection against the king's authority should turn their wrath against one of its conspicuous emblems, consecrated though it was by usage of immemorial antiquity and by many a heroic achievement--the snow-white banner bearing the golden lilies. but that glorious ensign could not be laid aside till another was substituted for it; and the colors of the city, red and blue, and white, the color of the army, were now blended together to form the tricolor flag which has since won for itself a wider renown than even the deeds of bayard or turenne had shed upon the lilies, and with which, under every form of government, the nation has permanently identified itself. they demanded more men, and a committee with three millions of francs could easily command recruits. they stormed the hôtel des invalides, where thousands of muskets were kept fit for instant use; one division of regular troops, whose commander, the baron de besenval, was a resolute man, determined to do his duty, mutinying against his orders, and refusing to fire on the mob. they took possession of the city gates, and, thinking themselves now strong enough for any exploit, on the third day of the insurrection, the th of july, they marched in overpowering force to attack the bastile. in former times the bastile had been the great fortress of the city; and, as such, it had been fortified with all the resources of the engineer's art. massive well-armed towers rose at numerous points above walls of great height and solidity. a deep fosse surrounded it, and, when well supplied and garrisoned, it had been regarded with pride by the citizens, as a bulwark capable of defying the utmost efforts of a foreign enemy, and not the less to be admired because they never expected it to be exposed to such a test; but as a warlike fortress it had long been disused. in recent times it had only been known as the state-prison, identified more than any other with the worst acts of despotism and barbarity. as such it was now as much detested as it had formerly been respected; and it had nothing but the outward appearance of strength to resist an attack. evidently the military authorities had never anticipated the possibility that the mob would rise to such a height of audacity. but the rioters were now encouraged by two days of unbroken success, and those who spurred them on were well-informed as well as fearless. they knew that the castle was in such a state that its apparent strength was its real weakness; that its entire garrison consisted of little more than a hundred soldiers, most of whom were superannuated veterans, a force inadequate to man one-tenth of the defenses; and that the governor, de launay, though personally brave, was a man devoid of presence of mind, and nervous under responsibility. led by a brewer, named santerre, who for the next three years bore a conspicuous part in all the worst deeds of ferocity and horror, they assailed the gates in vast numbers. while the attention of the scanty garrison was fully occupied by this assault, another party scaled the walls at a point where there was not even a sentinel to give the alarm, and let down one draw-bridge across the fosse, while another was loosened, as is believed, by traitors in the garrison itself. swarming across the passage thus opened to them, thousands of the assailants rushed in; murdered the governor, officers, and almost every one of the garrison; and with a savage ferocity, as yet unexampled, though but a faint omen of their future crimes, they cut off the head and hands of de launay and several of their chief victims, and, sticking them on pikes, bore them as trophies of their victory through the streets of the city. the news of what had been done came swiftly to versailles, where it excited feelings in the assembly which, had the king or his advisers been capable of availing themselves of it with skill and firmness, might have led to a salutary change in the policy of that body; for the greater part of the deputies were thoroughly alarmed at the violence of santerre and his companions, and would in all probability have supported the king in taking strong measures for the restoration of order. but louis could not be roused, even by the murder of his own faithful servant, to employ force to save those who might be similarly menaced. the only expedient which occurred to his mind was to concede all that the rioters required; and at midday on the th he repaired to the assembly, and announced that he had ordered the removal of the troops from paris and from versailles; declaring that he trusted himself to the assembly, and wished to identify himself with the nation. the assembly could hardly have avoided feeling that it was a strange time to select for withdrawing the troops, when an armed mob was in possession of the capital; but, as they had formerly requested that measure, they thought themselves bound now to applaud it, and, being for the moment touched by the compliment paid to themselves, when he quit the hall they unanimously rose and followed him, escorting him back to the palace with vehement cheers. a vast crowd filled the outer courts, who caught the contagion, and shouted out a demand for a sight of the whole royal family; and presently, when the queen brought out on the balcony her only remaining boy, whom the death of his brother had raised to the rank of dauphin, and saluted them, with a graceful bow, the whole mass burst out in one vociferous acclamation. yet even in that moment of congratulation there were base and malignant spirits in the crowd, full of bitterness against the royal family, and especially against the queen, whom they had evidently been taught to regard as the chief obstacle to the reforms which they desired. her faithful waiting-woman, madame de campan, had gone down into the court-yard and mingled with the crowd, to be the better able to judge of their real feelings. she could see that many were disguised; and one woman, whose veil of black lace, with which she concealed her features, showed that she did not belong to the lowest class, seized her violently by the arm, calling her by her name, and bid her "go and tell her queen not to interfere any more in the government, but to leave her husband and the good states-general to work out the happiness of the people." others she heard uttering threats of vengeance against madame de polignac. and one, while pouring forth "a thousand invectives" against both king and queen, declared that it should soon be impossible to find even a fragment of the throne on which they were now seated. marie antoinette was greatly alarmed, not for herself, but for her husband; and, now that he had determined on withdrawing the soldiers from the capital, she earnestly entreated him to accompany them, taking the not unreasonable view that the violence of the parisian mob would be to some extent quelled, and the well-intentioned portion of the assembly would have greater boldness to support their opinions, if the king were thus placed out of the reach of danger from any fresh outbreak; and it was generally understood that an attack on versailles itself was anticipated.[ ] she felt so certain of the wisdom of such a course, and so sanguine of prevailing, that she packed up her diamonds, burned many of her papers, and drew up a set of orders for the arrangement of the details of the journey. but on the morning of the th she was compelled to inform madame campan that the plan was given up. large portions of the parisian mob, and among them one deputation of the fish-women, who in this, as well as on more festive occasions, claimed equally to take the lead, had come out to demand that the king should visit paris; and the ministerial council thought it safer for him to comply with that petition than to throw himself into the arms of the soldiers, a step which might not improbably lead to a civil war. to the queen this seemed the most dangerous course of all. she knew that both at versailles and at paris the agents of the duke of orléans had been scattering money with a lavish hand; and she scarcely doubted that either on his road, or in the city, her husband would be assassinated, or at the least detained by the mob as a prisoner and a hostage. had she not feared to increase his danger, she would have accompanied him; but at such a crisis it required more courage and fortitude to separate herself from him; and the most courageous part was ever that which was most natural to her. but, though she took no precautions for herself, she was as thoughtful as ever for her friends; and, knowing how obnoxious the duchess de polignac was to the multitude, she insisted on her departing with her family. the duchess fled, not unwillingly; and at the same time others also quit versailles who had not the same plea of delicacy of sex to excuse their terrors, and who were bound by every principle of duty to remain by the king's side the more steadily the greater might be the danger. the prince de condé, who certainly at one time had been a brave man, and had won an honorable name, worthy of his intrepid ancestor, in the seven years' war; his brother, the prince de conti; the count d'artois, who, having always been the advocate of the most violent measures, was doubly bound to stand forward in defense of his king and brother, all fled, setting the first example of that base emigration which eventually left the king defenseless in the midst of his enemies. the baron de breteuil and some of the ministers made similar provision for their own safety; though it may be said, as some extenuation of their ignoble flight, that they had no longer any official duties to detain them, since the king had already dismissed them, and on the evening of the th had written to necker to beg him to return without delay and resume his office, claiming his instant obedience as a proof of the attachment and fidelity which he had promised when departing five days before. on the morning of the th, louis set out for paris in a single carriage, escorted by a very slender guard and accompanied by a party of the deputies. he was fully alive to the danger he was incurring. he knew that threats had been openly uttered that he should not reach paris alive;[ ] and he had prepared for his journey as for death, burning his papers, taking the sacrament, and making arrangements for a regency. marie antoinette was almost hopeless of his safety. she sat with her children in her private room, shedding no tears, lest the knowledge of her grief should increase the alarm of her attendants; but her carriages were kept harnessed, and she had prepared and learned by heart a short speech, with which, if the worst news which she apprehended should arrive, she intended to repair to the assembly, and claim its protection for the wife and children of their sovereign.[ ] but often, as she rehearsed it, her voice, in spite of all her efforts, was broken by sobs, and her reiterated exclamation, "they will never let him return!" but too truly expressed the deep forebodings of her heart. they were not yet fated to be realized; the insurrection committee had already organized a force which they had entitled the national guard, and of which they had conferred the command on the marquis de la fayette, and at the gates of the city the king was met by him and the mayor, a man named bailly, who had achieved a considerable reputation as a mathematician and an astronomer, but who was thoroughly imbued with the leveling and irreligious doctrines of the school of the encyclopedists. no men in paris were less likely to treat their sovereign with due respect. since his return from america, la fayette had been living in retirement on his estate, till at the recent election he had been returned to the states-general as one of the representatives of the nobles for his native province of auvergne. he had taken no part in the debates, being entirely destitute of political abilities;[ ] and he had apparently no very distinct political views, but wavered between a desire for a republic, such, as that of which he had witnessed the establishment in america, and a feeling in favor of a limited monarchy such as he understood to exist in great britain, though he had no accurate comprehension of its most essential principles. but his ruling passion was a desire for popularity; and as he had always been vain of his unbending ill-manners as a proof of his liberal sentiments,[ ] and as his vanity made him regard kings and queens with a general dislike, as being of a rank superior to his own, he looked on the present occurrence as a favorable opportunity for gaining the good-will of the mob, by showing marked disrespect to louis. he would not even pay him the ordinary compliment of appearing in uniform, but headed his new troops in plain clothes; and even those were not such as belonged to his rank, but were the ordinary dress of a plain citizen; while bailly's address, as louis entered the gates, was marked with the most studied and gratuitous insolence. "sire," said he, "i present to your majesty the keys of your good city of paris. they are the same which were presented to henri iv. he had conquered his people: to-day the people have conquered their king." louis proceeded onward to the hôtel de ville, in a strange procession, headed by a numerous band of fish-women, always prominent, and recruited at every step by a crowd of rough peasant-looking men, armed with bludgeons, scythes, and every variety of rustic weapons, evidently on the watch for some opportunity to create a tumult, and seeking to provoke one by raising from time to time vociferous shouts of "vive la nation!" and uttering ferocious threats against any one who might chance to exclaim, "vive le roi!" but they were disconcerted by the perfect calmness of the king, on whom danger to himself seemed the only thing incapable of making an impression. on bailly's insolent speech he had made no comment, remarking, in a whisper to his principal attendant, that he had better appear not to have heard it. and now at the hôtel de ville his demeanor was as unruffled as if every thing that had happened had been in perfect accordance with his wishes. he made a short speech, in which he confirmed all the concessions and promises which he had previously made. he even placed in his hat a tricolor cockade, which the mayor had the effrontery to present to him, though it was the emblem of the revolt of his subjects and of the defeat of his troops. and at last such an effect had his fearless dignity on even the fiercest of his enemies, that when he afterward came out on the balcony to show himself to the crowd beneath, the whole mass raised the shout of "vive le roi!" with as much enthusiasm as had ever greeted the most feared or the most beloved of his predecessors. his return to the barrier resembled a triumphal procession. yet, happy as it seemed that outrage had thus been averted and unanimity restored, the result of the day can not, perhaps, be deemed entirely fortunate, since it probably contributed to fix more deeply in the king's mind the belief that concession to clamor was the course most likely to be successful. nor did the queen, though for the moment her despondency was changed to thankful exultation, at all conceal from herself that the perils which had been escaped were certain to recur; and that vigilance and firmness would surely again be called for to repel them--qualities which she could find in herself, but which she might well doubt her ability to impart to others.[ ] her own attention was for a moment occupied by the necessary work of selecting a new governess for her children in the place of madame de polignac; and after some deliberation her choice fell on the marchioness de tourzel, a lady of the most spotless character, who seems to have been in every respect well fitted for so important an office. as marie antoinette had scarcely any previous acquaintance with her, it was by her character alone that she had been recommended to her; as was gracefully expressed in the brief speech with which marie antoinette delivered her little charges into her hands. "madame," said she, "i formerly intrusted my children to friendship; to-day i intrust them to virtue;[ ]" and, a day or two afterward, to make easier the task which the marchioness had not undertaken without some unwillingness, she addressed her a letter in which she describes the character of her son, and her own principles and method of education, with an impartiality and soundness of judgment which could not have been surpassed by one who had devoted her whole attention to the subject: "july th, . "my son is four years and four months old, all but two days. i say nothing of his size nor of his general appearance; it is only necessary to see him. his health has always been good, but even in his cradle we perceived that his nerves were very delicate.... this delicacy of his nerves is such that any noise to which he is not accustomed frightens him. for instance, he is afraid of dogs because he once heard one bark close to him; and i have never obliged him to see one, because i believe that, as his reason grows stronger, his fears will pass away. like all children who are strong and healthy, he is very giddy, very volatile, and violent in his passions; but he is a good child, tender, and even caressing, when his giddiness does not run away with him. he has a great sense of what is due to himself, which, if he be well managed, one may some day turn to his good. till he is entirely at his ease with any one, he can restrain himself, and even stifle his impatience and his inclination to anger, in order to appear gentle and amiable. he is admirably faithful when once he has promised any thing, but he is very indiscreet; he is thoughtless in repeating any thing that he has heard; and often, without in the least intending to tell stories, he adds circumstances which his own imagination has put into his head. this is his greatest fault, and it is one for which he must be corrected. however, taken altogether, i say again, he is a good child; and by treating him with allowance, and at the same time with firmness, which must be kept clear of severity, we shall always be able to do all that we can wish with him. but severity would revolt him, for he has a great deal of resolution for his age. to give you an instance: from his very earliest childhood the word _pardon_ has always offended him. he will say and do all that you can wish when he is wrong, but as for the word _pardon_, he never pronounces it without tears and infinite difficulty. "i have always accustomed my children to have great confidence in me, and, when they have done wrong, to tell me themselves; and then, when i scold them, this enables me to appear pained and afflicted at what they have done rather than angry. i have accustomed them all to regard 'yes' or 'no,' once uttered by me, as irrevocable; but i always give them reasons for my decision, suitable to their ages, to prevent their thinking that my decision comes from ill-humor. my son can not read, and he is very slow at learning; but he is too giddy to apply. he has no pride in his heart, and i am very anxious that he should continue to feel so. our children always learn soon enough what they are. he is very fond of his sister, and has a good heart. whenever any thing gives him pleasure, whether it be the going anywhere, or that any one gives him any thing, his first movement always is to ask that his sister may have the same. he is light-hearted by nature. it is necessary for his health that he should be a great deal in the open air; and i think it is better to let him play and work in the garden on the terrace, than to take him longer walks. the exercise which children take in running about and playing in the open air is much more healthy than forcing them to walk, which often makes their backs ache.[ ]" some of these last recommendations may seem to show that the governess was, to some extent, regarded as a nurse as well as a teacher; and when we find marie antoinette complaining of want of discretion in a child of four years old, it may perhaps be thought that she is expecting rather more of such tender years than is often found in them; that she is inclined to be overexacting rather than overindulgent; an error the more venial, since it is probable that the educators of princes are more likely to go astray in the opposite direction. but it is impossible to avoid being struck with the candor with which she judges her boy's character, and with the judiciousness of her system of education; and equally impossible to resist the conviction that a boy of good disposition, trained by such a mother, had every chance of becoming a blessing to his subjects, if fate had only allowed him to succeed to the throne which she had still a right to look forward to for him as his assured inheritance. chapter xxv. necker resumes office.--outrages in the provinces.--pusillanimity of the body of the nation.--parties in the assembly.--views of the constitutionalists or "plain."--barnave makes overtures to the court.--the queen rejects them.--the assembly abolishes all privileges, august th.-- debates on the veto.--an attack on versailles is threatened.--great scarcity in paris.--the king sends his plate to be melted down.--the regiment of flanders is brought up to versailles.--a military banquet is held in the opera-house.--october th, a mob from paris marches on versailles.--blunders of la fayette--ferocity of the mob on the th.-- attack on the palace on the th.--danger and heroism of the queen.--the royal family remove to paris.--their reception at the barrier and at the hôtel de ville.--shabbiness of the tuileries.--the king fixes his residence there. necker had obeyed the king's summons the moment that he received it, and before the end of the month he returned to versailles and resumed his office. but, even before the king's dispatch reached him, paris had witnessed terrible proofs that the tranquillity which the king's visit to the capital was supposed to have re-established was but temporary. the populace had broken out into fresh tumults, murdering some of breteuil's colleagues with circumstances of frightful barbarity; while intelligence of similar disturbances in the provinces was constantly arriving. in normandy, in alsace, and in provence, in the towns, and in the rural districts, the towns-people and the peasants rose against their wealthier neighbors or their landlords, burning their houses, and commonly murdering the owners with the most revolting barbarity. some were torn into pieces; some were roasted alive; some had actually portions of their flesh cut off and eaten by their murderers in their own sight, before the blow was given which terminated their agonies. their sex did not save ladies from being victims of the same cruelties, nor did it prevent women from being actors in them. yet the horror of these scenes was scarcely stranger than the pusillanimity of those who endured them unresistingly; for there were not wanting instances of magistrates honest enough to detest, and courageous enough to chastise, such outrages; and wherever the effort was made it succeeded so completely as to fix no slight criminality on those who submitted to them. in dauphiny, the states of the province raised a small guard, which quelled the first attempts to cause riots there, and hanged the ringleaders. in mâcon, a similar force, though not three hundred strong, encountered a band of brigands, six thousand in number, and brought back two hundred prisoners, the chiefs of whom were instantly executed, and by their prompt punishment tranquillity was restored. similar firmness would have saved other districts, which now allowed themselves to be the victims of ravage and murder; as afterward it would have preserved the whole country, even when the madness and wickedness of subsequent years were at their height; for in no part of the kingdom did those who perpetrated or sympathized with the crimes which have made the revolution a by-word, approach the number of those who loathed them, but who had not the courage or foresight to withstand them. it seemed as if a long course of misgovernment, and the example of the profligacy and impiety set by the higher classes for many generations, had demoralized the entire people, some in their excesses discarding the ordinary instincts of human beings; while the bulk of the nation had lost even that courage which had once been among its most shining qualities, and had no longer the manliness to resist outrages which they abhorred, even when their own safety was staked upon their repression. and similar weakness was exhibited in the assembly itself; for, unquestionably, the party which at last prevailed was not that which was originally the strongest. like most assemblies of the kind, it was divided into three parties--the extreme royalists, or "the right;" the extreme reformers (who were subdivided into several sections), or "the left;" and between them the moderate constitutionalists, or "the plain," as they were called, from occupying seats in the middle of the hall, between the raised benches on either side. and to the last party belonged all the men most distinguished either for statesman-like perceptions or for eloquence, mirabeau himself agreeing with them in all their leading principles, though he never formally enrolled himself in the ranks of any party. the majority of the constitutionalists were as loyal to the king's person and dignity as the extreme royalists; their most eloquent speaker, a young lawyer named barnave, at the first opening of the states had even sought to open a direct communication with the court, begging madame de lamballe[ ] to assure the queen of the wish of himself and all his friends to maintain the king in the full enjoyment and exercise of what he called a constitutional authority, borrowing the idea and expression from the english government. but though marie antoinette had no objection to the king of his own accord renouncing portions of the power which had been claimed and exerted by his predecessors, she would not hear of the states taking upon themselves to impose such sacrifices on him, or to curtail his authority by any exercise of their own; and she rejected with something like disdain the support of those whose alliance was only to be purchased on such conditions. barnave, like mirabeau, felt insulted; determined to revenge himself, and for a while united himself to the fiercest of the republicans; while the right, with incredible folly, often played into his hand, joining the left, of which many members avowedly aimed at the abolition of royalty, and with none of whom they had one opinion or sentiment in common to defeat the constitutionalists, with whom they practically had but very slight differences. and thus, as with a base pusillanimity, many, both of the right and of the plain, fled from the country after the tumults of october, the mastery of the assembly gradually fell into the hands of that party which contained by far fewer men of ability or honesty than either of the others, but which surpassed them both in distinctness of object, and in unscrupulous resolution to carry out its views. but the events of july, the mutiny of the troops, the successful insurrection of the mob, the destruction of the bastile, and the visit of louis to paris, had been a series of damaging blows to the government; and as each successive exploit gave encouragement to the movement party, events proceeded with extreme rapidity. necker, who returned to versailles on the th of july, showed more clearly than ever his unfitness for the chief post in the administration at such a crisis, by devoting himself solely to financial arrangements, and omitting to take, on the part of the crown, the initiative in any one of the reforms which the king had promised. those he permitted to be intrusted to a committee of the assembly; and the committee had scarcely met when the assembly took the matter into its own hands; and in a strange panic, and at a single sitting, swept away the privileges of both nobles and clergy, those who seemed personally most concerned in their maintenance being the foremost in urging their suppression. a member of the oldest nobility proposed the abolition of the privileges of the nobles. a bishop moved the extinction of tithes; bretons, burgundians, provençals, renounced for their fellow- citizens the old distinctions and immunities to which each province had hitherto clung with an unyielding if somewhat unreasoning attachment; and the whole was crowned by the archbishop of paris proposing a celebration of the _te deum_, as an expression of gratitude to god for having inspired a series of actions calculated to confer so much happiness on the nation. though he could not avoid seeing the mischievous character of many of the resolutions thus tumultuously passed, and though his royal assent to them was asked in language unceremonious and almost peremptory in its curtness, louis could not bring himself, or perhaps did not venture, to refuse his sanction to them. he had laid down a rule for himself to refuse no concession except such as on religious grounds his conscience might revolt from; and on the th he signified his formal acceptance of the resolutions, and of the title of "restorer of french liberty." it was an act of great weakness, and was rewarded, as such acts generally are, by further encroachments on his authority. the progress of the left was not even arrested by a quarrel between some of its members (who, being clergymen, were not inclined to be reduced to beggary by the extinction of their incomes), and mirabeau, who, not unnaturally, bore the priests especial ill-will. before the end of the month, the assembly even deprived the king of the power of withholding his assent from measures which it might pass, enacting that he should no longer possess an absolute "veto," as it was called, and necker, exhibiting on this question an incapacity more glaring than even his former conduct had displayed, induced the king to yield this point also; and to express his own preference for what its contrivers called a suspensive veto--a power, that is, of withholding his assent to any measure till it had been passed by two successive assemblies. the discussions on this most momentous point had been very vehement in the assembly itself; and, besides the greatness of the principle involved in the decision, they have a peculiar importance as showing that mirabeau had not the absolute power over the minds of the members which he believed himself to possess; since he contended with all the energy of his temper, and with irresistible force of argument, against a vote which, as he declared, could only take the power from the king to vest it in the assembly, and yet was wholly unable to carry more than a small minority with him in his opposition. and this defeat may have had some share in prompting him to countenance and aid, if indeed he was not the original contriver of, a plot which was undoubtedly intended to produce a change in the whole frame-work of the government. the harvest had been bad, and at the beginning of september paris was suffering under a scarcity almost as severe as had ever been felt in the depth of winter. the emergency was so great that the king sent all his plate to the mint to be melted down, to procure money to purchase food for the starving citizens; and many patriotic individuals, necker himself being among the most munificent, gave their plate and jewels for the same benevolent object. but relief procured from such sources was unavoidably of too limited a character to last long. though necker proposed and the assembly voted taxes of prodigious amount, they could not at once be made available, and some of the lower classes were said to have died of actual famine. in their distress the citizens looked to the king, and attributed their misery in a great degree to his ignorance of their situation, which was caused by his living at versailles. they nicknamed him the "baker," as if he could supply them with bread, and began to clamor for him at least to take up an occasional residence among them in in his capital. from raising a cry, the step was easy to organize a riot to compel him to do so. and to this object the partisans of the duke of orleans, assisted, if not prompted, by mirabeau, now began to apply themselves, hoping that the result would be the deposition of louis and the enthronement of the duke, who might be glad to take the great orator for his prime minister. so certain did the conspirators feel of success, that they took no pains to keep their machinations secret. as early as the middle of september intelligence was received at versailles that the parisians would march upon that town in force, on the th of october; and the assembly was greatly alarmed, believing, not without reason, that the object of the intended attack was to overawe and overbear them. the magistrates of the town were even more terrified, and besought the king to bring up at least one regiment for their protection. and, prudent and reasonable as the request was, the compliance with it furnished the agents of sedition with pretexts for further violence. a regiment, known as that of flanders, was sent for from the frontiers, and speedily arrived at versailles, when, according to their old and hospitable fashion, the body-guard,[ ] who regarded versailles as their home, invited the officers, and with them the officers of the swiss guard, and those of the town militia also, to a banquet on the st of october. the opera-house, as had often been done in similar instances, was lent for the occasion; and the boxes were filled with the chief ladies of the court and of the town, and also with many members of the assembly, as spectators. so enthusiastic were the acclamations that greeted the toast of the king's health, that, though marie antoinette had previously desired that the royal family should not appear to have any connection with the entertainment, the captain of the guard, the count de luxembourg, had no difficulty in persuading her that it would but be a graceful recognition of such spontaneous and sincere loyalty at such a time if she were to honor the banquet with her presence, though but by the briefest visit. louis, too, accepted the proposal with greater warmth than usual, and when the royal pair with their children--the queen, as was her custom, leading one in each hand--descended from their apartments and walked through the banquet-hall, the enthusiasm was redoubled. the spectators, among whom were many members of the assembly, caught the contagion. loyal cheers resounded from every part of the theatre, and the feelings excited became so fervid that some officers of the national guard, who were among the guests, reversed their new tricolor cockade, and, displaying the white side outermost, seemed to have resumed the time-honored badge under which the army had reaped all its old glories. the band struck up a favorite air from one of the new operas, "peut-on affliger ce qu'on aime?" which those who saw the anxiety which recent events had already stamped upon the queen's majestic brow could hardly avoid applying to their royal mistress; and when it followed it up by blondel's lamentation for richard, "o richard, o mon roi, l'univers t'abandonne," the first notes of the well-known song touched a chord in every heart, and the whole company, courtiers, ladies, soldiers, and deputies, were all carried away in a perfect delirium of loyal rapture. the whole company escorted the royal family back to their apartments; though it was remarked afterward that some of the soldiers, who on this occasion were the most vociferous in their exultation, were, before the end of the same week, among the most furious threateners and assailants of the palace. but a demonstration such as this, in which the whole number of the soldiers concerned did not exceed fifteen hundred men, could not deter the organizers of the impending riot from carrying out their plan: if it did not even aid them by the opportunities which it afforded for spreading abroad exaggerated accounts of what had taken place, as an additional proof of the settled hatred and contempt which the court entertained for the people. mirabeau had suggested that the best chance of success for an insurrection in paris lay in placing women at its head; and, in compliance with his hint, at day-break on the appointed morning a woman of notorious infamy of character moved toward the chief market-place of paris, beating a drum, and calling on all who heard her to follow her.[ ] she soon gathered round her a troop of followers worthy of such a leader, market- women, fish-women, and men in women's clothes, whose deep voices, and the power with which they brandished their weapons, betrayed their sex through their disguise. one man, maillard, who had been conspicuous as one of the fiercest of the stormers of the bastile, disdained any concealment or dress but his own; they chose him for their leader, mingling with their cries for bread horrid threats against the queen and the aristocrats. their numbers increased till they felt themselves strong enough to attack the hôtel de ville. a detachment of the national guard who were on duty offered them no resistance, pleading that they had received no orders from la fayette; and the rioters, now amounting to many thousands, having armed themselves from the store of muskets and swords which they found in the armory, passed on to the barrier and took the road to versailles. the riot had lasted four hours, and the very last of the rioters had already passed through the gates before la fayette reached the hôtel de ville, though his office of commander of the national guard made the preservation of tranquillity one of his most especial duties. he had evidently feared to risk his popularity by resisting the mob, and even now he refused to act at all till be had received a written order from the municipal council; and, when he had obtained that, he did not obey it; but preferred complying with the demands of his own soldiers, who insisted on following the rioters to versailles, where they would exterminate the regiment of flanders; bring the king back to paris; and perhaps depose him and appoint a regent. yet even this open avowal of their treasonable views did not deter their unworthy general from submitting to their dictates. he had indeed no desire for the success of their designs; for he had no connection with the duc d'orléans, and no inclination to co-operate with mirabeau, who he knew was in the habit of speaking of him with contempt; but he had not firmness to resist their demand. his vanity, too, always his most predominant feeling, was flattered by the desire they expressed to retain him as their commander, and at last he procured from the magistrates a fresh order, authorizing him to comply with the soldiers' clamor, and to lead them to versailles. when before the magistrates he had professed an expectation that he should be able to induce the king to comply with the wishes of the assembly, and a determination to restrain the excesses of the mob; but the whole day had been so wasted by his irresolution that when he at last put his regiment in motion it was seven o'clock in the evening--full four hours after maillard and his fish-women had reached versailles. the news of their approach and of their designs had been brought to the palace by monsieur de chinon, the eldest son of the duc de richelieu, who, at great personal risk, had disguised himself as an artisan, and had marched some way with the crowd to learn their object. he reported that even the women and children were armed, that the great majority were drunk; that they were beguiling the way with the most ferocious threats, and that they had been joined by a gang of men who gave themselves the name of "coupe-têtes," and boasted that they should have ample opportunity of proving their title to it. in addition to the warnings previously received, a rumor had reached the palace on the preceding evening that the duc d'orléans had come down to versailles in disguise,[ ] a movement which could hardly have an innocent object; but so little heed had been given to the intelligence, or, it may perhaps be said, so little was it supposed that, if such an attack was really meditated, any warning would have been given, that monsieur de chinon found the palace empty. louis had gone to hunt in the bois de meudon; marie antoinette was at the little trianon. but messengers easily found them. the queen came in with speed from her garden, which she was destined never to behold again; the king hastened hack from his coverts; and by the time that they returned, the count de st. priest, the minister of the household, had their carriages ready for them to retire to rambouillet, and he earnestly pressed the adoption of such a course. louis, as usual, could not make up his mind. he sat in his chair, repeating that it was a moment to think seriously. "rather," said marie antoinette, "say that it is a time to act promptly." he would gladly have had her depart with her children, but she refused to leave him, declaring that her place was by his side; that, as the daughter of maria teresa, she did not fear death; and after a time he changed his mind and ceased to wish even her to retire, clinging to his old conviction that conciliation was always possible. he believed that he had won over even the worst of the mob, and that all danger was past. versailles witnessed a strange scene that morning. the moment that the mob reached the town, they forced their way into the assembly hall, where maillard, as their spokesman, after terrifying the members with ferocious threats against the whole body of the nobles, demanded that the assembly should send a deputation to the king to represent to him the distress of the people, and that a party of the women should accompany it. louis consented to receive them, and when they reached the palace, the women, disorderly and ferocious as they were, were so awed by the magnificence and pomp which they beheld, and by the actual presence of the king and queen, that they could only summon up a few modest and humble words of petition, and one, a young and pretty girl of seventeen, fainted with the excitement. one of the princesses brought her a glass of water: she recovered, and, as she knelt to kiss the king's hand, louis kissed her himself, and, transported by his affability, she and her companions quit the apartment, uttering loud cheers for the king and queen. but this had not been the impression which their leaders had intended them to receive; and, when they reached the streets, their new-born loyalty so exasperated their comrades that the soldiers had some difficulty in saving them from their fury. meanwhile, the mob increased every hour. they occupied the court-yard of the palace, roaring out ferocious threats, the most sanguinary of which were directed against the queen. the president of the assembly moved that the members should adjourn and repair to the palace for the protection of the royal family, but mirabeau resisted the proposal, and procured its rejection; and when a large party of the members went, as individuals, to place their services at the king's disposal, he mingled with the rioters, tampering with the soldiers, and urging them to espouse what he called the cause of the people. as it grew dark, the crowd grew more and more tumultuous and violent. the body-guard, who were all gentlemen, were faithful and fearless; but it began to be seen that none of the other troops, not even the regiment of flanders, could be trusted. some of them even fired on the body-guard, and mortally wounded its commander, the marquis de savonières; while louis, adhering to his unhappy policy of conciliation even at such a moment, sent down orders to the officer who succeeded to the command that the men were not to use their weapons, and that all bloodshed was to be avoided. "tell the king," replied m. d'huillier, "that his orders shall be obeyed; but that we shall all be assassinated." the mob grew fiercer when it became known that la fayette and his regiment were approaching. no one knew what course he might take, but the ringleaders of the rioters resolved on a strenuous effort to render his arrival useless by their previous success. guns were fired, heavy blows were dealt on the railings of the inner court-yard and on the gates; and the danger seemed so imminent that the mob might force its way into the palace, that the deputies themselves besought the king to delay no longer, but to retire to rambouillet. he was still irresolute, and still trusting to his plan of conciliating by non-resistance. the queen, though more earnest than ever that he should depart, still nobly adhered to her own view of duty, and refused to leave him; but, hoping that he might change his mind, she gave a written order to keep the carriages harnessed, and to prepare to force a passage for them if the life of the king should appear to be in danger; but, she added, they were not to be used if she alone were threatened. at last, when it was nearly midnight, la fayette arrived. with a singular perverseness of folly, at a time when every moment was of consequence, he had halted his men a mile out of the town to make them a speech in praise of himself and his own loyalty, and to administer to them an oath to be faithful to the nation, to the law, and to the king; an oath needless if they were inclined to keep it; useless, if they were not; and in the state of feeling then common, mischievous in the order in which he ranged the powers to which he required them to profess allegiance. at last he reached the palace. leaving his men below, he ascended to the king's apartments, and, laying his hand on his heart, assured the king that he had no more loyal servant than himself. louis was not given to sarcasm: yet some of the bystanders fancied that there was a tone of irony in his voice when in reply he expressed his conviction of the marquis's sincerity; and perhaps la fayette thought so too, for he proceeded to harangue his majesty on his favorite subject of his own courage; describing the dangers which, as he affirmed, he had incurred in the course of the day. after which he descended into the court-yard to assure the soldiers that the king had promised to accede to their wishes; and then returned to the royal apartments to inform the king that contentment was restored, and that he himself would be responsible for the tranquillity of the night. the royal family, exhausted with the fatigues of so terrible a day, retired to rest, the queen expressly enjoining her ladies to follow her example. fortunately they were too anxious for her safety to obey her, and, with their own attendants, kept watch in the room outside her bed-chamber. but la fayette, in spite of the responsibility which he had taken upon himself, felt no such anxiety. he declared himself tired and sleepy; and, leaving the palace, went to a friend's house to ask for a bed.[ ] yet he well knew that the crowd was still assembled around the palace, and was increasing in violence. though the night was stormy and wet, the rioters sought no shelter except such as was afforded by a hurried resort to the wine-shops in the neighborhood, where they inflamed their intoxication, and from which they soon returned to renew their savage clamor and threats, increasing the disorder by keeping up a frequent fire of their muskets. throughout the night the duc d'orléans was briskly going to and fro, his emissaries scattering money among the rioters, who seemed to have no definite purpose or plan, till, as day began to break, one of the gates leading into the princes' court was seen to be open. it had been intrusted to some of la fayette's soldiers, and could not have been opened without treachery. the crowd poured in, uttering fiercer threats than ever, from the belief that their prey was within their reach. there was, in truth, nothing between them and the staircase which led to the royal apartments except two gallant gentlemen, m. des huttes and m. moreau, the sentries of the detachment of the body- guard on duty, whose quarters were at the head of the staircase in a saloon opposite to the queen's chamber. but these brave men were worthy of the best days of the french army. the more formidable the mob, and the greater the danger, the more imperative to their loyal hearts was the duty to defend those whose safety was intrusted to their vigilance; and with so dauntless a front did they stand to their posts that for a moment the ruffians recoiled and shrunk from attacking them, till d'orléans himself came forward, waving to them with his hand a signal to force the way in, and pointing out to them which way to take. what, then, could two men effect against such a multitude? des huttes perished, pierced by a hundred pikes, and torn into pieces by his blood- thirsty assailants. moreau, with equal valor, but with better fortune, backed up the stairs, fighting so desperately as he retreated that he gave his comrades time to barricade the doors leading to the queen's apartments, and to come to his assistance. as they drew him back, terribly wounded, into the guardroom, de varicourt and durepaire took his place. de varicourt was soon slain, but durepaire, a man of prodigious strength and prowess, held the assassins at bay for some time, till he too fell, reduced to helplessness by a score of deep wounds; when he, in his turn, was replaced by miomandre. his devotion and intrepidity equaled that of his comrades; he was eminently skillful also in the use of his weapons, and with his own hand he struck down many of his assailants, till he was gradually forced back by numbers, when he placed his musket as a barrier across the door-way, and thus still kept his enemies at bay, while he shouted to the queen's ladies, now separated from him by but a single partition, to save the queen, for "the tigers with whom he was struggling were aiming at her life." in the annals of the ancient chivalry of the nation it had been recorded as the most brilliant feat of bayard, that, on a bridge of the garigliano, he had for a while, with his single arm, stemmed the onset of two hundred spaniards; and that glorious exploit of the model hero of the nation had never been more faithfully copied and more nobly rivaled than it was on this morning of shame and danger by miomandre and his intrepid comrades, as they successively stepped into the breach to fight against those whom he truly called, not men, but tigers. it was but a brief moment before he too was struck down; but he had gained for the ladies a respite sufficient to enable them to secure the safety of their royal mistress. they roused her from her bed, for her fatigue had been so great that she had hitherto slept soundly through the uproar, and hurried her off to the apartments of the king, who, having in been just similarly awakened, was coming to seek her; and in a few minutes the whole family was collected in his antechamber; while the body-guard occupied the queen's bedroom, and the rioters, balked of their intended victim, were pillaging the different rooms into which they had been able to make their way. luckily, la fayette was still absent: he was having his hair dressed with great composure, while the mob, for whose contentment and orderly behavior he had vouched, was plundering the royal palace and seeking its owners to murder them; and in his absence the marquis de vaudreuil and a body of nobles took upon themselves the office of defenders of the crown, and, going down to the court-yard, reproached the national guard with their inaction at such a moment of danger, and with their manifest sympathy with the rioters. at first, out of mere shame, the national guard attempted to justify themselves: "they had been told," they said, "that the body-guard were the aggressors; that they had attacked the people." "do you pretend to believe," said the gallant marquis, "that two hundred men have been mad enough to attack thirty thousand?" the argument was irresistible; they declared that if the body-guard would assume the tricolor, they would stand by them as brothers. and, by a reaction not uncommon at such times of excitement, the two regiments became reconciled in a moment. as no tricolor cockades could be procured, they exchanged shakos, and, in many cases, arms. and presently, when the coup-têtes, after mutilating the bodies of two of the body-guard who had been killed on the previous evening, were preparing to murder two or three more who had fallen into their hands, the national guard dashed to their rescue, shouting out, with a curious identification of their force with the old french army, that "they would save the body-guard who saved them at fontenoy," and brought them off unhurt. balked of their expected prey, the rioters grew more furious than ever; in useless wrath they kept firing against the walls of the palace, and shouting out a demand for the queen to show herself. she, with her children, was still in the king's apartment, where the princesses, the ministers, and a few courtiers were also assembled. necker, in an agony of terror and distress, sat with his face buried in his hands, unable to offer any advice; la fayette, who had just arrived, dwelt upon the dangers which he had run, though no one else knew what they were, and assured the king of the power which he still possessed to allay the tumult, if the reasonable demands of the people (as he called them) were granted. marie antoinette alone was undaunted and calm; or, at least, if in the depths of her woman's heart she felt terror at the sanguinary and obscene threats of her ruffianly enemies, she scorned to show it. when the firing began, m. de luzerne, one of the ministers, had quietly placed himself between her and the window; but, while she thanked him for his devotion, she begged him to retire, saying, with her habitually gracious courtesy, that it was her place to be there,[ ] not his, since the king could not afford to have so faithful a servant endangered. and now, holding her little son and daughter, one in each hand, she stepped out on the balcony, to confront those who were shouting for her blood. "no children!" was their cry. she led the dauphin and his sister back into the room, and, returning to the balcony, stood before them alone, with her hands crossed and her eyes looking up to heaven, as one who expected instant death, with a firmness as far removed from defiance as from supplication. even those ruthless miscreants were awed by her magnanimous fearlessness; not a shot was fired; for a moment it seemed as if her enemies had become her partisans. loud shouts of "bravo!" and "long live the queen!" were heard on all sides; and one ruffian, who raised his gun to take aim at her, had his weapon beaten down by those who stood near him, and ran some risk of being himself sacrificed to their indignation. but this impulse of respect, like other impulses of such a people, was short-lived, and presently the multitude began to raise a shout, which expressed the original purpose which had led the majority to march upon versailles. "to paris!" was the cry, and again la fayette volunteered his advice, urging the king to comply with the request. by this time louis had learned the value of the marquis's loyalty. but he had no alternative. it was evident that the rioters had the power of compelling compliance with their demand. and accordingly he authorized the marquis to promise that he would remove his family to paris, and a few minutes afterward he himself went out on the balcony with the queen, and himself announced his intention, with the view of giving his act a greater appearance of being voluntarily resolved upon. soon after midday he set out, accompanied by the queen, his brother the count de provence, his sister the princess elizabeth, and his children. it was a strange and shameful retinue that escorted the king of france to his capital. one party of the rioters, with maillard and another ruffian named jourdan, the chief of the coupe-têtes, at their head, had started two hours before, bearing aloft in triumph the heads of the mangled body-guards, and combining such hideous mockery with their barbarity that they halted at sèvres to compel a barber to dress the hair on the lifeless skulls. and now the royal carriage was surrounded by a vast and confused medley; market-women and the rest of the female rabble, with drunken gangs of the ruffians who had stormed the palace in the morning, still brandishing their weapons, or bearing loaves of bread on their pike-heads, and singing out that they should all have enough of bread now, since they were bringing the baker, the bakeress, and the baker's boy to paris.[ ] the only part of the procession that bore even a decent appearance was a small escort of 'different regiments--the guards, the national guards, and the body-guards; many of the latter still bleeding from the wounds which they had received in the conflict and tumult of the morning. a train of carriages containing a deputation of the members of the assembly also followed; mirabeau himself having just earned a motion that the assembly was inseparable from the king, and that wherever he was there must be the place of meeting for the great council of the nation. yet, in spite of the confidence which their presence might have been expected to diffuse among the mob, and in spite of the hopes of coming plenty which the rioters themselves announced, the royal party was not even yet safe from further attacks. some ruffians stabbed at the royal carriage as it passed with their pikes, and several shots were fired at it, though fortunately they missed their aim and no one was injured.[ ] to the queen the journey was more painful than to any one else. a few weeks before she had congratulated mademoiselle de lamballe on not being a mother--perhaps the bitterest exclamation that grief and anxiety ever wrung from her lips; and now the keenest anxieties of a mother were indeed added to those of a queen. the procession moved with painful slowness. no provisions had been taken in the carriage, and the little dauphin was suffering from hunger and begging for some food. tears, which her own danger could not bring to her eyes, flowed plentifully as she witnessed the suffering of her child. she could only beg him to bear his privations with patience; and she had the reward of the pains she had always taken to inspire him with confident in her, in the fortitude with which, for the rest of the day, he bore what to children of his age is probably the severest hardship to which they can be exposed.[ ] so vast and disorderly was the procession that it was nine o'clock at night before it reached paris. bailly again met the royal carriage at the barrier, and, re-assuming the tone of coarse insult which he had adopted on the king's previous visit, had the effrontery to describe the day so full of horror to every one, and of humiliation and agony to those whom he was addressing, as a glorious day. it was at such moments as these that louis's impassibility assumed the character of dignity. he disdained to notice the mayor's insolence, and briefly answered that it was always with pleasure and with confidence that he found himself among the inhabitants of his good city of paris. he proceeded to the hôtel de ville, where the council of civic magistrates was sitting; and where the president addressed him in language which afforded a marked contrast to that of the mayor, calling him "an adored father who had come to visit the place where he could meet with the greatest number of his children." and it seemed as if bailly himself had become in some degree ashamed of his insolence; for now, when louis desired him, in reply to the president's address, to repeat the answer which he had made to him at the barrier, he merely said that the king had come with pleasure among the parisians. "the king, sir," interrupted the queen, "added, 'and with confidence.'" "gentlemen," said bailly, "you hear her majesty's words. you are happier in doing so than if i myself had uttered them." the whole company burst into one rapturous cheer, and at their request the king and queen showed themselves for a few minutes at the windows, beneath which, late as the hour was, a vast multitude was still collected, which received them with vociferous cheers. and then the royal family, quitting the hotel, drove to the tuileries, where their attendants had been hastily making such preparations as a few hours allowed for their reception. since the completion of the palace at versailles the tuileries had been almost deserted.[ ] the paint and gilding were tarnished, the curtains were faded, many most necessary articles of furniture were altogether wanting; and the whole was so shabby that it attracted the notice of even the little dauphin. "how bad, mamma," said he, "every thing looks here." "my boy," she replied, "louis xiv. lived here comfortably enough." but they had not yet decided on making it their permanent residence. la fayette, who had tried to induce the king to promise to do so, had been distinctly refused; and for some days louis did not make up his mind. but, after a time, the fear, if he should propose to return, to versailles, of being met by an opposition on the part of the assembly or the civic magistrates, which he might be unable to surmount, or, if he should again settle there, of his absence from the city furnishing a pretext for fresh tumults, caused him to announce his intention of making paris his principal abode for the future. he gave orders for the removal of some furniture and of the queen's library to the tuileries; and, with something of the apathy of despair, began to reconcile himself to his new abode and his changed position. chapter xxvi. feelings of marie antoinette on coming to the tuileries.--her tact in winning the hearts of the common people.--mirabeau changes his views.-- quarrel between la fayette and the duc d'orléans.--mirabeau desires to offer his services to the queen.--riots in paris.--murder of françois.-- the assembly pass a vote prohibiting any member from taking office.--the emigration.--death of the emperor joseph ii.--investigation into the riots of october.--the queen refuses to give evidence.--violent proceedings in the assembly.--execution of the marquis de favras. the comment made by marie antoinette on quitting versailles was that "they were undone; they were being dragged off, perhaps to death, which was never far removed from captive sovereigns;[ ]" and such henceforward was her prevailing feeling. she may occasionally, prompted by her own innate courage and sanguineness of disposition, have cherished a short-lived hope, founded on a consciousness of the king's and her own purity of intention, or on a belief, which she never wholly discarded, in the natural goodness of heart of the french people when not led astray by demagogues; and of their impulsive levity of disposition, which seemed to make no change of temper on their part impossible; but her general feeling was one of humiliation for the past and despair for the future. not only did the example of charles i., whose fate was ever before her eyes, fill her with dread for her husband's life (to her own danger she never gave a thought), but she felt also that the cause and principle of royalty had been degraded by the shameful scenes through which she had lately passed; and we shall fail to do justice to the patience, fortitude, and energy of her conduct during the remainder of her life, if we allow ourselves to forget that these high qualities were maintained and exerted in spite of the most depressing circumstances and the most discouraging convictions; that she was struggling because it was her duty to struggle for her husband's honor and her child's inheritance; but that she was never long sustained by that incentive which, with so many, is absolutely indispensable to steady and useful exertion--the anticipation of eventual success. a letter which the very next morning she wrote to mercy, who fortunately still retained his old post as embassador, shows the courage with which she still caught at every circumstance which seemed in the least hopeful; and with what unfaltering tact she sought every opportunity of acting on the impulsiveness which she regarded as one chief characteristic of the french people. "october th, . "i am quite well. you may be easy about me. if we could only forget where we are and how we came here, we ought to be satisfied with the feelings of the people, especially this morning. i hope, if bread does not fall short, that many things will return to their proper order. i speak to the people, militia, fish-women, and all: all offer me their hands; i give them mine. in the hôtel de ville i was personally well received. the people this morning begged us to remain here. i answered them, speaking for the king, who was by my side, that it depended on themselves whether we remained; that we desired nothing better; that all animosities must be laid aside; that the slightest renewal of bloodshed would make us flee, with horror. those who were nearest to me swore that all that was over. i told the fish-women to go and tell others all that we had just said to one another.[ ]" and a day or two later, on the th, even while giving fuller expression to her feelings of unhappiness, and of disgust at the events of the past week, as to which she assures mercy that "no description could be exaggerated; on the contrary, that any account must fall far short of what the king and she had seen and experienced," she yet repeats that "she hopes to bring back to a right feeling the honest and sound portion of the citizens and people. unhappily, however," as she adds, "they are not the most numerous body. still, with gentleness and unwearied patience, she may hope that at least she shall succeed in doing away with the horrible distrust which occupies every mind, and which has dragged the king and herself into the gulf in which they are at present." so keen at this time was her feeling that one principal cause of their miseries was the unjust distrust which the citizens in general conceived of the views and designs of the court, that she desires mercy not to try to see her; and, while she describes the scantiness of the accommodation which her attendants had as yet been able to provide for her, so that madame royale had a bed in her dressing-room, and the little dauphin was in her own room, she finds advantage in these arrangements, inconvenient as they were, since they prevented any suspicion from arising that she was giving audiences which she desired to keep secret. she did not overrate the impression which she had made on the people; and her faithful attendant, madame campan, has preserved more minute details of the events of the th than she herself reported to the embassador. she was hardly dressed when a huge crowd collected on the terrace under her window, shouting for her to show herself; and, when she came forward, they began to accost her in a mingled tone of expostulation and menace. "she must drive away the courtiers who were the ruin of kings. she must love the inhabitants of her good city." she replied "that she had always felt so toward them; she had loved them while at versailles; she should continue to love them at paris." "ah," interrupted a virago, hardier than her companions, "but on the th of july you would have besieged and bombarded the city; and on the th of october you wanted to flee to the frontier." she answered, in the gentlest tone, that "these were idle stories, which they were wrong to believe; tales like these were what caused at once the misery of the people and that of the best of kings." another woman addressed her in german. marie antoinette declared that "she did not understand what she said; that she had become so completely french that she had forgotten her native language;" and the compliment to their country fairly vanquished them. they received it with shouts of "bravo," and with loud clapping of their hands. they begged the ribbons and flowers of her bonnet. she took them off with her own hand and distributed them among them; and they divided the spoils with thankful exultation, smiling, waving their hands, and crying out, "long live marie antoinette! long live our good queen![ ]" for a time it seemed as if the fortunes of the king and country were being weighed in an uncertain balance. one day some circumstances seemed to hold out a prospect of the re-establishment of tranquillity, and of the return of the masses to a better feeling. the next day these favorable appearances were more than counterbalanced by fresh evidences of the increasing power of the factious and unscrupulous demagogues. it was greatly in favor of the crown that the triumph of the mob on the th of october had led to violent quarrels between the duc d'orléans, la fayette, and mirabeau. la fayette had charged the duke with having entered into a plot to assassinate him, and threatened to impeach him formally if he did not at once quit the kingdom.[ ] the duke trembled and consented, easily procuring from the ministers, who were glad to get rid of him, a diplomatic mission to england as a pretext for his departure; and mirabeau, who despised both the duke and the marquis, full of contempt for the pusillanimity which the former had shown in the quarrel, abandoned all idea of placing him on his cousin's throne. "make him my king!" he exclaimed; "i would not have him for my valet." emboldened by his success with the duke, la fayette, who had great confidence in his own address, next tried to win over or to get rid of mirabeau himself. he proposed to obtain an embassy for him also. the suggestion of what was clearly an honorable exile in disguise was at once declined.[ ] he then offered him a large sum of money, for at that moment he had the entire disposal of the civil list; but he found that the great orator was disinclined to connect himself with him in any way, much more to lay himself under any obligation to him. in fact, mirabeau was at this moment hoping to obtain a post in the home administration, where, if he could once succeed in procuring a footing, he had no doubt of soon obtaining the entire mastery; and the royal family was hardly settled at the tuileries before he applied to his friend, the count de la marck, whom he rightly believed to enjoy the queen's good opinion, begging him to express to her his ardent wish to serve her. he even drew up a long memorial on the existing state of affairs, indicating the line of conduct which, in his opinion, the king ought to pursue; the leading feature of which was an early departure from paris to some city at no great distance, that he might be safe and free; while in the capital it was evident that he was neither. and the step which he thus recommended at the outset deserves attention as being also that on which a year later he still insisted as the indispensable preliminary to whatever line of conduct might be decided on. but at this moment his advice never reached those for whom it was intended. la marck, with all his good-will both to his friend and to the court, could not venture to bring before the queen's notice the name of one who, only a few days before, had denounced her in the foulest manner in the assembly for having appeared at the soldiers' banquet, and whom she with her own eyes had beheld uniting with the assailants of the palace. he thought it more politic, even for the eventual attainment of his friend's objects, to content himself for the time with giving the memorial and stating the views of the writer to the count de provence; and that prince declared that it would be useless to bring it to the knowledge of either king or queen: "that the queen had not sufficient influence over her husband to induce him to adopt such a plan;" and he even hinted that at times louis was disposed to be jealous of her appearing to influence him. but if these circumstances--the quarrel between the enemies of the court, and the conversion of one more able and formidable than either--were in the king's favor, other events which took place in the same few weeks were full of mischief and danger. before the end of the month fresh riots broke out in paris. bread, the supply of which marie antoinette, as we have seen, rightly regarded as a matter of the first importance to the tranquillity of the city, continued scarce and dear; and the mob broke open the bakers' shops, and murdered one baker, a man named françois, with a ferocity more terrible than they had even shown toward de launay, or the guards at versailles. they tore his body to pieces, and, having cut off his head, compelled his wife to kiss the scarcely cold lips, and then left her fainting on the pavement still covered with his blood. even la fayette was horror-stricken at such brutality. it was the only occasion on which he did his duty during the whole progress of the revolution. he came down with a company of the national guard, dispersed the rioters, seized the ruffian who was bearing aloft, the head of the murdered man on a pole, and caused him to be hanged the next day. and during the next few weeks he more than once brought his soldiers to the support of the civil power, and inflicted summary punishment on gangs of miscreants, whose idea of reform was a state of things which should afford impunity to crime. but in the next month the assembly dealt a heavier blow on the king's authority than could be inflicted by the worst excesses of an informal mob--they passed a resolution prohibiting any of its members from accepting any office in the administration: it was an imitation of the self-denying ordinance into which cromwell had tricked the english parliament; and, though bearing an appearance of disinterestedness in closing the access to official emoluments and honors against themselves, was in reality an injury to the king, as depriving him of his right to select his ministers from the entire body of the nation; and to the nation itself, as preventing it from obtaining the services of those who might be presumed to be its ablest citizens, as having been already selected as its representatives. but a far more irreparable injury than any that could be inflicted on the court by either populace or assembly came from its friends. we have seen that the count d'artois, with some nobles who had especial reason to fear the enmity of the parisians, had fled from the country in july; and now their example was followed by a vast number of the higher classes, several of them having hitherto been prominent as the leaders of the moderate or constitutional section of the assembly--men who had no grounds for complaining that, except in one or two instances, at moments of extraordinary excitement, their influence had been overborne, but who now yielded to an infectious panic. before the end of the year more than three hundred deputies had resigned their seats and quit the country; salving over to themselves the dereliction of the duties which a few months before they had voluntarily sought, and their performance of which was now a more imperative duty than ever, by denunciations of the crimes which had been committed, and which they had found themselves unable to prevent. they did not see that their pusillanimous flight must lead to a continuance of such atrocities, leaving, as it did, the undisputed sway in the assembly to those very men who had been the authors of the outrages of which they complained. they were, in fact, insuring the ruin of all that they most wished to preserve; for, in the progress of the debates in the assembly during the winter, many questions of the most vital importance were decided by very small majorities, which their presence would have turned into minorities. the greater the danger was, the more irresistible they ought to have felt the obligation to stand to the last by the cause of which they were the legitimate champions; and the final triumph of the jacobin party owed hardly more to the energy of its leaders than to the cowardly and inglorious flight of the princes and nobles who left the field open without resistance to their wickedness and audacity. it was a melancholy winter that the queen now passed. so far as she was able, she diverted her mind from political anxieties by devoting much of her time to the education of her children. a little plot of ground was railed off in the garden of the tuileries for the dauphin's[ ] amusement; and one of her favorite relaxations was to watch him working at the flower-beds himself with his little hoe and rake; though, as if to mark that they were in fact prisoners, both she and he were followed wherever they went by grenadiers of the city-guard, and were not allowed to dispense with their attendance for a single moment. marie antoinette had reason to complain that she was watched as a criminal[ ]. sad as she was at heart, she was not allowed the comfort of privacy and retirement. she was forced to hold receptions for the nobles and chief citizens, and as the court was now formally established at the tuileries, she dined every week in public with the king; but she steadily resisted the entreaties of some of the ministers and courtiers to visit the theatres, thinking, with great justice, that an attendance at public spectacles of that character would have had an appearance of gayety, as unbecoming at such a period of anxiety, as it was inconsistent with her feelings; and before the end of the winter she sustained a fresh affliction in the loss of her brother the emperor[ ]; whose death bore with it the additional aggravation of depriving her of a counselor whose advice she valued, and of an ally on whose active aid she believed that she could rely far more than she could on that of their brother leopold, who now succeeded to the imperial throne. not that leopold can be charged with indifference to his sister's welfare. in the very week of his accession to the throne he wrote to her with great affection, assuring her of his devotion to her interests, and expressing his desire to correspond with her in the most unreserved confidence. but the same letter shows that as yet he knew but very little of her;[ ] and that he regarded the difficulties in which some of joseph's recent measures had involved the imperial government as sufficiently serious to engross his attention. a few extracts from her reply are worth preserving, as proving how steadily in her conduct and language to every one she adhered to her rule of concealing her husband's defects, and putting him forward as the first person on whose wishes and directions her own conduct most depend. it also shows what advances she was herself making in the perception of the true character of the crisis, so far as the objects of the few honest members who still remained in the assembly were concerned, and the extent to which she was trying to reconcile herself to some curtailment of her husband's former authority. thanking him for the assurance of his friendship, she says: "believe me, my dear brother, we shall always be worthy of it. i say we, because i do not separate the king from myself. he was touched by your letter, as i was myself, and bids me assure you of this. his heart is loyalty and honesty itself; and if ever again we become, i do not say what we have been, but at least what we ought to be, you may then depend on the entire fidelity of a good ally. "i do not say any thing to you of our actual position: it is too heart- rending. it ought to afflict every sovereign in the universe, and still more an affectionate relation like you. it is only time and patience that can bring back men's minds to a healthy state. it is a war of opinions, and one which is still far from being terminated. it is only the justice of our cause and the feeling of a good conscience that can support us ... my most sincere wish is that you may never meet with ingratitude. my own melancholy experience proves to me that, of all evils, that is the most terrible." yet no indignation at the thanklessness of the parisians could chill her constant benevolence toward them; and amidst all the anxieties which filled her mind for herself, her husband, and her child, she founded an asylum for the education of a number of orphan daughters of old soldiers, and found time to give her careful attention to a code of regulations for its management.[ ] meanwhile circumstances were gradually paving the way for her accepting the help of him who, during the earliest discussions of the assembly, had been, not so much through his own malice as through necker's folly, her worst enemy. we have seen how, immediately after the attack on versailles, mirabeau had once more endeavored to find an opening through which to place himself at her service. he alone, perhaps, of all men in the kingdom, perceived the reality and greatness of the danger which threatened even the lives of the sovereigns;[ ] and, as amidst all the errors into which his regard for his own interests, his vindictiveness, or his caprice impelled him, he always preserved the perceptions and instincts of a genuine statesman, many of the transactions of the winter increased his conviction of the peril in which every interest in the whole kingdom was placed, if the headlong folly of the assembly could not be restrained, and if even, proverbially difficult as such a course is, some of its acts could not be rescinded; while one transaction, which, more than any other that had yet taken place, showed the greatness of the queen's heart, much sharpened his eagerness to prove himself a worthy servant of so noble-minded a mistress. some of the magistrates who still desired to discharge their duty had instituted an investigation into the conspiracy which had originated the attack on versailles, and all its multiplied horrors. they had examined a great body of witnesses, whose evidence left no doubt of the active part taken in it by the duc d'orléans and his partisans, and by mirabeau, whether he were to be included among that prince's adherents or not; but they conceived it specially important to procure the testimony of the queen herself. however, it was in vain that they applied to her for the slightest information. appeals to her indignation, to her pride, and to her danger, were equally disregarded by her. no denunciation of those who, whatever had been their crimes, were still the subjects of her husband, could, in her eyes, be becoming to her as queen; and when those who hoped to make a tool of her to crush their political rivals urged that no evidence would be accepted as equally conclusive with hers, since no one had seen so much of what had taken place, or had in so great a degree preserved that coolness which was indispensable to a clear account of it, and to the identification of the guilty, her reply was a dignified and magnanimous pardon of the outrages beneath which she had so nearly perished. "i have seen every thing; i have known every thing; i have forgotten every thing;" and mirabeau, not unthankful for the protection which her magnanimity thus throw around him, was eager to make atonement for his past insults and injuries. and many of the recent events had convinced him that there was no time to lose. the vote of november, debarring him, in common with all other members of the assembly, from office, was a severe blow to the most important of his projects, so far as his own interests were concerned. within a month it had been followed by another, proposed by the abbé siéyes, a busy priest who boasted that he had made himself master of the whole science of politics, but who was in fact a mere slave of abstract theories, the safety or even the practicability of which he was utterly unable to estimate. on his motion, the assembly, in a single evening, abolished all the ancient territorial divisions of the kingdom, and the very names of the provinces; dividing the country anew into eighty-three departments, and coupling with this new arrangement a number of details which were evidently calculated to wrest the whole executive authority of the kingdom from the crown and to vest it in the populace. at another sitting, the whole property of the church was confiscated. on another night, the parliaments were abolished; and on a fourth, the party which had carried these measures made a still more direct and audacious attack on the royal prerogative, by passing a resolution which deprived the crown of all power of revising the sentences of the judicial tribunals, and of pardoning or mitigating the punishment of those who might have been condemned. and, if to bring home to the tender-hearted monarch the full effect of this last inroad upon his legitimate power, they at the same time created a new crime to which they gave the name of treason against the nation,[ ] without either defining it, or specifying the kind of evidence which should he required to prove it; and they proceeded at once to put it in force to procure the condemnation of a nobleman of decayed fortune, but of the highest character, the marquis de favras, in a manner which showed that their real object was to strike terror into the whole royalist party. the charges on which he was brought to trial were not merely unfounded, but ridiculous. he was charged with designing to raise an army of thirty thousand men, with the object of carrying off the king from paris, of dissolving the assembly by force, and putting la fayette and bailly to death. the evidence with which it was pretended to support these charges broke down on every point, and its failure of itself established the prisoner's innocence, even without the aid of his own defense, which was lucid and eloquent. but the marquis was known to be a royalist in feeling, and, though very poor, to stand high in the confidence of the princes. the demagogues collected mobs round the courthouse to intimidate the judges, and the judges proved as base as the accusers themselves. they professed, indeed, to fear not so much for their own lives as for the public tranquillity, but they pronounced him guilty. one of them had even the effrontery to acknowledge his innocence to favras himself, and to affirm that his life was a necessary sacrifice to the public peace. no event since the attack on versailles had caused marie antoinette equal anguish. it showed that attachment to the king and herself was in itself regarded as an inexpiable crime, and her distress was greatly augmented when, on the sunday following the execution of the marquis, some of his friends brought to the table where, as usual, she was dining in public with the king, the widowed marchioness and her orphaned son in deep mourning, and presented them to their majesties. their introducers evidently expected that the king, or at least the queen, by the distinguished reception which she would accord to them, would mark their sense of the merits of their late husband and father, and of the indignity of the sentence under which he had suffered. marie antoinette was sadly embarrassed and distressed: she was taken wholly by surprise; and it happened by a cruel perverseness of fortune that santerre, the brewer, whose ruffianly and ferocious enmity to the whole royal family, and especially to herself, had been conspicuous throughout the worst outrages of the past summer and autumn, was on the same day on duty at the palace as commander of one of the battalions of the parisian guard, and was standing behind her chair when the marchioness and her son were introduced. her embarrassment and all her feelings on the occasion were described by herself in the course of the afternoon to madame campan. after the dinner was over, she went up to her attendant's room, saying that it was a relief to find herself where she could weep at her ease; for weep she must at the folly of the ultra-royalists. "we can not but be destroyed," she continued, "when we are attacked by people who unite every kind of talent to every kind of wickedness; and when we are defended by folks who are indeed very estimable, but who have no just notion of our position. they have now compromised me with both parties, in their presenting to me the widow and son of favras. if i had been free to do as i would, i should have taken the child of a man who had just been sacrificed for us, and have placed him at table between the king and myself; but surrounded as i was by the very murderers who had caused his father's death, i could not venture even to bestow a glance upon him. yet the royalists will blame me for not having seemed to be interested in the poor child; while the revolutionists will be furious, thinking that those who presented him to me knew that it would please me." and all that she could venture to do she did. she knew that the marchioness was very poor, and she sent her by a trusty agent a few hundred louis, and with it a kind message, assuring the unhappy widow that she would always watch over her and her son's interests. chapter xxvii. the king accepts the constitution so far as it has been settled.--the queen makes a speech to the deputies.--she is well received at the theatre.--negotiations with mirabeau.--the queen's views of the position of affairs.--the jacobin club denounces mirabeau.--deputation of anacharsis clootz.--demolition of the statue of louis xiv.--abolition of titles of honor.--the queen admits mirabeau to an audience.--his admiration of her courage and talents.--anniversary of the capture of the bastile.--fête of the champ de mars.--presence of mind of the queen. what was probably as painful to marie antoinette as these occurrences themselves was the apathy with which the king regarded them. the english traveler to whose journal we have more than once referred, and who, in the first week of the year, saw the royal pair waiting in the gardens of the tuileries, remarked that though the queen did not appear in good health, but showed melancholy and anxiety in her face, the king, on the other hand, "was as plump as ease could render him.[ ]" and in the course of february, in spite of all her remonstrances, necker succeeded in persuading him to go down to the assembly, and to address the members in a long speech, in which, though some of his expressions were clearly intended as a reproof of the assembly itself for the precipitation and violence of some of its measures, he nevertheless declared his cordial assent to the new constitution, so far as they had yet settled it, and promised to co-operate in a spirit of affection and confidence in the labors which still remained to be achieved. the greater part of the speech is believed to have been his own composition; and it is characteristic of the fidelity with which, on every occasion, marie antoinette adhered to her rule of strengthening her husband's position by her own cordial and conspicuous support, that, strongly as she had objected to the step before it was taken, now that it was decided on, she professed a decided approval of it; and when a deputation of the assembly, which had been appointed to escort the king with honor back to the palace, solicited an audience of herself to pay their respects, she assured the deputies that "she partook of all the sentiments of the king; that she united with all her heart and mind in the measure which his love for his people had just dictated to him." and then, bringing the dauphin forward, she added: "behold my son. i shall unceasingly speak to him of the virtues of his most excellent father. i shall teach him from the earliest age to cherish public liberty, and i hope that he will be its firmest bulwark." for a moment the step seemed to have succeeded, though the proofs of its success were still more strongly proofs of the utter want of sense that marked all the proceedings of the assembly. as louis had expressed his assent to the constitution so far as it was settled, it was proposed, as a fitting compliment to him, that the assembly and the whole body of the citizens of paris should take an oath of fidelity to the constitution without any such reservation. but in the course of the next few weeks the assembly showed how little his reproof of its former precipitation and violence had been heeded, since, among the first measures with which it proceeded to the completion of the constitution, one deprived him of the right of deciding on peace and war, a power which all wise statesmen regard as inseparable from the executive government; another extinguished the right of primogeniture; and a third confiscated all the property of the monastic establishments. however, those who took the lead in the management of affairs (for necker and the ministers had long ceased to exert the slightest authority) were blinded by their own fury to the absurdity and inconsistency of their conduct. their exultation was unbounded, and, adhering to the line of conduct which she had marked out for herself, marie antoinette now yielded to their entreaties that she would show herself to the citizens at the theatre. even in the days of her earliest popularity she had never met a more enthusiastic reception. the greater part of the house rose at her entrance, clapping their hands and cheering, and the disloyalty of a few malcontents only made her triumph more conspicuous, so roughly were they treated by the rest of the audience. marie antoinette was herself touched at the cordiality with which she was greeted, and saw in it another proof that "the people and citizens were good at heart if left to themselves; but," she added to the princess de lamballe, to whom she described the scene, "all this enthusiasm is but a gleam of light, a cry of conscience which weakness will soon stifle.[ ]" it is probably doing no injustice to mirabeau to believe that the crimes which had made the greatest impression on the queen were not the events which affected him the most strongly. but he was not only a statesman in intellect, but an aristocrat in every feeling of his heart. no man was fonder of referring to his illustrious ancestors; or of claiming kindred with men of old renown, such as the admiral de coligny, of whom he more than once boasted in the assembly as his cousin; and each blow dealt at the consideration of the nobles was an additional incentive to him to seek to arrest the progress of a revolution which had already gone far beyond his wishes or his expectations. and as he was always energetic in the pursuit of his plans, he had, by some means or other, in spite of the discouragement derived from the language and conduct of the count de provence, contrived to get information of his willingness to enlist in the royalist party conveyed to the queen. the count de la marck, who was still his chief confidant, was at brussels at the beginning of the spring, when he received a letter from mercy, begging him to return without delay to paris. he lost no time in obeying the summons, when he learned, to his great delight, though his pleasure was alloyed by some misgiving, that the king and queen had resolved to avail themselves of mirabeau's services, and that he himself was selected as the intermediate agent in the negotiation. la marck's misgiving,[ ] as he frankly told the embassador at the outset, was caused by the fear that mirabeau had done more harm than he could repair; but he gladly undertook the commission, though its difficulty was increased by a stipulation which showed at once the weakness of the king, and the extraordinary difficulties which it placed in the way of his friends. the count was especially warned to keep all that was passing a secret from necker. he was startled, as he well might be, at such an injunction. but he did not think it became his position to start a difficulty; and, as he was fully impressed with the importance of not losing time, the negotiation proceeded rapidly. he introduced mirabeau to mercy, and he himself was admitted to an interview with the queen, when he learned that her greatest objections to accepting mirabeau's services were of a personal nature, founded partly on the general badness of his character, partly on the share he had borne in the events of the th and th of october. by the count's own account, he went rather beyond the truth in his endeavors to exculpate his friend on this point; and he probably deceived himself when he believed that he had convinced the queen of his innocence. but both she and louis, who was present at a part of the interview, had evidently made up their minds to forget the past, if they could trust his promises for the future. and the interview ended in the further conduct of the necessary arrangements being left by louis to the queen. in a subsequent conversation with the count, she explained her own views of the existing situation of affairs, describing them, indeed, according to her custom, as the ideas of the king, in a manner which shows how much she was willing that the king should abate of his old prerogatives, provided only that the concessions were made voluntarily by himself, and not imposed by violent and illegal resolutions of the assembly. mirabeau had drawn up an elaborate memorial for the consideration of the king, in which he pointed out in general terms his sense of the state of "utter anarchy" into which france had fallen, his shame and indignation at feeling "that he himself had contributed to bring affairs into such a bad state." and his "profound conviction of the necessity, in the interests of the whole nation, of re-establishing the legitimate authority of the king.[ ]" and marie antoinette, commenting on this expression, assured la marck that "the king had no desire to recover the full extent of the authority which he had formerly possessed; and that he was far from thinking it necessary for his own personal happiness any more than for the welfare of his people.[ ]" and it seemed to the count that she placed unlimited confidence in mirabeau's ability to re-establish her husband's power on a sufficient and satisfactory basis; so full was her conversation, during the latter part of the interview, of the good which she expected to be again able to do, and of the warm affection with which she regarded the people. the benefits of this new alliance were not to be all on one side. mirabeau was overwhelmed with debt; and though his father had died in the preceding summer, he had not yet entered into his inheritance, but was in a state little short of absolute destitution. from this condition he was to be relieved, and the arrangements for the discharge of his debts, and the securing to him the enjoyment of a sufficient though by no means excessive income, were intrusted to marie antoinette by the king, and by her to her almoner, m. de fontanges, who, when loménie de brienne was promoted to the archbishopric of sens, had succeeded him at toulouse. the archbishop, who was sincerely devoted to his royal mistress, carried out the necessary arrangements with great skill, but they could not be managed with such secrecy as entirely to escape notice. among the clubs which had been set on foot at the beginning of the previous year the most violent had been that known as the breton club, from being founded by some of the deputies from the great province of brittany; but, when the court removed to paris, and the assembly was established in a large building close to the garden of the tuileries, the bretons obtained the use of an apartment in an old convent of dominican or jacobin friars (as they were called), the same which two centuries before had been the council-room of the league, and they changed their own designation also, and called themselves the jacobins; and, canceling the rule which limited the right of membership to deputies, they now admitted every one who, by application for election, avowed his adherence to their principles. their leaders at this time were barnave; a young noble named alexander lameth, whose mother, having been left in necessitous circumstances, owed to the bounty of the king and queen the means of educating her children, a benefit which they repaid with the most unremitting hostility to the whole royal family; and a lawyer named duport. mirabeau was in the habit of ridiculing them as the triumvirate; but they were crafty and unscrupulous men, skillful in procuring information; and, having obtained intelligence of his negotiations with the court, they retaliated on him by hiring pamphleteers and journalists to attack him, and narratives of the treason of the count de mirabeau were hawked about the streets. to apply such language to the adherence of a french noble to the crown was the most open avowal of disloyalty on which the revolutionary party had yet ventured; and in the next four weeks it received a practical development in a series of measures, some of which were so ridiculous as only to deserve notice from the additional evidence which they furnished of the extreme folly of those who now had the lead in the assembly, and of the strange excitement in which the whole nation, or at least the whole population of paris, must have been wrought up before they could mistake their acts for those of sagacity or patriotism; but others of which, though not less unwise, were of greater importance as being irrevocable steps in the downward course of destruction along which the whole country was being dragged. the leaders of the revolutionary party had already selected two days in the past year as especially memorable for the triumphs won over the crown: one was the th of june, on which, in the tennis court at versailles, the members of the assembly had bound themselves to effect the regeneration of the kingdom; the other the th of july, on which, as they boasted, they had forever established freedom by the destruction of the bastile; and they determined this year to celebrate both these anniversaries in a becoming manner. accordingly, on the th of june, a crack-brained member of the jacobin club, a prussian of noble birth, named clootz, who, to show his affinity with the philosophers of old, had assumed the name of anacharsis, hired a band of vagrants and idlers, and, dressing them up in a variety of costumes to represent arabs, red indians, turks, chinese, laplanders, and other tribes, savage and civilized, led them into the assembly as a deputation from all the nations of the earth to announce the resurrection of the whole world from slavery; and demanded permission for them to attend the festival of the ensuing month, that each, on behalf of his country, might give in his adhesion to the principles of liberty as expounded by the assembly. the president of the day replied with an oration thanking m. clootz for the honor done to france by such an embassy; and alexander lameth followed up the president's harangue by fresh praises of the deputation as holy pilgrims who had thrown off the shackles of superstition. nor was he content with a barren panegyric. he had devised an appropriate sacrifice with which to commemorate such exalted virtue. in the finest square of the city, the place des victoires, the duke de la feuillade had erected a statue of louis xiv. to celebrate his royal master's triumphs, the pedestal of which was decorated with allegorical representations of the nations which had been conquered by the french marshals. it was generally regarded as the finest work of art in the city, and as such it had long been an object of admiration and pride to the citizens. but m. lameth, in his new-born enthusiasm, regarded it with other eyes, and closed his speech by proposing that, as monuments of despotism and flattery could not fail to be shocking to so enlightened a body, the assembly should order its instant demolition. his proposal was received with enthusiastic cheers, and the noble monument was instantly overthrown in a fit of blind fury more resembling the orgies of drunken bacchanals, or the thirst for desolation which had animated the goths and huns, than the conduct of the chosen legislators of a polite and accomplished people. but even this was not all. the insult to the memory of a king who, little as he deserved it, had a century before been the object of the unanimous admiration of his subjects, was but a prelude to other resolutions of far greater moment, as giving an indelible character to the future of the nation. a deputy, m. lambel, whose very name was previously unknown to the majority of his colleagues, rose and made a speech of three lines, as if the proposal which it contained only required to be mentioned to command instant and universal assent "this day," said he, "is the tomb of vanity. i demand the suppression of the titles of duke, count, marquis, viscount, baron, and knight." la fayette and alexander lameth's brother, charles, supported the demand with almost equal brevity; a representative of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom, the viscount matthieu de montmorency moved a prohibition of the use of armorial bearings; another noble, m. de st. targeau, proposed that the use of names derived from the estates of the owners should be abolished. every proposal was carried by acclamation. louder and louder cheers followed each suggestion of a new abolition; a member who ventured to propose an amendment to one proposal was hooted down; and in little more than an hour the whole series of resolutions, which struck at once at the recollections and glories of the past and at the dignity of the future, was made the law of the land. every one of these attacks on the nobles was a fresh provocation to mirabeau, and increased his eagerness to complete his reconciliation with the crown. he pronounced the abolition of titles a torch to kindle civil war, and pressed more earnestly than ever for an interview with the queen, in which he might both learn her views and explain his own. marie antoinette had foreseen that she should be forced to admit him to her presence, but there was nothing to which she felt a stronger repugnance. his profligate character excited a feeling of perfect disgust in her mind; but for the public good she overcame it, and, having in the course of june removed to st. cloud for change of air, on the d of july she, accompanied by the king, received him in the garden of that palace. the account which she sent her brother of the interview shows with what a mixture of feelings she had been agitated. she speaks of herself as "shivering with horror" as the moment drew near, and can not bring herself to describe him except as a "monster," though, she admits that his language speedily removed her agitation, which, when he was first presented to her, had nearly made her ill. "he seemed to be actuated by entire good faith, and to be altogether devoted to the king; and louis was highly pleased with him, so that they now thought every thing was safe.[ ]" she, on her part, had made an equally favorable impression on him. she had adroitly flattered his high opinion of himself by saying that "if she had been speaking to persons of a different class and character she should have felt the necessity of being guarded in her language, but that in dealing with a mirabeau there could be no need of such caution;" and he told his confidant, la marck, that till he knew "the soul and thoughts of the daughter of maria teresa, and learned how fully he could reckon on that august ally, he had seen nothing of the court but its weakness; but now confidence had raised his courage, and gratitude had made the prosecution of his principles a duty;[ ]" and in some subsequent letters he speaks of every thing as depending on the queen, and describes in brief but forcible language his appreciation of the dangers which surrounded her, and of the magnanimous courage with which he sees that she is prepared to confront them. "the king," he says, "has but one man about him, and that is his wife. there is no safety for her but in the reestablishment of the royal authority. i love to believe that she would not desire to preserve life without the crown. what i am quite certain of is, that she will not preserve her life unless she preserves her crown." in his interview with her, as she reported it to the emperor, he had recommended, as the first step to be adopted by the king and herself, a departure from paris; and, in reference to that plan, which he at all times regarded as the foundation of every other, he tells la marck: "the moment will soon come when it will be necessary to try what can be done by a woman and a child on horseback. for her it is but the adoption of an hereditary mode of action.[ ] but she must be prepared for it, and must not suppose that one can extricate one's self from an extraordinary crisis by mere chance or by the combinations of an ordinary man." the hopes with which the acquisition of such an ally inspired the queen at this time nerved her to bear her part in the festival with which the assembly had decided on celebrating the demolition of the bastile. the arrangements for it were of a gigantic character. round the sides of the champ de mars a vast embankment was raised, so as to give the plain the appearance of an amphitheatre, and to afford accommodation to three hundred thousand spectators. at the entrance a magnificent arch of triumph was erected. the centre was occupied by a grand altar; and on one side a gorgeous pavilion was appropriated to the king, his family, and retinue, the members of the assembly, and the municipal magistrates. they were all to be performers in the grand ceremony which was to be the distinguishing feature of the day. the constitution was scarcely more complete than it had been when louis signified his acceptance of it five months before; but now, not only were he, the deputies, and municipal authorities of paris to swear to its maintenance, but the same oath was to be taken by the national guard, and by a deputation from every regiment in the army; and it was to bind the soldiers throughout the kingdom to the new order of things that the ceremony was originally designed.[ ] as a spectacle few have been more successful, and perhaps none has ever been so imposing. before midnight on the th of july, the whole of the vast amphitheatre was filled with a dense crowd, in its gayest holiday attire--a marvelous and magnificent sight from its mere numbers; and early the next morning the heads of the procession began to defile under the arch at the entrance of the plain--la fayette, at the head of the national guard, leading the way. it was a curious proof of the king's weakness, and of the tenacity with which he clung to his policy of conciliation, that, in spite of his knowledge of the general's bitter animosity to his authority and to himself, and of his recent vote for the suppression of all titles of honor, louis had offered him the sword of the constable of france, a dignity which had been disused for many years; and it was an equally striking evidence of la fayette's inveterate disloyalty that, gratifying as the succession to duguesclin and montmorency would have been to his vanity, he nevertheless refused the honor, and contented himself with the dignity which the enrollment of the detachments from the different departments under his banner conferred on him, by giving him the appearance of being the commander-in-chief of the national guard throughout the kingdom. the national guard was followed by regiment after regiment, and deputation after deputation, of the regular army; and, to show the subordination to the law which they were expected to acknowledge for the future, their swords were all sheathed, while the deputies, the municipal magistrates, and other peaceful citizens who bore a part in the procession had their swords drawn. sailors from the fleet, magistrates and deputations from every department, and from every city or town of importance in the kingdom, followed; and after them came two hundred priests, with talleyrand, bishop of autun, in his episcopal vestments at their head, their white robes somewhat uncanonically decorated with tricolor ribbons, who passed on into the centre of the plain and ranged themselves on the steps of the altar. so vast was the procession that it was half-past three in the afternoon before the detachment of royal guards which closed it took up their position. when at last all were in their places, louis, accompanied by the queen and other members of his family, entered the royal pavilion. he was known by sight to the deputations from the most distant provinces, for he had reviewed them in a body the day before, when several of them had been separately presented to him, toward whom he had for once laid aside his habitual reserve, assuring them of his fatherly regard for all his subjects with warmth and manifest sincerity. the queen, too, as she always did, had made a most favorable impression on those members whom she had seen by her judicious and cordial affability. louis wore no robes, but only the ordinary dress of a french noble. marie antoinette was in full evening costume, and her hair was dressed with a plume of tricolor feathers. yet even on this day, which was intended to be one of universal joy and friendliness, evil signs were not wanting to show how powerful were the enemies of both king and queen; for no seat whatever had been provided for her, while by the aide of that constructed for the king another on very nearly the same level had been placed for the president of the assembly. but these refinements of discourtesy were lost on the spectators. they cheered the royal pair joyously the moment that they appeared. before the shouts had died away, bishop talleyrand began the service of the mass; and, on its termination, administered the oath "of fidelity to the nation, the law, the king, and the constitution as decreed by the assembly and accepted by the king." la fayette took the oath first in the name of the army. talleyrand followed on behalf of the clergy. bailly came next, as the representative of the citizens of paris. it was a stormy day; and when the moment arrived for the king to set the seal to the universal acceptance of the constitution by swearing to exert all his own power for its maintenance, the rain came down so heavily as to render it impossible for him to leave the shelter of his own pavilion. as it happened, the momentary disappointment gave a greater effect to his act. with more than usual presence of mind, he advanced to the front of the pavilion, so as to be seen by the whole of the assembled multitude, and took the oath with a loud voice and perfect dignity of manner. as he resumed his seat, the rain cleared away, the sun burst through the clouds; and the queen, as if by a sudden inspiration, brought forward the little dauphin, and, lifting him up in her arms, showed him to the people. those whom the king's voice could not reach saw the graceful action; and from every side of the plain one universal acclamation burst forth, which seemed to bear out marie antoinette's favorite assertion that the people were good at heart, and that it was not without great perseverance in artifice and malignity that they could be excited to disloyalty and treason. chapter xxviii. great tumults in the provinces.--mutiny in the marquis de bouillé's army. --disorder of the assembly.--difficulty of managing mirabeau.--mercy is removed to the hague.--marie antoinette sees constant changes in the aspect of affairs.--marat denounces her.--attempts are made to assassinate her.--resignation of mirabeau.--misconduct of the emigrant princes. but men less blinded by the feverish excitement of revolutionary enthusiasm would have seen but little in the state of france at this time to regard as matter for exultation. many of the recent measures of the assembly, and especially the extinction of the old provinces, had created great discontent in the rural districts. formidable riots had broken out in many quarters, especially in the great southern cities, in some of which the mob had rivaled the worst excesses of its parisian brethren; massacring the magistrates, tearing their bodies into pieces, and terrifying the peaceable inhabitants by processions, in which the mangled remains of their victims formed the most conspicuous feature. at brest and at toulon the sailors showed that they fully shared the general dissatisfaction; while in the army a formidable mutiny broke out among the troops which were under the command of the marquis de bouillé, in lorraine. that, indeed, had a different object, since it had been excited by jacobin emissaries, who were aware that the marquis, the soldier who, of the whole french army at that time, enjoyed the highest reputation, was firmly attached to the king; though he was not one of the nobles who had opposed all reform, nor had he hesitated to follow his royal master's example and to declare his acceptance of the new constitution. fortunately he had subalterns worthy of him, and faithful to their oaths; and as he was a man of great promptitude and decision, he, with their aid, quelled the mutiny, though not without a sanguinary conflict, in which he himself lost above four hundred men, while the loss which he inflicted on the mutineers was far heavier. but he had set a noble example, and had given an undeniable proof of the possibility of quelling the most formidable tumults; and it may be said that his quarters were the only spot in all france which was not wholly given up to anarchy and disorder. for even the assembly itself was a prey to tumult and violence. from the time of its assuming that title admission had been given to every one who could force his way into the chamber, whether he was a member or not; nor was any order preserved among those who thus obtained admission; but they were allowed to express their opinion of every speaker and of every speech by friendly or unfriendly clamor: a practice which, as may well be supposed, materially influenced many votes. and presently attendance for that purpose became a trade; some of the most violent deputies hiring a regularly appointed troop to take their station in the galleries, and paying them daily wages to applaud or hiss in accordance with the signs which they themselves made from the body of the hall.[ ] and if the populace was thus the master of the assembly while at versailles, this was far more the case after its removal to paris, where the number of the idle portion of the population furnished the jacobins with far greater means of intimidating their adversaries. it was remarkable that la marck himself, as has been already intimated, did not fully share the hopes which the king and queen founded on the adhesion of mirabeau. it was not only that on one point he had sounder views than mirabeau himself--doubting, as he did, whether the mischief which his vehement friend had formerly done could now be undone by the same person, merely because he had changed his mind--but he also felt doubts of mirabeau's steadiness in his new path, and feared lest eagerness for popularity, or an innate levity of disposition, might still lead him astray. as he described him in a letter to mercy, "he was sometimes very great and sometimes very little; he could be very useful, and he could be very mischievous: in a word, he was often above, and sometimes greatly below, any other man." at another time he speaks of him as "by turns imprudent through excess of confidence, and lukewarm from distrust;" and this estimate of the great demagogue, which was not very incorrect, shows, too, how high an opinion la marck had formed of the queen's ability and force of character, for he looks to her "to put a curb on his inconstancy,[ ]" trusting for that result not so much to her power of fascination as to her clearness of view and resolution. and she herself was never so misled by her high estimate of mirabeau's abilities and influence as to think his judgment unerring. on the contrary, her comment to mercy on one of the earliest letters which he addressed to the king was that it was "full of madness from one end to the other," and she asked "how he, or any one else, could expect that at such a moment the king and she could be induced to provoke a civil war?" alluding, apparently, to his urgent advice that the royal family should leave paris, a step of the necessity for which she was not yet convinced. her hope evidently was that he would bring forward some motions in the assembly which might at least arrest the progress of mischief, and perhaps even pave the way for the repair of some of the evil already done. on one point she partly agreed with him, but not wholly. he insisted on the necessity of dismissing the ministers; but she, though thinking them, both as a body and individually, unequal to the crisis, saw great difficulty in replacing them, since the vote of the preceding winter forbade the king to select their successors from the members of the assembly;[ ] and she feared also lest, if he should dismiss them, the assembly would carry out a plan which, as it seemed to her, it already showed great inclination to adopt, of managing every thing by means of committees, and preventing the appointment of any new administration. her view of the situation, and of the king's and her position, varied from time to time, as indeed their circumstances and the views of the assembly appeared to alter. in august she is in great distress, caused by a decision of the emperor to remove mercy to the hague. "i am," she writes to the embassador, "in despair at your departure, especially at a moment when affairs are becoming every day more embarrassing and more painful, and when i have therefore the greater need of an attachment as sincere and enlightened as yours. but i feel that all the powers, under different pretexts, will withdraw their ministers one after another. it is impossible to leave them incessantly exposed to this disorder and license; but such is my destiny, and i am forced to endure the horror of it to the very end.[ ]" but a fortnight later she tells madame de polignac that "for some days things have been wearing a better complexion. she can not feel very sanguine, the mischievous folks having such an interest in perverting every thing, and in hindering every thing which, is reasonable, and such means of doing so; but at the moment the number of ill-intentioned people is diminished, or at least the right-thinking of all classes and of all ranks are more united ... you may depend upon it," she adds, "that misfortunes have not diminished my resolution or my courage: i shall not lose any of that; they will only give me more prudence.[ ]" indeed, her own strength of mind, fortitude, and benevolence were the only things in france which were not constantly changing at this time; and she derived one lesson from the continued vicissitudes to which she was exposed, which, if partly grievous, was also in part full of comfort and encouragement to so warm a heart. "it is in moments such as these that one learns to know men, and to see who are truly attached to one, and who are not. i gain every day fresh experiences in this point; sometimes cruel, sometimes pleasant; for i am continually finding that some people are truly and sincerely attached to us, to whom i never gave a thought." another of her old vexations was revived in the renewed jealousy of austrian influence with which the jacobin leaders at this time inspired the mob, and which was so great that, when in the autumn leopold sent the young prince de lichtenstein as his envoy to notify his accession, marie antoinette could only venture to give him a single audience; and, greatly as she enjoyed the opportunity of gathering from him news of vienna and of the old friends of the childhood of whom she still cherished an affectionate recollection, she was yet forced to dismiss him after a few minutes' conversation, and to beg him to accelerate his departure from paris, lest even that short interview should be made a pretext for fresh calumnies. "the kindest thing that any austrian of mark could do for her," she told her brother, "was to keep away from paris at present.[ ]" she would gladly have seen the assembly interest itself a little in the politics of the empire, where leopold's own situation was full of difficulties; but the french had not yet come to consider themselves as justified in interfering in the internal government of other countries. as she describes their feelings to the emperor, "they feel their own individual troubles, but those of their neighbors do not yet affect them; and the names of liberty and despotism are so deeply engraved in their heads, even though they do not clearly define them, that they are everlastingly passing from the love of the former to the dread of the latter;" and then she adds a sketch of her own ideas and expectations, and of the objects which she conceives it her duty to keep in view, in which it is affecting to see that her utter despair of any future happiness for the king and herself in no degree weakens her desire to promote the happiness of the very people who have caused her suffering. "our task is to watch skillfully for the moment when men's heads have returned to proper ideas sufficiently to make them enjoy a reasonable and honest freedom, such as the king has himself always desired for the happiness of his people; but far from that license and anarchy which have precipitated the fairest of kingdoms into all possible miseries. our health continues good, but it would be better if we could only perceive the least gleam of happiness around us; as for ourselves, that is at an end forever, happen what will. i know that it is the duty of a king to suffer for others; and it is one which we are discharging thoroughly." she had indeed at this time sufferings to which it is characteristic of her undaunted courage that she never makes the slightest allusion in her letters. of all the jacobin party, one of the most blood-thirsty was a wretch named marat.[ ] at the very outset of the revolution he had established a newspaper to which he gave the name of _the people's friend_, and the staple topic of which was the desirableness of bloodshed and massacre. he had been exasperated at the receptions given to the royal family at the festival of july; and for some weeks afterward his efforts were directed to inflame the populace to a new riot, in which the king and queen should be dragged into paris from st. cloud, as in they had been dragged in from versailles, and which should end in the murder of the queen, the ministers, and several hundreds of other innocent persons; and his denunciations very nearly bore a part of their intended fruit. the royal family had hardly returned to st. cloud, when a man named rotondo was apprehended in the inner garden, who confessed that he had made his way into it with the express design of assassinating marie antoinette, a design which was only balked by the fortunate accident of a heavy shower which prevented her from leaving the house; and a week or two afterward a second plot was discovered, the contrivers of which designed to poison her. her attendants were greatly alarmed; and her physician furnished madame campan with an antidote for such poisons as seemed most likely to be employed. but marie antoinette herself cared little for such precautions. assassination was not the end which she anticipated. on one occasion, when she found madame campan changing some powdered sugar which, it was suspected, might have been tampered with, she thanked her, and praised m. vicq-d'azyr, the physician by whose instructions madame campan was acting, but told her that she was giving herself needless trouble. "depend upon it," she added, "they will not employ a grain of poison against me. the brinvilliers[ ] do not belong to this age; people now use calumny, which is much more effectual for killing people; and it is by calumny that they will work my destruction.[ ] but even thus, if my death only secures the throne to my son, i shall willingly die." one of the measures which mirabeau strongly urged, and as to which marie antoinette hesitated, balancing the difficulties to which it was not unlikely to give rise against the advantages which were more obvious, was arranged without her intervention. necker had but one panacea for all the ills of a defective constitution or an ill-regulated government--the re-establishment of the finances of the country; and, as public confidence is indispensable to national credit, the troubles of the last year had largely increased the embarrassments of the treasury. he was also but scantily endowed with personal courage. in the denunciations of marat he had not been spared, and by the beginning of september fear had so predominated over every other feeling in his mind that he resolved to quit a country which, as he was not one of her sons, seemed to him to have no such claim on his allegiance that he should imperil his life for her sake. but in carrying out his determination, he exhibited a strange forgetfulness, not only of the respect due to his royal master as king, but also of all the ordinary rules of propriety; for he did not resign his office into the hands of the sovereign from whom he had received it, but he announced his retirement to the assembly, sending the president of the week a letter in which he attributed his reasons for the step partly to his health, which he described as weak, and partly to the "mortal anxieties of his wife, as virtuous as she was dear to his heart." it was hardly to be wondered at that the members present were moved rather to laughter than to sympathy by this sentimental effusion. they took no notice of the letter, and passed to the order of the day; and certainly, if it afforded evidence of his amiable disposition, it supplied proof at least equally strong of the weakness of his character, and of his consequent unfitness for any post of responsibility at such a time. it was more to his credit that he at the same time placed in the treasury a sum of two millions of francs to cover any incorrectness which might be discovered or suspected in his accounts, and any loss which might be sustained from the depreciation of the paper money lately issued under his administration, though not with his approbation. all the rest of his colleagues retired at the same time, except the foreign secretary, m. montmorin. they had recently been attacked with great violence in the assembly by a combination of the most extreme democrats and the most extreme royalists, the latter of whom accused them of having betrayed the royal authority by unworthy accessions. but, though, in the division which had taken place they had been supported by a considerable majority, they feared a repetition of the attack, and resigned their offices; in some degree undoubtedly weakening their royal master by their retirement, since those by whom he found himself compelled to replace them had still less of his confidence. two--duport de tertre, keeper of the seals, and duportail, minister of war--were creatures of la fayette, and the first mentioned was notoriously unfriendly to the queen. two others--lambert, the successor of necker, and fleurieu, the minister of marine--were under the influence of barnave and the jacobins. the only member of the new ministry who was in the least degree acceptable to louis was m. de lessart, the minister of the interior; but he, though loyal in purpose, was of too moderate talents for his appointment to add any real strength to the royal cause. marie antoinette, however, paid but little attention to these ministerial changes; she disregarded them--and her view was not unsound--as but the displacement of one set of weak men by another set equally weak; and she saw, too, that the assembly had established so complete a mastery over the government, that even men of far greater ability and force of character would have been impotent for good. her whole dependence was on mirabeau; and his course at this time was so capricious and erratic that it often caused her more perplexity and alarm than pleasure or confidence. he regarded himself as having a very difficult part to play. he could not conceal from himself that he was no longer able to lead the assembly as he had done at first, except when he was urging it along a road which it desired to take. in spite of one of his most brilliant efforts of eloquence, he had recently been defeated in an endeavor to preserve to the king the right of peace and war; and, to regain his ascendency, he more than once in the course of the autumn supported measures to which the king and queen had the greatest repugnance, and made speeches so inflammatory that even his own friend, la marck, was indignant at his language, and expostulated with him with great earnestness. he justified himself by explaining his view[ ] that no man in the country could at present bring the people back to reasonable notions; that they could only at this moment be governed by flattering their prejudices; that the king must trust to time alone; and that his own sole prospect of being of use to the crown lay in his preservation of his popularity till the favorable moment should arrive, even if, to preserve that popularity, it were necessary for him at times still to appear a supporter of revolutionary principles. it is not impossible that the motives which he thus described did really influence him; but it was not strange that marie antoinette should fail to appreciate such refined subtlety. she had looked forward to his taking a bold, straightforward course in defense of royalist principles; and she could hardly believe in the honesty of a man who for any object whatever could seem to disregard or to despise them. her feelings may be shown by some extracts from one of her letters to the emperor written just after one of mirabeau's most violent outbursts, apparently his speech in support of a motion that the fleet should be ordered to hoist the tricolor flag. "october d, . "we are again fallen back into chaos and all our old distrust. mirabeau had sent the king some notes, a little violent in language, but well argued, on the necessity of preventing the usurpations of the assembly ... when, on a question concerning the fleet, he delivered a speech suited only to a violent demagogue, enough to frighten all honest men. here, again, all our hopes from that quarter are overthrown. the king is indignant, and i am in despair. he has written to one of his friends, in whom i have great confidence, a man of courage and devoted to us, an explanatory letter, which seems to me neither an explanation nor an excuse. the man is a volcano which would set an empire on fire; and we are to trust to him to put out the conflagration which is devouring us. he will have a great deal to do before we can feel confidence in him again. la marck defends mirabeau, and maintains that if at times he breaks away, he is still in reality faithful to the monarchy ... the king will not believe this. he was greatly irritated yesterday. la marck says that he has no doubt that mirabeau thought that he was acting well in speaking as he did, to throw dust in the eyes of the assembly, and so to obtain greater credit when circumstances still more grave should arise. o my god! if we have committed faults, we have sadly expiated them.[ ]" and before the end of the year, the royal cause had fresh difficulties thrown in its way by the perverse and selfish wrongheadedness of the emigrant princes, who were already evincing an inclination to pursue objects of their own, and to disown all obedience to the king, on the plea that he was no longer master of his policy or of his actions. they showed such open disregard of his remonstrances that, in december, as marie antoinette told the emperor, louis had written both to the count d'artois and to the king of sardinia (in whose dominions the count was at the time), that, if his brothers persisted in their designs, "he should be compelled to disavow them peremptorily, and summon all his subjects who were still faithful to him to return to their obedience. she hoped," she said, "that that would make them pause. it seemed certain to her that no one but those on the spot, no one but themselves, could judge what moments and what circumstances were favorable for action, so as to put an end to their own miseries and to those of france. and it will be then," she concludes, "my dear brother, that i shall reckon on your friendship, and that i shall address myself to you with the confidence with which i am inspired by the feelings of your heart, which are well known to me, and by the good-will which you have shown us on all occasions.[ ]" chapter xxix. louis and marie antoinette contemplate foreign intervention.--the assembly passes laws to subordinate the church to the civil power.--insolence of la fayette.--marie antoinette refuses to quit france by herself.--the jacobins and la fayette try to revive the story of the necklace.--marie antoinette with her family.--flight from paris is decided on.--the queen's preparations and views.--an oath to observe the new ecclesiastical constitution is imposed on the clergy.--the king's aunts leave france. the last sentence of the letter just quoted points to a new hope which the king and she had begun to entertain of obtaining aid from foreign princes. as it can hardly have been suggested to them by any other advisers, we may probably attribute the origination of the idea to the queen, who was naturally inclined to rate the influence of the empire highly, and to rely on her brother's zeal to assist her confidently. and louis caught at it, as the only means of extricating him from a religious difficulty which was causing him great distress, and which appeared to him insurmountable by any means which he could command in his own country. as has been already seen, he had had no hesitation in yielding up his own prerogatives, and in making any concessions or surrenders which the assembly required, so long as they touched nothing but his own authority. he had even (which was a far greater sacrifice in his eyes) sanctioned the votes which had deprived the church of its property; but, in the course of the autumn the assembly passed other measures also, which appeared to him absolutely inconsistent with religion. they framed a new ecclesiastical constitution which not only reduced the number of bishops (which, indeed, in france, as in all other roman catholic countries, had been unreasonably excessive), but which also vested the whole patronage of the church in the municipal authorities, and generally subordinated the church to the civil law. and having completed these arrangements, which to a conscientious roman catholic bore the character of sacrilege, they required the whole body of the clergy to accept them, and to take an oath to observe them faithfully. louis was in a great strait. many of the chief prelates appealed to him for protection, which he thought his duty as a christian man bound him to afford them. but the protection which they implored could only be given by refusal of the royal assent to the bill. and he could not disguise from himself that such an exercise of his veto would furnish a pretext to his enemies for more violent denunciations of himself and the queen than had yet been heard. he had also, though his personal safety was at all times very slightly regarded by him, begun to feel himself a prisoner, at the mercy of his enemies. la fayette, as commander-in-chief of the national guard of paris, had the protection of the royal palace intrusted to him; and he availed himself of this charge, not as the guardian of the royal family, but rather as their jailer,[ ] placing his sentries so as to be spies and a restraint upon all their movements, and seeking every opportunity to gain an ignoble popularity by an ostentatious disregard of all their wishes, and of all courtesy, not to say decency, in his behavior to them.[ ] and these considerations led the king, not only to authorize the baron de breteuil, who, as we have seen, had fled from the country in the previous year, to treat with any foreign princes who might he willing to exert themselves in his cause, but even to write, with his own hand, to the principal sovereigns, informing them that "in spite of his acceptance of the constitution, the factious portion of his subjects openly manifested their intention of destroying the monarchy," and suggesting the idea of "an armed congress of the principal powers of europe, supported by an armed force, as the best measure to arrest the progress of factions, to re-establish order in france, and to prevent the evils which were devouring his country from seizing on the other states of europe.[ ]" the historians of the democratic party have denounced with great severity the conduct of louis in thus appealing to foreign aid, as a proof that, in spite of his acceptance of the constitution, he was meditating a counter- revolution. the whole tenor of his and the queen's correspondence proves that this charge is groundless; but it is equally certain that it was an impolitic step, one wholly opposed to every idea of constitutional principles, of which the very foundation must always be perfect freedom from foreign influence, and from foreign connection in the internal government of the country. fortunately, his secret was well kept, so that no knowledge of this step reached the leaders of the popular party; and, however great may have been the queen's secret anxieties and fears, she kept them bravely to herself, displaying outwardly a serenity and a patience which won the admiration of all those who, in foreign countries, were watching the course of events in france with interest.[ ] when she wept, she wept by herself. her one comfort was that her children were always with her; and though the dauphin could only witness without understanding her grief, "remarking on one occasion, when in one of his childish books he met the expression 'as happy as a queen,' that all queens are not happy, for his mamma wept from morning till night." her daughter was old enough to enter into her sorrows; and, as she writes to madame de polignac, mingles her own tears with hers. she had also the society of her sister-in-law elizabeth, whom she had learned to love with an affection which could not be exceeded even by that which she bore her own sister, and which was cordially returned. she tells madame de polignac that elizabeth's calmness is one great relief and support to them all; and elizabeth can not find adequate words to express to one of her correspondents her admiration for the queen's "piety and resignation, which alone enable her to bear up against troubles such as no one before has ever known." but amidst all her grief she cherishes hope--hope that the people (the "good people," as she invariably terms them) will return to their senses; and her other habitual feeling of benevolence, though she can now only exert it in forming projects for conferring further benefits on them when tranquillity should be restored. the feeling shows itself even in letters which have no reference to her own position. there had been discontent and signs of insurrection in the netherlands which mercy's recent letters led her to believe were passing away; and her congratulations to her brother on this peaceful result dwell on the happiness "which it is to be able to pardon one's subjects without shedding one drop of blood, of which sovereigns are bound to be always careful.[ ]" her brother, and many of her friends in france, were at this time pressing her to quit the country, professing to believe that if her enemies knew that she was out of their reach, they would be less vehement in their hostility to the king; but she felt that such a course would be both unworthy of her, as timid and selfish, and in every way injurious rather than beneficial to her husband. it could not save his authority, which was what the jacobins made it their first object to destroy; and it would deprive him of the support of her affection and advice, which he constantly needed. "pardon me, i beg of you," she replied to leopold, "if i continue to reject your advice to leave paris. consider that i do not belong to myself. my duty is to remain where providence has placed me, and to oppose my body, if the necessity should arise, to the knives of the assassins who would fain reach the king. i should be unworthy of the name of our mother, which is as dear to you as to me, if danger could make me desert the king and my children.[ ]" we have seen that marie antoinette dreaded calumny more than the knife or poison of the assassin; and there could hardly have been a greater proof how well founded her apprehensions were, and how unscrupulous her enemies, than is afforded by the fact that, in the latter part of this year, they actually brought back madame la mothe to paris with the purpose of making a demand for a re-investigation of the whole story of the fraud on the jeweler--a pretense for reviving the libelous stories to the disparagement of the queen, the utter falsehood and absurdity of which had been demonstrated to the satisfaction of the whole world four years before. nor was it wholly a jacobin plot. la fayette himself was, to a certain extent, an accomplice in it. as commander of the national guard of the city, it was his duty to apprehend one who was an escaped convict; but instead of doing so he preferred identifying himself with her, and on one occasion had what mirabeau rightly called the inconceivable insolence to threaten the queen with a divorce on the ground of unfaithfulness to her husband. she treated his insinuations with the dignity which became herself, and the scorn which they and their utterers deserved; and he found that his conduct had created such general disgust among all people who made the slightest pretense to decency, that he feared to lose his popularity if he did not disconnect himself from the plotters. accordingly, he separated himself from the lady, though he still forbore to arrest her, and for some time confined himself to his old course of heaping on the royal family these petty annoyances and insults, which he could inflict with impunity because they were unobserved except by his victims. it is remarkable, however, that mirabeau, who held him in a contempt which, however deserved, had in it some touch of rivalry and envy, believed that the queen was not really so much the object of his animosity as the king. in his eyes "all the manoeuvres of la fayette were so many attacks on the queen; and his attacks on the queen were so many steps to bring him within reach of the king. it was the king whom he really wanted to strike; and he saw that the individual safety of one of the royal pair was as inseparable from that of the other as the king was from his crown.[ ]" and this opinion of mirabeau is strongly corroborated by the count de la marck, who, a few weeks later, had occasion to go to alsace, and who took great pains to ascertain the general state of public feeling in the districts through which he passed. during his absence he was in constant correspondence with those whom he had left behind, and he reports with great satisfaction that in no part of the country had he found the very slightest ill-feeling toward the queen. it was in paris alone that the different libels against her were forged, and there alone that they found acceptance; and, manifestly referring to the projected departure from paris, he expresses his firm conviction that the moment that she is at liberty, and able to show herself in the provinces, she will win the confidence of all classes.[ ] however greatly mirabeau would, on other grounds, have preferred personal intercourse with the court, he thought that his power of usefulness depended so entirely on his connection with it being unsuspected, that he did not think it prudent to solicit interviews with the queen. but he kept up a constant communication with the court, sometimes by notes and elaborate memorials, addressed indeed to louis, but intended for marie antoinette's perusal and consideration; and sometimes by conversations with la marck, which the count was expected to repeat to her. but, in all the counsels thus given, the thing most to be remarked is the high opinion which they invariably display of the queen's resolution and ability. every thing depends on her; it is from her alone that he wishes to receive instructions; it is her resolution that must supply the deficiencies of all around her. when he urges that a line of conduct should be adopted calculated to render their majesties more popular; that they should show themselves more in public; that they should walk in the most frequented places; that they should visit the hospitals, the artisans' workshops, and make themselves friends by acts of charity and generosity, it is to her that he looks to carry out his suggestions, and to her affability and presence of mind that he trusts for the success which is to result from them;[ ] and la marck is equally convinced that "her ability and resolution are equal to the conduct of affairs of the first importance." meantime her health continued good. it showed her strength of mind that she never intermitted the recreations which contributed to her strength, about which she was especially anxious, that she might at all times be ready to act on any emergency; but rode with elizabeth with great regularity in the bois de boulogne, even in the depth of the winter; and, while watching with her habitual vigilance of affection over the education of her children, she found a pleasant relaxation for herself in providing them with amusement also; often arranging parties, to which other children of the same age were invited, and finding amusement herself from watching their gambols in the long corridor of the tuileries, their blindman's-buff and hide-and-seek.[ ] the new year opened with grave plans for their extrication from their troubles--plans requiring the utmost forethought, ingenuity, and secrecy to bring them to a successful issue; and also with fresh injuries and insults from the assembly and the municipal authorities, which every week made the necessity of promptitude in carrying such plans out more manifest. mirabeau, as we have seen, had from the very first recommended that the king and his family should withdraw from paris. in his eyes such a step was the indispensable preliminary to all other measures; and some of the earliest of the queen's letters in show that the resolution to leave the turbulent city had at last been taken. but though what he recommended was to be done, it was not to be done as he recommended; yet there was a manliness about the course of action which he proposed which would of itself have won the queen's preference, if she had not been forced to consider not what was best and fittest, but what it was most easy to induce him on whom the final choice must impend, the king, to adopt. mirabeau advised that the king should depart publicly, in open day, "like a king," as he expressed himself,[ ] and he affirmed his conviction that it would in all probability be quite unnecessary to remove farther than compiègne; but that the moment that it should be known that the king was out of paris, petitions demanding the re-establishment of order would flock in from every quarter of the kingdom, and public opinion, which was for the most part royalist, would compel the assembly to modify the constitution which it had framed, or, if it should prove refractory, would support the king in dissolving it and convoking another. but this was too bold a step for louis to decide on. he anticipated that the assembly or the mob might endeavor to prevent such a movement by force, which could only be repelled by force; and force he was resolved never to employ. the only alternative was to flee secretly; and in the course of january, mercy learns that that plan has been adopted, and that compiègne is not considered sufficiently distant from paris, but that some fortified place will be selected; valenciennes being the most likely, as he himself imagined, since, if farther flight should become necessary, it would be easy from thence to cross the frontier into the belgian dominions of the queen's brother. but if valenciennes had ever been thought of, it was rejected on that very account; for louis had learned from english history that the withdrawal of james ii. from his kingdom had been alleged as one reason for declaring the throne vacant; and he was resolved not to give his enemies any plea for passing a similar resolution with respect to himself. valenciennes was so celebrated as a frontier town, that the mere fact of his fixing himself there might easily be represented as an evidence of his intention to quit the kingdom. but there was a small town of considerable strength named montmédy, in the district under the command of the marquis de bouillé, which afforded all the advantages of valenciennes, and did not appear equally liable to the same objections. montmédy, therefore, was fixed upon; and, in the very first week of february, marie antoinette announced the decision to mercy; and began her own preparations by sending him a jewel-case full of those diamonds which were her private property. she explained to him at considerable length the reasons which had dictated the choice. the very smallness of montmédy was in itself a recommendation, since it would prevent any one from thinking it likely to be selected as a refuge. it was also so near luxembourg that, in the present temper of the nation, which regarded the austrian power with "a panic fear," any addition which m. de bouillé might make to either the garrison or to his supplies would seem only a wise precaution against the much-dreaded foreigner. moreover, the troops in that district were among the most loyal and well-disposed in the whole army; and if the king should find it unsafe to remain long at montmédy, he would have a trustworthy escort to retreat to alsace. she also explained the reasons which had led them to decide on quitting paris secretly by night. if they started in the daytime, it would be necessary to have detachments of troops planted at different spots on their road to protect them. but m. de bouillé could not rely on all his own regiments for such a service, and still less on the national guards in the different towns; while to bring up fresh forces from distant quarters would attract attention, and awaken suspicions beforehand which might be fatal to the enterprise. montmédy, therefore, had been decided on, and the plans were already so far settled that she could tell mercy that they should take madame de tourzel with them, and travel in one single carriage, which they had never been seen to use before. their preparations had even gone beyond these details, minute as they were. the king was already collecting materials for a manifesto which he designed to publish the moment that he found himself safely out of paris. it would explain the reasons for his flight; it would declare an amnesty to the people in general, to whom it would impute no worse fault than that of being misled (none being excepted but the chief leaders of the disloyal factions; the city of paris, unless it should at once return to its ancient tranquillity; and any persons or bodies who might persist in remaining in arms). to the nation in general the manifesto would breathe nothing but affection. the parliaments would be re-established, but only as judicial tribunals, which should have no pretense to meddle with the affairs of administration or finance. in short, the king and she had determined to take his declaration of the d of june[ ] as the basis of the constitution, with such modifications as subsequent circumstances might have suggested. religion would be one of the matters placed in the foreground. so sanguine were they, or rather was she, of success, that she had even taken into consideration the principles on which future ministries should be constituted; and here for the first time she speaks of herself as chiefly concerned in planning the future arrangements. "in private we occupy ourselves with discussing the very difficult choice which we shall have to make of the persons whom we shall desire to call around us when we are at liberty. i think that it will be best to place a single man at the head of affairs, as m. maurepas was formerly; and if it be settled in this way, the king would thus escape having to transact business with each individual minister separately, and affairs would proceed more uniformly and more steadily. tell me what you think of this idea. the fit man is not easy to find, and the more i look for him, the greater inconveniences do i see in all that occur to me." she proceeds to discuss foreign affairs, the probable views and future conduct of almost every power in europe--of holland, prussia, spain, sweden, england; still showing the lingering jealousy which she entertained of the british government, which she suspected of wishing to detach the chivalrous gustavus from the alliance of france by the offer of a subsidy. but she is sanguine that, "though some may he glad to see the influence of france diminished, no wise statesman in any country can desire her ruin or dismemberment. what is going on in france would be an example too dangerous to other countries, if it were left unpunished. their cause is the cause of all kings, and not a simple political difficulty.[ ]" the whole letter is a most remarkable one, and fully bears out the eulogies which all who had an opportunity of judging pronounced on her ability. but the most striking reflection which it suggests is with what admirable sagacity the whole of the arrangements for the flight of the royal family had been concerted, and with what judgment the agents had been chosen, since, though the enterprise was not attempted till more than four months after this letter was written, the secret was kept through the whole of that time without the slightest hint of it having been given, or the slightest suspicion of it having been conceived, by the most watchful or the most malignant of the king's enemies. yet during the winter and early spring the conduct of the jacobin party in the assembly, and of the parisian mob whom they were keeping in a constant state of excitement, increased in violence; while one occurrence which took place was, in mirabeau's opinion, especially calculated to prompt a suspicion of the king's intentions. louis had at, last, and with extreme reluctance, sanctioned, the bill which required the clergy to take an oath to comply with the new ecclesiastical arrangements, in the vain hope that the framers of it would be content with their triumph, and would forbear to enforce it by fixing any precise date for administering the oath. but, at the end of january, barnave obtained from the assembly a decree that it should be taken within twenty-four hours, under the penalty of deprivation of all their preferments to all who should refuse it; the clerical members of the assembly were even threatened by the mob in the galleries with instant death if they declined or even delayed to swear. and as very few of any rank complied, the main body of the clergy was instantly stripped of all their appointments and reduced to beggary, and a large proportion of them fled at once from the kingdom. those who took the oath, and who in consequence were appointed to the offices thus vacated, were immediately condemned and denounced by the pope; and the consequence was that a great number of their flocks fled with their old priests, not being able to reconcile to their consciences to stay and receive the sacrament and rites of the church from ministers under the ban of its head. among those who thus fled were the king's two aunts, the princesses adelaide and victoire. bigotry was their only virtue; and they determined to seek shelter in rome. louis highly disapproved of the step, which, as mirabeau,[ ] in a very elaborate and forcible memorial which he drew up and submitted to him, pointed out, might be very dangerous for the king and queen as well as for themselves, since it could be easily represented by the evil-minded as a certain proof that they also were designing to flee. and he even recommended that louis should formally notify to the assembly that he disapproved of his aunts' journey, and should make it a pretext for demanding a law which should give him the power of regulating the movements of the members of his family. the flight of the princesses, however, did not, as it turned out, cause any inconvenience to the king or queen, though it did endanger themselves; for, though they were furnished with passports, the municipal authorities tried to stop them at moret; and at arnay-le-duc the mob unharnessed their horses and detained them by force they appealed to the assembly by letter; alexander lameth, on this occasion uniting with the most violent jacobins, was not ashamed to move that orders should be dispatched to send them back to paris: but the body of the assembly had not yet descended to the baseness of warring with women; and mirabeau, who treated the proposal as ridiculous, and overwhelmed the mover with his wit, had no difficulty in procuring an order that the fugitives, "two princesses of advanced age and timorous consciences," as he called them, should be allowed to proceed on their journey. chapter xxx. the mob attacks the castle at vincennes.--la fayette saves it.--he insults the nobles who come to protect the king.--perverseness of the count d'artois and the emigrants.--mirabeau dies.--general sorrow for his death.--he would probably not have been able to arrest the revolution.-- the mob prevent the king from visiting st. cloud.--the assembly passes a vote to forbid him to go more than twenty leagues from paris. the mob, however, was more completely under jacobin influence; and, at the end of february, santerre collected his ruffians for a fresh tumult; the object now being the destruction of the old castle of vincennes, which for some time had been almost unoccupied. la fayette, whose object at this time was apparently regulated by a desire to make all parties acknowledge his influence, in a momentary fit of resolution marched a body of his national guard down to save the old fortress, in which he succeeded, though not without much difficulty, and even some danger. he found he had greatly miscalculated his influence, not only over the populace, but over his own soldiers. the rioters fired on him, wounding some of his staff; and at first many of the soldiers refused to act against the people. his officers, however, full of indignation, easily quelled the spirit of mutiny; and, when subordination was restored, proposed to the general to follow up his success by marching at once back into the city and seizing the jacobin demagogues who had caused the riot. there was little doubt that the great majority of the citizens, in their fear of santerre and his gang, would joyfully have supported him in such a measure; but la fayette's resolution was never very consistent nor very durable. he became terrified, not, indeed, so much at the risk to his life which he had incurred, as at the symptom that to resist the mob might cost him his popularity; and to appease those whom he might have offended, he proceeded to insult the king. a report had got abroad, which was not improbably well founded, that louis's life had been in danger, and that an assassin had been detected while endeavoring to make his way into the tuileries; and the report had reached a number of nobles, among whom d'esprémesnil, once so vehement a leader of the opposition in parliament, was conspicuous, who at once hastened to the palace to defend their sovereign. it was not strange that he and marie antoinette should receive them graciously; they had not of late been used to such warm-hearted and prompt displays of attachment. but the national guards who were on duty were jealous of the cordial and honorable reception which those nobles met with; they declared that to them alone belonged the task of defending the king; though they took so little care to perform it that they had allowed a gang of drunken desperadoes to get possession of the outer court of the palace, where they were menacing all aristocrats with death. louis became alarmed for the safety of his friends, and begged them to lay aside their arms; and they had hardly done so when la fayette arrived. he knew that the mob was exasperated with him for his repression of their outrages in the morning, and that some of his soldiers had not been well pleased at being compelled to act against the rioters. so now, to recover their good-will, he handed over the weapons of the nobles, which were only pistols, rapiers, and daggers, to the national guard; and after reproaching d'esprémesnil and his companions for interfering with the duties of his troops, he drove them down the stairs, unarmed and defenseless as they were, among the drunken and infuriated mob. they were hooted and ill-treated; but not only did he make no attempt to protect them, but the next day he offered them a gratuitous insult by the publication of a general order, addressed to his own national guard, in which he stigmatized their conduct as indecent, their professed zeal as suspicious, and enjoined all the officials of the palace to take care that such persons were not admitted in future. "the king of the constitution," he said, "ought to be surrounded by no defenders but the soldiers of liberty." marie antoinette had good reason to speak as she did the next week to mercy; though we can hardly fail to remark, as a singular proof of the strength of her political prejudices, and of the degree in which she allowed them to blind her to the objects and the worth of the few honest or able men whom the assembly contained, that she still regards the constitutionalists as only one degree less unfavorable to the king's legitimate authority than the jacobins. and we shall hereafter see that to this mistaken estimate she adhered almost to the end. "mischief," she says, "is making progress so rapid that there is reason to fear a speedy explosion, which can not fail to be dangerous to us, if we ourselves do not guide it there is no middle way; either we must remain under the sword of the factions, and consequently be reduced to nothing, if they get the upper hand, or we must submit to be fettered under the despotism of men who profess to be well-intentioned, but who always have done, and always will do us harm. this is what is before us, and perhaps the moment is nearer than we think, if we can not ourselves take a decided line, or lead men's opinions by our own vigor and energetic action. what i here say is not dictated by any exaggerated notions, nor by any disgust at our position, nor by any restless desire to be doing something. i perfectly feel all the dangers and risks to which we are exposed at this moment. but i see that all around us affairs are so full of terror that it is better to perish in trying to save ourselves than to allow ourselves to be utterly crushed in a state of absolute inaction.[ ]" and she held the same language to her brother, the emperor, assuring him that "the king and herself were both convinced of the necessity of acting with prudence, but there were cases in which dilatoriness might ruin every thing; and that the factious and disloyal were prosecuting their objects with such celerity, aiming at nothing less than the utter subversion of the kingly power, that it would be extremely dangerous not to offer a resistance to their plans.[ ]" and referring to her project of foreign aid, she reported to him that she had promises of assistance from both spain and switzerland, if they could depend on the co-operation of the empire. and still the emigrant princes were adding to her perplexity by their perverseness. she wrote herself to the count d'artois to expostulate with him, and to entreat him "not to abandon himself to projects of which the success, to say the least, was doubtful, and which would expose himself to danger without the possibility of serving the king.[ ]" no description of the relative influence of the king and queen at this time can be so forcible as the fact that it was she who conducted all the correspondence of the court, even with the king's brothers. but her remonstrances had no influence. we may not impute to the king's brothers any intention to injure him; but unhappily they had both not only a mean idea of his capacity, but a very high one, much worse founded, of their own; and full of self-confidence and self-conceit, they took their own line, perfectly regardless of the suspicions to which their perverse and untractable conduct exposed the king, carrying their obstinacy so far that it was not without difficulty, that the emperor himself, though they were in his dominions, was able to restrain their machinations. meanwhile, the queen was steadily carrying on the necessary arrangements for flight. money had to be provided, for which trustworthy agents were negotiating in switzerland and holland, while some the emperor might be expected to furnish. mirabeau marked out for himself what he regarded as a most important share in the enterprise, undertaking to defend and justify their departure to the assembly, and nothing doubting that he should be able to bring over the majority of the members to his view of that subject, as he had before prevailed upon them to sanction the journey of the princesses. but in the first days of april all the hopes of success which had been founded on his cooperation and support were suddenly extinguished by his death. though he had hardly entered upon middle age, a constant course of excess had made him an old man before his time. in the latter part of march he was attacked by an illness which his physicians soon pronounced mortal, and on the d of april he died. he had borne the approach of death with firmness, professing to regret it more for the sake of his country than for his own. he was leaving behind him no one, as he affirmed, who would he able to arrest the revolution as he could have done; and there can be no doubt that the great bulk of the nation did place confidence in his power to offer effectual resistance to the designs of the jacobins. the various parties in the state showed this feeling equally by the different manner in which they received the intelligence. the court and the royalists openly lamented him. the jacobins, the followers of lameth, and the partisans of the duke of orleans, exhibited the most indecent exultation.[ ] but the citizens of paris mourned for him, apparently, without reference to party views. they took no heed of the opposition with which he had of late often defeated the plots of the leaders whom they had followed to riot and treason. they cast aside all recollection of the denunciations of him as a friend to the court with which the streets had lately rung. in their eyes he was the personification of the revolution as a whole; to him, as they viewed his career for the last two years, they owed the independence of the assembly, the destruction of the bastile, and of all other abuses; and through him they doubted not still to obtain every thing that was necessary for the completion of their freedom. his remains were treated with honors never before paid to a subject. he lay in state; he had a public funeral. his body was laid in the great church of st. geneviève, which, the very day before, had been renamed the pantheon, and appropriated as a cemetery for such of her illustrious sons as france might hereafter think worthy of the national gratitude. yet, though his great confidant and panegyrist, m. dumont,[ ] has devoted an elaborate argument to prove that he had not overestimated his power to influence the future; and though the russian embassador, m. simolin, a diplomatist of extreme acuteness, seems to imply the same opinion by his pithy saying that "he ought to have lived two years longer, or died two years earlier," we can hardly agree with them. la marck, as has been seen, even when first opening the negotiation for his connection with the court, doubted whether he would be able to undo the mischief which he had acquiesced in, measures not of reform nor of reconstruction, but of total abolition and destruction, are in their very nature irrevocable and irremediable. the nobility was gone; he had not resisted its suppression. the church was gone; he had himself been among the foremost of its assailants. how, even if he had wished it, could he have undone these acts? and if he could not, how, without those indispensable pillars and supports, could any monarchy endure? that he was now fully alive to the magnitude of the dangers which encompassed both throne and people, and that he would have labored vigorously to avert them, we may do him the justice to believe. but it seems not so probable that he would have succeeded, as that he would have added one more to the list of these politicians who, having allowed their own selfish aims to carry them beyond the limits of prudence and justice, have afterward found it impossible to retrace their steps, but have learned to their shame and sorrow that their rashness has but led to the disappointment of their hopes, the permanent downfall of their own reputations, and the ruin of what they would gladly have defended and preserved. and, on the whole, it is well that from time to time such lessons should be impressed upon the world. it is well that men of lofty genius and pure patriotism should learn, equally with the most shallow empiric or the most self-seeking demagogue, that false steps in politics can rarely be retraced; that concessions once made can seldom, if ever, be recalled, but are usually the stepping-stones to others still more extensive; that what it would have been easy to preserve, it is commonly impossible to repair or to restore. he had been laid in the grave only a fortnight, when, as if on purpose to show how utterly defenseless the king now was, the jacobins excited the mob and the assembly to inflict greater insults on him than had been offered even by the attack on versailles, or by any previous vote. as easter, which was unusually late this year, approached, louis became anxious to spend a short time in tranquillity and holy meditation; and, since the tumultuousness of the city was not very favorable for such a purpose, he resolved to pass a fortnight at st. cloud. but when he was preparing to set out, a furious mob seized the horses and unharnessed them; the national guards united with the rioters, refusing to obey la fayette's orders to clear the way for the royal carriage, and the king and queen were compelled to dismount and to return to their apartments; while, a day or two afterward, the assembly came to a vote which seemed as if designed for an express sanction of this outrage, and which ordained that the king should not be permitted ever to move more than twenty leagues from paris. of all the decrees which it had yet enacted, this, in some sense, may be regarded as the most monstrous. it was not only passing a penal sentence on the royal family such as in no country or age any but convicted criminals had even been subjected to, but it was an insult and an injury to every part of the kingdom except the capital, which, by an intolerable assumption, it treated as if it were the whole of france. joseph, as has been seen, had wisely pointed out to his brother-in-law that it was one, and no unimportant part, of a sovereign's duty to visit the different provinces and chief cities of his kingdom, and louis had in one instance acted on his advice. we have seen how gladly he was received by the citizens of cherbourg, and what advantages they promised themselves from his having thus made himself personally acquainted with their situation and wants and prospects; and we can not doubt that other towns and cities shared this feeling, nor that it was well founded, and that the acquisition by a king of a personal knowledge of the resources and capabilities and interests of the great cities, of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, is a benefit to the whole community; but of this every province and every city but paris was now to be deprived. it was to be an offense to visit rouen, or lyons, or bordeaux; to examine riquet's canal or vauban's fortifications. the king was the only person in the kingdom to whom liberty of movement was to be denied; and the peasants of every province, and the citizens of every other town, were to be refused for a single day the presence of their sovereign, whom the parisians thus claimed a right to keep as a prisoner in their own district. it is hardly strange that such open attacks on their liberty made a deeper impression on the queen, and even on the phlegmatic disposition of the king, than any previous act of violence, or that it increased their eagerness to escape with as little delay as possible. indeed, the queen regarded the public welfare as equally concerned with their own in their safe establishment in some town to which they should also be able to remove the assembly, so that that body as well as themselves should be protected from the fatal influence of the clubs of paris, and of the populace which was under the dominion of the clubs.[ ] accordingly, on the th of april, she writes to the emperor[ ] that "the occurrence which has just taken place has confirmed them more than ever in their plans. the very guards who surrounded them are the persons who threaten them most. their very lives are not safe; but they must appear to submit to every thing till the moment comes when they can act; and in the mean time their captivity proves that none of their actions are done by their own accord." and she urges her brother at once to move a strong body of troops toward some of his fortresses on the belgian frontier--arlon, vitron, or mons--in order to give m. de bouillé a pretext for collecting troops and munitions of war at montmédy. "send me an immediate answer on this point; let me know, too, about the money; our position is frightful, and we must absolutely put an end to it next month. the king desires it even more than i do." as may proceeds she presses on her preparations, and urges the emperor to accelerate his, especially the movements of his troops; but the count d'artois and his followers are a terrible addition to her anxieties. leopold had told her that the ancient minister, calonne, always restless and always unscrupulous, was now with the count, and was busily stirring him up to undertake some enterprise or other;[ ] and her reply shows how justly she dreads the results of such an alliance. "the prince, the count d'artois, and all those whom they have about them, seem determined to be doing something. they have no proper means of action, and they will ruin us, without our having the slightest connection with their plans. their indiscretion, and the men who are guiding them, will prevent our communicating our secret to them till the very last moment." to mercy she is even more explicit in her description of the imminence of the danger to which the king and she are now exposed than she had been to her brother. as the time for attempting to escape grew nearer, the embassador became the more painfully impressed with the danger of the attempt. failure, as it seems to him, will be absolutely fatal. he asks her anxiously whether the necessity is such that it has become indispensable to risk such a result;[ ] and she, in an answer of considerable length and admirable clearness of expression and argument, explains her reasons for deciding that it is absolutely unavoidable: "the only alternative for us, especially since the th of april,[ ] is either blindly to submit to all that the factions require, or to perish by the sword which is forever suspended over our heads. believe me, i am not exaggerating the danger; you know that my notion used to be, as long as i could cherish it, to trust to gentleness, to time, and to public opinion. but now all is changed, and we must either perish or take the only line which remains to us. we are far from shutting our eyes to the fact that this line also has its perils; but, if we must die, it will be at least with glory, and in having done all that we could for our duty, for honor, and for religion.... i believe that the provinces are less corrupted than the capital; but it is always paris which gives the tone to the whole kingdom. we should greatly deceive ourselves if we fancied that the events of the th of april, horrible as they were, produced any excitement in the provinces. the clubs and the affiliations lead france where they please; the right-thinking people, and those who are dissatisfied with what is taking place, either flee from the country or hide themselves, because they are not the stronger party, and because they have no rallying-point. but when the king can show himself freely in a fortified place, people will be astonished to see the number of dissatisfied people who will then come forward, who, till that time, are groaning in silence; but the longer we delay, the less support we shall have.... "let us resume. you ask two questions: st. is it possible or useful to wait? no; by the explanation of our position which i gave at the beginning of this letter, i have sufficiently proved the impossibility.... as to the usefulness, it could only be useful on the supposition that we could count on a new legislative body.... d. admitting the necessity of acting promptly, are we sure of means to escape; of a place to retreat to, and of having a party strong enough to maintain itself for two months by its own resources? i have answered this question several times. it is more than probable that the king, once escaped from here, and in a place of safety, will have, and will very soon find, a very strong party. the means of escape depend on a flight the most immediate and the most secret. there are only four persons who are acquainted with our secret; and those whom we mean to take with us will not know it till the very moment. none of our own people will attend us; and at a distance of only thirty or thirty-five leagues we shall find some troops to protect our march, but not enough to cause us to be recognized till we reach the place of our destination. "....i can easily conceive the repugnance which, on political grounds, the emperor would feel to allowing his troops to enter france.... but if their movement is solicited by his brother-in-law, his ally, whose life, existence, and honor are in danger, i conceive the case is very different; and as to brabant, that province will never be quiet till this country is brought back to a different state. it is, then, for himself also that my brother will be working in giving us this assistance, which is so much the more valuable to us, that his troops will serve as an example to ours, and will even be able to restrain them. "and it is with this view that the person[ ] of whom i spoke to you in my letter in cipher demands their employment for a time ... we can not delay longer than the end of this month. by that time i hope we shall have a decisive answer from spain. but till the very instant of our departure we must do everything that is required of us, and even appear to go to meet them. it is one way, perhaps the only one, to lull the mob to sleep and to save our lives." chapter xxxi. plans for the escape of the royal family.--dangers of discovery.-- resolution of the queen.--the royal family leave the palace.--they are recognized at ste. menehould.--are arrested at varennes.--tumult in the city, and in the assembly.--the king and queen are brought back to paris. marie antoinette, as we have seen, had been anxious that their departure from paris should not be delayed beyond the end of may, and de bouillé had agreed with her; but enterprises of so complicated a character can rarely be executed with the rapidity or punctuality that is desired, and it was not till the th of june that this movement, on which so much depended, was able to be put in execution. often during the preceding weeks the queen's heart sunk within her when she reflected on the danger of discovery, whether from the acuteness of her enemies or the treachery of pretended friends; and even more when she pondered on the character of the king himself, so singularly unfitted for an undertaking in which it was not the passive courage with which he was amply endowed, but daring resolution, promptitude, and presence of mind, which were requisite. she was cheered, however, by repeated letters from the emperor, showing the warm and affectionate interest which he took in the result of the enterprise, and promising with evident sincerity "his own most cordial co-operation in all that could tend to her and her husband's success, when the time should come for him to show himself." but her main reliance was on herself; and all who were privy to the enterprise knew well that it was on her forethought and courage that its success wholly depended. those who were privy to it were very few; and it is a singular proof how few frenchmen, even of the highest rank, could be trusted at this time, that of these few two were foreigners--a swede, the count de fersen, whose name has been mentioned in earlier chapters of this narrative, and (an english writer may be proud to add) an englishman, mr. craufurd. in such undertakings the simplest arrangements are the safest; and those devised by the queen and her advisers, the chief of whom were de fersen and de bouillé, were as simple as possible. the royal fugitives were to pass for a traveling party of foreigners. a passport signed by m. montmorin, who still held the seals of the foreign department, was provided for madame de tourzel, who, assuming the name of madame de korff, a russian baroness, professed to be returning to her own country with her family and her ordinary equipage. the dauphin and his sister were described as her children, the queen as their governess; while the king himself, under the name of durand, was to pass as their servant. three of the old disbanded body-guard, mm. de valory, de malden, and de moustier, were to attend the party in the disguise of couriers; and, under the pretense of providing for the safe conveyance of a large sum of money which was required for the payment of the troops, de bouillé undertook to post a detachment of soldiers at each town between châlons and montmédy, through which the travelers were to pass. some of the other arrangements were more difficult, as more likely to lead to a betrayal of the design. it was, of course, impossible to use any royal carriage, and no ordinary vehicle was large enough to hold such a party. but in the preceding year de fersen had had a carriage of unusual dimensions built for some friends in the south of europe, so that he had no difficulty now in procuring another of similar pattern from the same maker; and mr. craufurd agreed to receive it into his stables, and at the proper hour to convey it outside the barrier. yet in spite of the care displayed in these arrangements, and of the absolute fidelity observed by all to whom the secret was intrusted, some of the inferior attendants about the court suspected what was in agitation. the queen herself, with some degree of imprudence, sent away a large package to brussels; one of her waiting-women discovered that she and madame campan had spent an evening in packing up jewels, and sent warning to gouvion, an aid-de-camp of la fayette, and to bailly, the mayor, that the queen at last was preparing to flee. luckily bailly had received so many similar notices that he paid but little attention to this; or perhaps he was already beginning to feel the repentance, which he afterward exhibited, at his former insolence to his sovereign, and was not unwilling to contribute to their safety by his inaction; while gouvion was not anxious to reveal the source from which he had obtained his intelligence. still, though nothing precise was known, the attention of more than one person was awakened to the movements of the royal family, and especially that of la fayette, who, alarmed lest his prisoners should escape him, redoubled his vigilance, driving down to the palace every night, and often visiting them in their apartments to make himself certain of their presence. six hundred of the national guard were on duty at the tuileries, and sentinels were placed at the end of every passage and at the foot of every staircase; but fortunately a small room, with a secret door which led into the queen's chamber, as it had been for some time unoccupied, had escaped the observation of the officers on guard, and that passage therefore offered a prospect of their being able to reach the courtyard without being perceived.[ ] on the morning of the day appointed for the great enterprise, all in the secret were vividly excited except the queen. she alone preserved her coolness. no one could have guessed from her demeanor that she was on the point of embarking in an undertaking on which, in her belief, her own life and the lives of all those dearest to her depended. the children, who knew nothing of what was going on, went to their usual occupations--the dauphin to his garden on the terrace, madame royale to her lessons; and marie antoinette herself, after giving some orders which were to be executed in the course of the next day or two, went out riding with her sister-in-law in the bois de boulogne. her conversation throughout the day was light and cheerful. she jested with the officer on guard about the reports which she understood to be in circulation about some intended flight of the king, and was relieved to find that he totally disbelieved them. she even ventured on the same jest with la fayette himself, who replied, in his usual surly fashion, that such a project was constantly talked of; but even his rudeness could not discompose her. as the hour drew near she began to prepare her children. the princess was old enough to be talked to reasonably, and she contented herself, therefore, with warning her to show no surprise at any thing that she might see or hear. the dauphin was to be disguised as a girl, and it was with great glee that he let the attendants dress him, saying that he saw that they were going to act a play. the royal supper usually took place soon after nine; at half-past ten the family separated for the night, and by eleven their attendants were all dismissed; and marie antoinette had fixed that hour for departing, because, even if the sentinels should get a glimpse of them, they would be apt to confound them with the crowd which usually quit the palace at that time. accordingly, at eleven o'clock the count de fersen, dressed as a coachman, drove an ordinary job-carriage into the court-yard; and marie antoinette, who trusted nothing to others which she could do herself, conducted madame de tourzel and the children down-stairs, and seated them safely in the carriage. but even her nerves nearly gave way when la fayette's coach, brilliantly lighted, drove by, passing close to her as he proceeded to the inner court to ascertain from the guard that every thing was in its usual condition. in an agony of fright she sheltered herself behind some pillars, and in a few minutes the marquis drove back, and she rejoined the king, who was awaiting her summons in his own apartment, while one of the disguised body-guards went for the princess elizabeth. even the children were inspired with their mother's courage. as the princess got into the carriage she trod on the dauphin, who was lying in concealment at the bottom, and the brave boy spoke not a word; while louis himself gave a remarkable proof how, in spite of the want of moral and political resolution which had brought such miseries on himself and his country, he could yet preserve in the most critical moments his presence of mind and kind consideration for others. he was half way down-stairs when he returned to his room. m. valory, who was escorting him, was dismayed when he saw him turn back, and ventured to remind him how precious was every instant. "i know that," replied the kind-hearted monarch; "but they will murder my servant to-morrow for having aided my escape;" and, sitting down at his table, he wrote a few lines declaring that the man had acted under his peremptory orders, and gave the note to him as a certificate to protect him from accusation. when all the rest were seated, the queen took her place. de fersen drove them to the porte st. martin, where the great traveling-carriage was waiting, and, having transferred them to it, and taken a respectful leave of them, he fled at once to brussels, which, more fortunate than those for whom he had risked his life, he reached in safety. for a hundred miles the royal fugitives proceeded rapidly and without interruption. one of the supposed couriers was on the box, another rode by the side of the carriage, and the third went on in advance to see that the relays were in readiness. before midday they reached châlons, the place where they were to be met by the first detachment of de bouillé's troops; and, when the well-known uniforms met her eye, marie antoinette for the first time gave full expression to her feelings. "thank god, we are saved!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands; the fervor of her exclamation bearing undesigned testimony to the greatness of the fears which, out of consideration for others, she had hitherto kept to herself; but in truth out of this employment of the troops arose all their subsequent disasters. de bouillé had been unwilling to send his detachments so far forward, pointing out that the notice which their arrival in the different towns was sure to attract would do more harm than their presence as a protection could do good. but his argument had been overruled by the king himself, who apprehended the greatest danger from the chance of being overtaken, and expected it, therefore, to increase with every hour of the journey. de bouillé's fears, however, were found to be the best justified by the event. in more than one town, even in the few hours that had elapsed since the arrival of the soldiers, there had been quarrels between them and the towns-people; in others, which was still worse, the populace had made friends with them and seduced them from their loyalty, so that the officers in command had found it necessary to withdraw them altogether; and anxiety at their unexpected absence caused louis more than once to show himself at the carriage window. more than once he was recognized by people who knew him and kept his counsel; but drouet, the postmaster at ste. menehould, a town about one hundred and seventy miles from paris, was of a less loyal disposition. he had lately been in the capital, where he had become infected with the jacobin doctrines. he too saw the king's face, and on comparing his somewhat striking features with the stamp on some public documents which he chanced to have in his pocket, became convinced of his identity. he at once reported to the magistrates what he had seen, and with their sanction rode forward to the next town, clermont, hoping to be able to collect a force sufficient to stop the royal carriage on its arrival there. but the king traveled so fast that he had quit clermont before drouet reached it, and he even arrived at varennes before his pursuer. had he quit that place also he would have been in safety, for just beyond it de bouillé had posted a strong division which would have been able to defy all resistance. but varennes, a town on the oise, was so small as to have no post-house, and by some mismanagement the royal party had not been informed at which end of the town they were to find the relay. the carriage halted while m. valory was making the necessary inquiries; and, while it was standing still, drouet rode up and forbade the postilions to proceed. he himself hastened on through the town, collected a few of the towns-people, and with their aid upset a cart or two on the bridge to block up the way; and, having thus made the road impassable, he roused the municipal authorities, for it was nearly midnight, and then, returning to the royal carriage, he compelled the royal family to dismount and follow him to the house of the mayor, a petty grocer, whose name was strausse. the magistrates sounded the tocsin: the national guard beat to arms: the king and queen were prisoners. how they were allowed to remain so is still, after all the explanations that have been given, incomprehensible. two officers with sixty hussars, all well disposed and loyal, were in a side street of the town waiting for their arrival, of which they were not aware. six of the troopers actually passed the travelers in the street as they were proceeding to the mayor's house, but no one, not even the queen, appealed to them for succor; or they could have released them without an effort, for drouet's whole party consisted of no more than eight unarmed men. and when, an hour afterward, the officers in command learned that the king was in the town in the hands of his enemies, instead of at once delivering him, they were seized with a panic: they would not take on themselves the responsibility of acting without express orders, but galloped back to de bouillé to report the state of affairs. in less than an hour three more detachments, amounting in all to above one hundred men, also reached the town; and their commanders did make their way to the king, and asked his orders. he could only reply that he was a prisoner, and had no orders to give; and not one of the officers had the sense to perceive that the fact of his announcing himself a prisoner was in itself an order to deliver him. one word of command from louis to clear the way for him at the sword's point would yet have been sufficient; but he had still the same invincible repugnance as ever to allow blood to be shed in his quarrel. he preferred peaceful means, which could not but fail. with a dignity arising from his entire personal fearlessness, he announced his name and rank, his reasons for quitting paris and proceeding to montmédy; declaring that he had no thought of quitting the kingdom, and demanded to be allowed to proceed on his journey. while the queen, her fears for her children overpowering all other feelings, addressed herself with the most earnest entreaties to the mayor's wife, declaring that their very lives would be in danger if they should be taken back to paris, and imploring her to use her influence with her husband to allow them to proceed. neither strausse nor his wife was ill-disposed toward the king, but had not the courage to comply with the request of the royal couple whom, after a little time, the mayor and his wife could not have allowed to proceed, however much they might have wished it; for the tocsin had brought up numbers of the national guard, who were all disloyal; while some of the soldiers began to show a disinclination to act against them. and so matters stood for some hours; a crowd of towns-people, peasants, national guards, and dragoons thronging the room; the king at times speaking quietly to his captors; the queen weeping, for the fatigue of the journey, and the fearful disappointment at being thus baffled at the last moment, after she had thought that all danger was passed, had broken down even her nerves. at first she had tried to persuade louis to act with resolution; but when, as usual, she failed, she gave way to despair, and sat silent, with touching, helpless sorrow, gazing on her children, who had fallen asleep. at seven o'clock on the morning of the d a single horseman rode into the town. he was an aid-de-camp of la fayette. on the morning of the st the excitement had been great in paris when it became known that the king had fled. the mob rose in furious tumult. they forced their way into the tuileries, plundering the palace and destroying the furniture. a fruit-woman took possession of the queen's bed, as a stall to range her cherries on, saying that to-day it was the turn of the nation; and a picture of the king was torn down from the walls, and, after being stuck up in derision outside the gates for some time, was offered for sale to the highest bidder.[ ] in the assembly the most violent language was used. an officer whose name has been preserved through the eminence which after his death was attained by his widow and his children, general beauharnais, was the president; and as such, he announced that m. bailly had reported to him that the enemies of the nation had carried off the king. the whole assembly was roused to fury at the idea of his having escaped from their power. a decree was at once drawn up in form, commanding that louis should be seized wherever he could be found, and brought back to paris. no one could pretend that the assembly had the slightest right to issue such an order; but la fayette, with the alacrity which he always displayed when any insult was to be offered to the king or queen, at once sent it off by his own aid-de-camp, m. romeuf, with instructions to see that it was carried out the order was now delivered to strausse; the king, with scarcely an attempt at resistance, declared his willingness to obey it; and before eight o'clock he and his family, with their faithful body-guard, now in undisguised captivity, were traveling back to paris. when was there ever a journey so miserable as that which now brought its sovereigns back to that disloyal and hostile city! the national guard of varennes, and of other towns through which they passed, claimed a right to accompany them; and as they were all infantry, the speed of the carriage was limited to their walking pace. so slowly did the procession advance, that it was not till the fourth day that it reached the barrier; and, in many places on the road, a mob had collected in expectation of their arrival, and aggravated the misery of their situation by ferocious threats addressed to the queen, and even to the little dauphin. but at châlons they were received with respect by the municipal authorities; the hôtel de ville had been prepared for their reception: a supper had been provided. the queen was even entreated to allow some of the principal ladies of the city to be presented to her; and, as the next day was the great roman catholic festival of the fête dieu, they were escorted with all honor to hear mass in the cathedral, before they resumed their journey. even the national guard were not all hostile or insolent. at Épernay, though a menacing crowd surrounded the carriage as they dismounted, the commanding officer took up the dauphin in his arms to carry him in safety to the door of the hotel; comforting the queen at the same time with a loyal whisper well suited to her feelings, "despise this clamor, madame; there is a god above all." but, miserable as their journey was, soon after leaving châlons it became more wretched still. they were no longer to be allowed the privilege of suffering and grieving by themselves. the assembly had sent three of its members to take charge of them, selecting, as might have been expected, two who were known as among their bitterest enemies--barnave, and a man named pétion; the third, m. latour maubourg, was a plain soldier, who might be depended on for carrying out his orders with resolution. in one respect those who made the choice were disappointed. barnave, whose hostility to the king and queen had been chiefly dictated by personal feelings, was entirely converted by the dignified resignation of the queen, and from this day renounced his republicanism; and, though he adhered to what were known as constitutionalist views, was ever afterward a zealous advocate of both the monarch and the monarchy. but pétion took every opportunity of insulting louis, haranguing him on the future abolition of royalty, and reproaching him for many of his actions, and for what he believed to be his feelings and views for the future. it was the afternoon of the th when they came in sight of paris. so great had been marie antoinette's mental sufferings that in those few days her hair had turned white; and fresh and studied humiliations were yet in store for her. the carriage was not allowed to take the shortest road, but was conducted some miles round, that it might be led in triumph down the champs Élysées, where a vast mob was waiting to feast their eyes on the spectacle, whose display of sullen ill-will had been bespoken by a notice prohibiting any one from taking off his hat to the king, or uttering a cheer. the national guard were forbidden to present arms to him; and it seemed as if they interpreted this order as a prohibition also against using them in his defense; for, as the carriage approached the palace, a gang of desperate ruffians, some of whom were recognized as among the most ferocious of the former assailants of versailles, forced their way through their ranks, pressed up against the carriage, and even mounted on the steps. barnave and latour maubourg, fearing that they intended to break open the doors, placed themselves against them; but they contented themselves with looking in at the window, and uttering sanguinary threats. marie antoinette became alarmed--not for herself, but for her children. they had so closed up every avenue of air that those within were nearly stifled, and the youngest, of course, suffered most. she let down a glass, and appealed to those who were crowding round: "for the love of god," she exclaimed, "retire; my children are choking!" "we will soon choke you," was the only reply they vouchsafed to her. at last, however, la fayette came up with an armed escort, and they were driven off; but they still followed the carriage up to the very gate of the palace with yells of insult. and it had a stranger follower still: behind the royal carriage came an open cabriolet, in which sat drouet, with a laurel crown on his head,[ ] as if the chief object of the procession wore to celebrate his triumph over his king. the mob was even hoping to add to its impressiveness by the slaughter of some immediate victims--not of the king and queen, for they believed them to be destined to public execution; but they were eager to massacre the faithful body-guards, who had been brought back, bound, on the box of the carriage; and they would undoubtedly have carried out their bloody purpose had not the queen remembered them, and, as she was dismounting, entreated barnave and la fayette to protect them. though during the last three days many things had had their names altered,[ ] the tuileries had been spared. it was still in name a royal palace, but those who now entered it knew it for their prison. the sun was setting, the emblem of the extinction of their royalty, as they ascended the stairs to find such rest as they might, and to ponder in privacy for this one night over their fatal disappointment, and their still more fatal future. yet, though their return was full of ignominy and wretchedness, though their home had become a prison, the only exit from which was to be the scaffold, still, if posthumous renown can compensate for miseries endured in this life; if it be worth while to purchase, even by the most terrible and protracted sufferings, an undying, unfading memory of the most admirable virtues--of fidelity, of truth, of patience, of resignation, of disinterestedness, of fortitude, of all the qualities which most ennoble and sanctify the heart--it may be said, now that her agonies have long been terminated, and that she has been long at rest, that it was well for marie antoinette that she had failed to reach montmédy, and that she had thus fallen again, without having to reproach herself in any single particular, into the hands of her enemies. as a prisoner to the basest of mankind, as victim to the most ferocious monsters that have ever disgraced humanity, she has ever commanded, and she will never cease to command, the sympathy and admiration of every generous mind. but the case would have been widely different had louis and she found the refuge which they sought with the loyal and brave de bouillé. their arrival in his camp could not have failed to be a signal for civil war; and civil war, under such circumstances as those of france at that time, could have had but one termination--their defeat, dethronement, and expulsion from the country. in a foreign land they might, indeed, have found security, but they would have enjoyed but little happiness. wherever he may be, the life of a deposed and exiled sovereign must be one of ceaseless mortification. the greatest of the italian poets has well said that the recollection of former happiness is the bitterest aggravation of present misery; and not only to the fugitive monarch himself, but to those who still preserve their fidelity to him, and to the foreign people to whom he is indebted for his asylum, the recollection of his former greatness will ever be at hand to add still further bitterness to his present humiliation. the most friendly feeling his misfortunes can ever excite is a contemptuous pity, such as noble and proud minds must find it harder to endure than the utmost virulence of hatred and enmity. from such a fate, at least, marie antoinette was saved. during the remainder of her life her failure did indeed condemn her to a protraction of trial and agony such as no other woman has ever endured; but she always prized honor far above life, and it also opened to her an immortality of glory such as no other woman has ever achieved. chapter xxxii. marie antoinette's feelings on her return.--she sees hopes of improvement.--the th of july.--the assembly inquire into the king's conduct on leaving paris.--they resolve that there is no reason for taking proceedings.--excitement in foreign countries.--the assembly proceeds to complete the constitution.--it declares all the members incapable of election to the new assembly.--letters of marie antoinette to the emperor and to mercy.--the declaration of pilnitz.--the king accepts the constitution.--insults offered to him at the festival of the champ de mars.--and to the queen at the theatre.--the first or constituent assembly is dissolved. it was eminently characteristic of marie antoinette that her very first act, the morning after her return, was to write to de fersen, to inform him that she was safe and well in health; but though she had roused herself for that effort of gratitude and courteous kindness, for some days she seemed stupefied by grief and disappointment, and unable to speak or think for a single moment of any thing but the narrow chance which had crushed her hopes, and changed success, when it had seemed to be secured, into ruin; and, if ever she could for a moment drive the feeling from her mind, her enemies took care to force it back upon her every hour. before they reached the tuileries, la fayette had obtained from the assembly authority to place guards wherever he might think fit; and no jailer ever took more rigorous precautions for the safe-keeping of the most desperate criminals than this man of noble birth, but most ignoble heart[ ], now practiced toward his king and queen. sentinels were placed along every passage of the palace, and, that they might have their prisoners constantly in sight, the door of every room was kept open day and night. the queen was not allowed even to close her bed-chamber, and a soldier was placed so as at all times to command a sight of the whole room; the only moment that the door was permitted to be shut being a short period each morning while she was dressing. but after a time she rallied, and even began again to think the future not wholly desperate. she always looked at the most promising side of affairs, and the first shock of the anguish felt at varennes had scarcely passed away, when, with irrepressible sanguineness, she began to look around her and search for some foundation on which to build fresh hopes. she even thought that she had found it in the divisions which were becoming daily more conspicuous in the assembly itself. she had yet to learn that at such times violence always overpowers moderation, and that the worse men are, the more certain are they to obtain the upper hand. the divisions among her enemies were indeed so furious as to justify at one time the expectation that one party would destroy the other. the jacobins summoned a vast meeting, whose members they fixed beforehand at a hundred thousand citizens, to meet on sunday, the th of july, to petition the assembly to dethrone the king. on the appointed day, long before the hour fixed for the meeting, a fierce riot took place, the causes and even the circumstances of which have never been clearly ascertained, but which soon became marked with scenes of extraordinary violence. la fayette, who tried to crush it in the bud, was pelted and fired at. bailly hung out the red flag, the token of martial law being proclaimed, at the hôtel de ville, the mob pelted the national guard. the national guard, too much exasperated and alarmed to obey la fayette's order to fire over the people's heads, at one volley shot down a hundred of the rioters. the jacobin leaders fled in alarm. robespierre, who had been one of the chief organizers of the tumult, being also one of the basest of cowards, was the most terrified of all, and fled for shelter to his admirer, of congenial spirit, madame roland, whose protection he afterward repaid by sending her to the scaffold. the riot was quelled, and the officers of the national guard urged la fayette to take advantage of the opportunity, and lead them on to close by force the club of the jacobins, and another of equal ferocity, known as the cordeliers[ ], lately founded by the fiercest of the jacobins, danton, and a butcher named legendre, who boasted of his ferocity as his only title to interfere in the government. if he had been honest in his professions of a desire to save the monarchy, la fayette would have adopted their advice, for it had already become plain to every one that the existence of these clubs was incompatible with the preservation of the kingly authority; but his imbecile love of popularity made him fear to offend even such a body of miscreants as the followers of danton and robespierre, and he professed to believe that he had given them a sufficient lesson, and had so convinced them of his power to crush them that they would be grateful to him for sparing them, and learn to act with more moderation in future. the decision of the assembly also on the question, of the king's conduct in leaving paris was not without its encouragement to one of the queen's disposition. she herself had been interrogated by commissioners appointed by the assembly to inquire into the circumstances connected with the transaction, and her statement has been preserved. with her habitual anxiety to conceal from others the king's incapacity and want of resolution, she represented herself as acting wholly under his orders. "i declare," said she, "that as the king desired to quit paris with his children, it would have been unnatural for me to allow any thing to prevent me from accompanying him. during the last two years, i have sufficiently proved, on several occasions, that i should never leave him; and what in this instance determined me most was the assurance which i felt that he would never wish to quit the kingdom. if he had had such a desire, all my influence would have been exerted to dissuade him from such a purpose[ ]." and she proceeded further to exculpate all their attendants. she declared that madame de tourzel, who had been ill for some weeks, had never received her orders till the very day of the departure. she knew not whither she was going, and had taken no luggage, so that the queen herself had been forced to lend her some clothes. the three body-guards were equally ignorant, and the waiting-women. though it was true, she said, that the count and countess de provence had gone to flanders, they had only taken that course to avoid interfering with the relays which were required by the king, and had intended to rejoin him at montmédy. the king's own statement tallied with hers in every respect, though it was naturally more explicit as to his motives and intentions; and his innocence of purpose was so irresistibly demonstrated, that, though robespierre, in the most sanguinary speech which, he had ever yet uttered, demanded that he should be brought to trial, not concealing his desire that it should end in his condemnation; and though pétion, and a wretch named buzot, a warm admirer and intimate friend of madame roland, demanded his deposition and the proclamation of a republic, barnave had no difficulty in carrying the assembly with him in opposition to their violence; and it was finally resolved that nothing which had happened furnished grounds for taking proceedings against any member of the royal family. it was ordered at the same time that de bouillé should be arrested and impeached; but when he found that nothing could be effected for the deliverance of the king, he had fled across the frontiers, and was safe from their malice. meanwhile, the unconstitutional and unprecedented violence which had been offered to the king naturally created the greatest excitement and indignation in all foreign countries. a month before the late expedition, the emperor had addressed a formal note to m. montmorin, as secretary of state, declaring that he would regard any ill-treatment of his sister as an injury done to himself;[ ] and now[ ] the chivalrous gustavus of sweden proposed to address to the assembly a joint letter of warning from all the sovereigns of europe, to declare that they would all make common cause with the king of france if any attempt were made to offer him further violence. but even the austrian ministers regarded such a declaration as more likely to aggravate than to diminish the dangers of those whom it was designed to serve; and the queen herself preferred waiting for a time, to see the result of the strife between the rival parties in the assembly. the assembly was at this time fully occupied with the completion of the constitution, a work for which it had but little time left, since its own duration had been fixed at two years, which would expire in september; and also with the consideration of a question concerning the composition of the next assembly which had been lately brought forward, and on which the queen was unfortunately misled into using her influence to procure a decision which was undoubtedly, in its eventual consequences, as disastrous to the king's fortunes as it was irreconcilable with common sense. robespierre brought forward a resolution that no members of the existing assembly should be eligible for a seat in that by which it was to be replaced. it was in reality a resolution to exclude from the new assembly not only every one who had any parliamentary or legislative experience, but also all the adherents or friends of the throne, and to place the coming elections wholly in the power of the jacobins. robespierre was willing to be excluded himself from a conviction, that, with such an assembly as would surely be returned, the jacobin club would practically exercise all the power of the state. but the constitutional party, who saw that it was aimed at them, opposed it with great vigor; and would probably have been able to defeat it if the royalist members who still retained their seats would have consented to join them. unhappily the queen took the opposite view. with far more acuteness, penetration, and fertility of imagination than are usually given to women, or to men either, she had still in some degree the defect common to her sex, of being prone to confine her views to one side of a question; and to overrule her reason by her feelings and prejudices. though she acknowledged the service which barnave had rendered by defeating those who had wished to bring the king and herself to trial, she, nevertheless, still regarded the constitutionalists in general with deep distrust as the party which desired to lower, and had lowered, the authority and dignity of the throne; and, viewing the whole assembly with not unnatural antipathy, she fancied that one composed wholly of new members could not possibly be, more unfriendly to the king's person and government, and might probably be far better disposed toward them. she easily brought the king to adopt her views, and exerted the whole of her influence to secure the passing of the decree, sending agents to canvass those deputies who were opposed to it. with the royalist members, the extreme right, her voice was law, and, by the unnatural union of them and the jacobins, the resolution was carried. it is the more singular that she should have been willing thus, as it were, to proscribe the members of the present assembly, because, in a very remarkable letter which she wrote to her brother the emperor at the end of july, she founds the hopes for the future, which she expresses with a degree of sanguineness which can hardly fail to be thought strange when the events of june are remembered, on the conduct of the assembly itself. the letter is too long to quote at full length, but a few extracts from it will help us in our task of forming a proper estimate of her character, from the unreserved exposition which it contains of her feelings, both past and present, with her views and hopes for the future, even while she keenly appreciates the difficulties of the king's position; and from the unabated eagerness for the welfare of france which it displays in every reflection and suggestion. that she still considers the imperial alliance of great importance to the welfare of both nations will surprise no one. the suspension of the royal authority which the assembly had decreed on the th of june had been removed on the decision that the king was not to be proceeded against. yet her first sentence shows that she was still subjected to cruel and lawless tyranny, which even hindered her correspondence with her own relations. a queen might have expected to be able to write in security to another sovereign; a sister to a brother; but la fayette and those in authority regarded the rights of neither royalty nor kindred. "a friend, my dear brother, has undertaken to convey this letter to you, for i myself have no means of giving you news of my health. i will not enter into details of what preceded our departure. you have already known all the reasons for it. during the events which befell us on our journey, and in the situation in which we were immediately after our return to paris, i was profoundly distressed. after i recovered from the first shock of the agitation which they produced, i set myself to work to reflect on what i had seen; and i have endeavored to form a clear idea of what, in the actual state of affairs, the king's interests are, and what the conduct is which they prescribe to me. my ideas have been formed by a combination of motives which i will proceed to explain to you. "...the situation of affairs here has greatly changed since our journey. the national assembly was divided into a multitude of parties. far from order being re-established, every day seemed to diminish the power of the law. the king, deprived of all authority, did not even see any possibility of recovering it on the completion of the constitution through the influence of the assembly, since that body itself was every day losing more the respect of the people. in short, it was impossible to see any end to disorder. "to-day, circumstances present much more hope. the men who have the greatest influence in affairs are united together, and have openly declared for the preservation of the monarchy and the king, and for the re-establishment of order. since their union, the efforts of the seditious have been defeated by a great superiority of strength. the assembly has acquired a consistency and an authority in every part of the kingdom, which it seems disposed to use to establish the observance of the laws and to put an end to the revolution. at this moment the most moderate men, who have never ceased to be opposed to revolutionary acts, are uniting, because they see in union the only prospect of enjoying in safety what the revolution has left them, and of putting an end to the troubles of which they dread the continuance. in short, every thing seems at this moment to contribute to put an end to the agitations and commotions to which france has been given over for the last two years. this termination of them, however, natural and possible as it is, will not give the government the degree of force and authority which i regard as necessary; but it will preserve us from greater misfortunes; it will place us in a situation of greater tranquillity, and, when men's minds have recovered from their present intoxication, perhaps they will see the usefulness of giving the royal authority a greater range. "this, in the course which matters are now taking, is what one can foresee for the future, and i compare this result with what we could promise ourselves from a line of conduct opposed to the wishes which the nation displays. in that ease i see an absolute impossibility of obtaining any thing except by the employment of a superior force; and on this last supposition i will say nothing of the personal dangers which the king, my son, and i myself may have to encounter. but what could be the consequences but some enterprise, the issue of which is uncertain, and the ultimate result of which, whatever it might be, presents disasters such as one can not endure to contemplate? the army is in a bad state from want of leaders and of subordination; but the kingdom is full of armed men, and their imagination is so inflamed that it is impossible to foresee what they might do, and the number of victims who might be sacrificed.... it is impossible, when one sees what is going on here, to calculate what might be the effects of their despair. i only see, in the events which might arise out of such an attempt, but very doubtful prospects of success, and the certainty of great miseries for every one.... "if the revolution should be terminated in the manner of which i have spoken, then it will be important that the king shall acquire, in a solid manner, the confidence and consideration which alone can give a real strength to the royal authority. no means are so well calculated to procure them for him as the influence which we might have over one of your resolutions[ ] which would contribute to insure peace to france, and to dispel disquietude, which are so much the more grievous for the whole world, that they are among the principal obstacles to the re-establishment of public tranquillity. the share which in that way we should have in the termination of these troubles would win over to us all men of moderate temper, while the others, especially the chiefs of the revolution, would attach themselves to us because of the sincere and efficacious inclination which we should have shown to conduct matters to the end, which they all wish for. your own interests seem to me also to have a place in this system of conduct. the national assembly, before separating, will desire, in concert with the king, to determine the alliances to which france is to continue attached; and the power of europe which shall be the first to recognize the constitution, after it has been accepted by the king, will undoubtedly be the one with which the assembly will be inclined to form the closest alliance; and to these general views i might add the means which i myself have to dispose men's minds to maintain this alliance-- means which will be extremely strengthened, if you share my view of the present circumstances. "i can not doubt that the chiefs of the revolution, who have supported the king in the last crisis, will be desirous to assure to him the consideration and respect necessary to the exercise of his authority, and that they will see in a close alliance of france with that power with which he is connected by ties of blood, a means of combining his dignity with the interests of the nation, and in that way of consolidating and strengthening a constitution of which they all agree that the majesty of the king is one essential foundation. "i do not know if, independently of all other reasons, the king will not find in that feeling and in the inclinations of the nation, when it has recovered its calmness, more deference, and a temper more favorable to him, than he could expect from the majority of those frenchmen who are at present out of the kingdom.[ ]" and a letter which she wrote to mercy a fortnight later is perhaps even more worthy of attention, as supplying abundant proof, if proof were needed, of the good-will and good faith which were the leading principles of herself and the king in all their dealings with the assembly. since her letter to her brother, matters had been proceeding rapidly. she had found some means of treating more directly than on any previous occasion, not only with barnave, but with the far more unscrupulous a. lameth; and the assembly had made such progress in completing the constitution that it was on the point of submitting it to the king for his acceptance. we have seen in marie antoinette's letter to the emperor that she was convinced of the necessity of louis signifying that acceptance, and she adhered to that view of the policy to be pursued, though the last touches given to the constitution had rendered many of its articles far more unreasonable than she had anticipated, and though the great english statesman, burke, whose "reflections" of the preceding year had naturally caused him to be regarded as one of the ablest advisers on whom she could rely, forwarded to her an earnest exhortation to induce her husband to reject it. he implored her "to have nothing to do with traitors." using the argument which, to one so sensitive for her honor as marie antoinette, was well calculated to exert an almost irresistible influence over her mind, he declared that "her resolution at this most critical moment was to decide whether her glory was to be maintained, and her distresses to cease, or whether" (and he begged pardon for ever mentioning such an alternative) "shame and affliction were to be her portion for the rest of her life;" and he declared that "if the king should accept the constitution, both king and queen were ruined forever." the great writer was, as in more than one other instance of his career, too earnest in his conviction that principles were at stake in the course which he recommended, to consider whether that course were safe for those on whom he urged it, or even practicable. but marie antoinette, as one on whose decision the very lives of her husband and her child might depend, felt bound to consider, in the first place, how far her adoption of the advice thus tendered might endanger both; and, accordingly, while expressing to mercy the full extent of her repugnance to the system of government, if indeed it deserved the name of a system, which the new constitution had framed, she shows that her disapproval of it has in no degree led her to change her mind on the practical question of the course which the king should pursue. she justifies her decision to mercy in a most elaborate letter, in which the whole position is surveyed with admirable good sense.[ ] "our position is this: we are now on the point of having the constitution brought to us for acceptance. it is in itself so monstrous that it is impossible that it should be long maintained. but, in the position in which we are, can we risk refusing it? no; and i will prove it to you. i am not speaking of the personal dangers which we should run. we have fully shown by the journey which we undertook two months ago that we do not take our own safety into account when the public welfare is at stake. but this constitution is so intrinsically bad that it can only acquire consistence from any resistance which we might oppose to it. our business, therefore, is to take a middle course, which may save our honor, and may put us in such a position that the people may come back to us when once their eyes are opened, and they have become weary of the existing state of affairs. i think also that it is necessary that, when they have presented the act to the king, he should keep it by him a few days; for he is not supposed to know what it is till it has been presented to him in all legal form; and that then he should summon the commissioners before him, not to make any comments, not to demand any alterations, which perhaps might not be admitted, and which would be interpreted as an admission that he approved of the basis, but to declare that his opinions are not changed; that, in his declaration of the th of june,[ ] he proved the absolute impossibility of governing under the new system, and that he is still of the same mind; but that, for the sake of the tranquillity of his country, he sacrifices himself; and that, as his people and the nation stake their happiness on his accepting it, he does not hesitate to signify that acceptance; and that the sight of their happiness will speedily make him forget the cruel and bitter griefs which they have inflicted on him and on his family. "but if we take this line we must adhere to it; and, above all things, we must avoid any step which can create distrust, and we must move on, so to say, always with the law in our hand. i promise you that this is the best way to give them an early disgust at the constitution. the mischief is, that for this we shall want an able and a trustworthy ministry.... several people urge us to reject the act, and the king's brothers press upon him every day that it is indispensable to do so, and affirm that we shall be supported. by whom?" and she proceeds to examine the situation and policy of spain, of the empire of england, and of prussia, to prove that from none of them is there any hope of active aid, while to trust to the emigrants would be the worst expedient of all, because "we should then fall into a new slavery worse than the first, since, while we should appear to be in some degree indebted to them, we should not be able to extricate ourselves from their toils. they already prove this when they refuse to listen to the persons who are in our confidence, on the pretext that they do not trust them, while they seek to force us to give ourselves up to m. de calonne, who, i fear, in all that he does is guided by nothing but his own ambition, his private enmities, and his habitual levity, thinking every thing he wishes not only possible, but already done. "... one circumstance worthy of remark is that in all these discussions on the constitution the people take no interest, and concern themselves solely about their own affairs, limiting their wishes to having a constitution and getting rid of the aristocrats... as to our acceptance of the constitution, it is impossible for any thinking being to avoid seeing that we are not free. but it is essential that we should not awaken a suspicion of our feelings in the monsters who surround us. let me know where the emperor's forces are and what is their present position. in every case the foreign powers can alone save us. the army is lost. there is no money. there is no bond, no curb which can restrain the populace, which is everywhere armed. even the chiefs of the revolution, when they wish to speak of order, are not listened to. this is the deplorable condition in which we are placed. add that we have not a single friend-- that every one betrays us, some out of hatred, others out of weakness or ambition. in short, i actually am reduced to dread the day when they will have the appearance of giving us a kind of freedom. at least, in the state of nullity in which we are at present, no one can reproach us.... you know the character of the person with whom i have to do.[ ] at the last moment, when one seems to have convinced him, an argument, a word, will make him change his mind before any one suspects it. this is the reason why many expedients can not be even attempted." on the st she hears that the charter will be presented at the end of the week, and she repeats her fears that the conduct of the emigrants may involve them in fresh troubles. "it is essential that the french, and most especially the brothers of the king, should keep in the background, and allow the foreign princes to act by themselves. but no entreaty, no argument from us will induce them to do so. the emperor must insist upon it. it is the only way in which he can serve us. you know yourself the mischievous wrong-headedness and evil designs of the emigrants. the cowards! after having abandoned us, they seek to make us expose ourselves alone to danger, and serve nothing but their interests. i do not accuse the king's brothers; i believe their hearts and their intentions to be pure, but they are surrounded and guided by ambitious men who will ruin them after having first ruined us." ... on the th she hears that it will still be a week before the constitution is brought to the king. "it is impossible, considering our position, that the king should refuse to accept it. you may depend upon this being true, since i say it. you know my character sufficiently to be sure that it would incline me rather to a noble and bold course. we have no resource but in the foreign powers. they must come to our assistance; but it is the emperor who must put himself at the head of every thing, and manage every thing.... i declare to you that matters are now come to such a state that it would be better to be king of a single province than of a kingdom so abandoned and disordered as this. i shall endeavor, if i can, to send the emperor information on all these matters. but, in the mean time, do you tell him all that you consider necessary to prove to him that we have no longer any resource except in him, and that our happiness, our existence, and that of my child depend on him alone, and on his prudence and promptitude in action.[ ]" and, however she from time to time caught at momentary hopes arising from other sources, the only one on which she placed any permanent reliance were the affection and power of her brother; and that hope, in the course of the winter, was cut from under her by his death.[ ] yet so correct was her judgment and appreciation of sound political principles, or, perhaps we might say, so keen was her sense of what was due to the independence and dignity of france, in spite of its present disloyalty, that a report that the emperor and prussia had, by implication, claimed a right to dictate to france in matters of her internal government drew from her a warm remonstrance. as sovereign and brother she conceived that leopold had a right to interfere to insure the safety of his own sister and of a brother sovereign; but she never desired him to interpose for any other object. from her childhood, as we have seen more than once, she had learned to regard the prussian character and prussian designs with abhorrence. and in a letter to mercy of the th of september, after expressing an earnest hope that the emperor will not allow himself to be guided by "the cunning of calonne, and the detestable policy of prussia," she adds, "it is said here that in the agreement signed at pilnitz,[ ] the two powers engage never to permit the new french constitution to be established. there certainly are things which foreign powers have a right to oppose, but, as to what concerns the internal laws of a country, every nation has a right to adopt those which suit it. they would be wrong, therefore, to intervene in such a matter; and all the world would see in such an act a proof of the intrigues of the emigrants.[ ]" she proceeds to tell him that all is settled. the king had adopted the line which she had marked out for him in her former letter. the constitution had been presented to him on the d of september. he had taken a few days to consider it, not with the idea of proposing the slightest alteration, but in order to avoid the appearance of acting under compulsion; and, on the same day on which she wrote to mercy, he was drawing up a letter to the assembly, to announce his intention of visiting the assembly to give it his royal assent in due form. but, though she would not have had him act otherwise, she can not announce this apparent termination of the contest without some natural expressions of grief and indignation. "at last the die is cast. all that we have now to do is to regulate the future progress and conduct of affairs as circumstances may permit. i only wish that others would regulate their conduct by mine. but even in our own inner circle we have great difficulties and great conflicts. pity me: i assure you that it requires more courage to support the condition in which i am placed than to encounter a pitched battle. and the more so that i do not deceive myself, and that i see nothing but misery in the want of energy shown by some, and the evil designs of others. my god! is it possible that, endowed as i am with force of character, and feeling as i do so thoroughly the blood which runs in my veins, i should yet be destined to pass my days in such an age and with such men! but, for all this, never believe that my courage is deserting me. not for my own sake, but for the sake of my child, i will support myself, and i will fulfill to the end my long and painful career, i can no longer see what i am writing. farewell.[ ]" tears, we may suppose, were blinding her eyes, in spite of all her fortitude. there was no exaggeration in her declaration to the empress catherine of russia, with whom at this time she was in frequent communication, that the "distrust which was shown by all around them was a moral and continual death, a thousand times worse than that physical death which was a release from all miseries.[ ]" and in the same letter she explains that to remove this distrust was one principal object which the king and she had in view in all their measures. yet, in spite of all his concessions, the week was not to pass without fresh insults being offered to the king, which shocked even his phlegmatic apathy. the letter which he sent to the assembly to announce his compliance with its wishes was indeed received with acclamations which, if not sincere, were at least loud, and apparently unanimous; and, as if in reply to it, la fayette proposed and carried a motion that the assembly should pass an act of amnesty for all political offenses; and a magnificent festival was appointed to be held in the champ de mars on the following sunday, in celebration of the joyful event. but, after the first brief excitement had passed away, the jacobin faction recovered its ascendency, and contrived to make that very festival, which was designed to express the gratitude of the nation, an occasion of further humiliation to the unhappy louis. every arrangement for the day was discussed in a spirit of the bitterest disloyalty. when the question was raised, which in any other assembly that ever met in the world would have been thought needless, what attitude the members were to preserve while the king was taking the prescribed oath to observe the constitution, a hundred voices shouted out that they should all keep their seats, and that the king should swear, standing and bare-headed; and when one deputy of high reputation, m. malouet, remonstrated against such a vote, arguing that so to treat the chief of the state would be a greater insult to the nation than even to himself, a deputy from brittany cried out that m. malouet and those who thought with him might receive louis on their knees, if they liked, but that the rest of the assembly should be seated. and, in accordance with the feeling thus shown, every mark of respect was studiously withheld from the unhappy monarch, and every care was taken to show him that every deputy considered himself his equal. two chairs exactly similar were provided for him and for the president; and when, after taking the oath and affixing his signature to the act, the king resumed his seat, the president, who, having to reply to him in a short address, had at first risen for that purpose, on seeing that louis retained his seat, sat down beside him, and finished his speech in that position. louis felt the affront. he contained himself while in the hall, and while the members were conducting him back to the palace, which they presently did amidst the music of military bands and the salutes of artillery. but when his escort had left him, and he reached his own apartments, his pride gave way. the queen with the dauphin had been present in a box hastily fitted up for her, and had followed him back. he felt for her more than for himself. bursting into tears, he said, "it is all over. you have seen my humiliation. why did i ever bring you into france for such degradation?" and the queen, while endeavoring to console him, turned to madame de campan, who has recorded the scene, and dismissed her from her attendance.[ ] "leave us," she said, "leave us to ourselves." she could not bear that even that faithful servant should remain to be a witness to the despair and prostration of her sovereign. the very rejoicings were turned by the agents of the jacobins into occasions for further outrages. the whole city was illuminated, and the sovereigns yielded to the entreaties of the popular leaders, to drive through the streets and the champs Élysées to see the illumination. the populace, who believed the revolution at an end and their freedom secured, cheered them heartily as they passed; but at every cry of "vive le roi," a stentorian voice, close to the royal carriage, shouted out, "not so: vive la nation!" and the queen, though it was plain that the ruffian had been hired thus to outrage them, almost fainted with terror at his ferocity. a few days afterward, the insults were renewed even more pointedly. the royal family went in state to the opera, where, before their arrival, the jacobins had packed the pit with a gang of their own hirelings, whose unpowdered hair made them conspicuous objects.[ ] the opera was one of grétry's, "les Événements imprévus," in which one of the duets contains the line "ah, comme j'aime ma maïtresse." madame dugazon, a popular singer of the day, as she uttered the words, bowed toward the royal box, and instantly the whole pit was in a fury. "no mistress for us! no master! liberty!" the whole house was in an uproar. the king's partisans and adherents replied with loyal cheers, "vive le roi! vive la reine!" the pit roared out, "no master! no queen!" and the jacobins even proceeded to acts of violence toward all who refused to join in their cry. blows were struck, and it became necessary to send for a company of the guard to restore order. yet when, on the last day of the month, the king visited the assembly[ ] to declare its dissolution, the president addressed him in terms of the most loyal gratitude, affirming that by his acceptance of the constitution, he had earned the blessings of all future generations; and when he quitted the hall, the populace escorted the royal carriage back to the palace with vociferous cheers. though, in the eyes of impartial observers, this display of returning good-will was more than counterbalanced when, as the members of the assembly came out, some of the royalists and constitutionalists were hooted, and some of the fiercest jacobins were greeted with still more enthusiastic acclamations. chapter xxxiii. composition of the new assembly.--rise of the girondins,--their corruption and eventual fate.--vergniaud's motions against the king.--favorable reception of the king at the assembly, and at the opera.--changes in the ministry.--the king's and queen's language to m. bertrand de moleville.-- the count de narbonne.--pétion is elected mayor of paris.--scarcity of money, and great hardships of the royal family.--presents arrive from tippoo sahib.--the dauphin.--the assembly passes decrees against the priests and the emigrants.--misconduct of the emigrants.--louis refuses his assent to the decrees.--he issues a circular condemning emigration. the new assembly met on the st of october, and its composition afforded the royalists, or even the constitutionalists, the party that desired to stand by the constitution which had just been ratified, very little prospect of a re-establishment of tranquillity. the mischievous effect of the vote which excluded members of the last assembly from election was seen in the very lists of those who had been returned. in the whole number there were scarcely a dozen members of noble or gentle birth; the number of ecclesiastics was equally small; while property was as little represented as the nobility or the church. it was reckoned that of the whole body scarcely fifty possessed two thousand francs a year. the general youth of the members was as conspicuous as their poverty; half of them had hardly attained middle age; a great many were little more than boys. the jacobins themselves, who, before the elections, had reckoned on swaying their decisions by terror, could hardly have anticipated a result which would place the entire body so wholly at their mercy. but what was still move ominous of evil was the rise of a new party, known as that of the girondins, from the circumstance of some of its most influential members coming from the gironde, one of the departments which the late assembly had carved out of the old province of gascony. it was not absolutely a new party, since the foundations of it had been laid, during the last two months of the old assembly, by pétion and a low-born pamphleteer named brissot, who, as editor of a newspaper to which he gave the name of _le patriote français_, rivaled the most blood-thirsty of the jacobins in exciting the worst passions of the populace. but pétion and brissot had only sown the seeds. the opening of the new assembly at once gave it growth and vigor, when the deputies from the gironde plunged into the arena of debate, and showed an undeniable superiority in eloquence to every other party. the chiefs, vergniaud, gensonné, and gaudet, were lawyers who had never obtained any practice. isnard, the first man to make an open profession of atheism in the assembly, was the son of a perfumer in provence. they were adventurers as utterly without principle as without resources. and their first thought appears to have been to make money of the king's difficulties, and to sell themselves to him. they applied to the minister of the interior, m. de lessart, proposing to place the whole of their influence at the service of the government, on condition of his securing each of them a pension of six thousand francs a month.[ ] m. de lessart would not have objected to buy them, but he thought the price which they set upon themselves too high; and as they adhered to their demand, the negotiation went off, and they resolved to revenge themselves on his royal master with all the malice of disappointed rapacity. as none of them had any force of character, they fell under the influence of the wife of one of their number, a small manufacturer, named roland, the same who, as we have already seen, was the first to raise the cry of blood in france, and to recommend the assassination of the king and queen while they were still in fancied security at versailles. under the direction of this fierce woman, whose ferocity was rendered more formidable by her undoubted talents, the girondins began an internecine war with the king, who had refused them the wages which they had asked. they planned and carried out the sanguinary attacks on the palace in the summer of the next year. they brought louis to the scaffold by the unanimity of their votes. yet it would have been more fortunate for themselves as well as for him had they been less exorbitant in their demands, and had they connected themselves with the government as they desired. for though they succeeded in their treason, though madame roland saw the accomplishment of her wish in the murder of the king and queen, their success was equally fatal to themselves. almost all of them perished on the same scaffold to which they had consigned their virtuous sovereigns, meeting a fate in one respect worse even than theirs, from the infamy of the names which they have left behind them. yet for a few days it seemed as if their malignity would miss its aim. they did not wait a single day before displaying it; but, at the preliminary meeting of the assembly, before it was opened for the dispatch of business, vergniaud proposed to declare it illegal to speak of the king as his majesty, or to address him as "sire;" while another deputy, named couthon, who at first belonged to the same party, though he afterward joined the jacobins, carried a motion that, when louis came to open the assembly, the president should occupy the place of honor, and the second seat should be allotted to the sovereign. still, for a moment it seemed as if they had overshot their mark, and as if the more loyal party would be able to withstand and defeat them. the assembly itself was compelled to repeal its recent votes, since louis, whom indignation for once inspired with greater firmness than he usually displayed, refused to open the new assembly in person unless he were to be received with the honors to which his rank entitled him. the offensive resolutions were canceled; and, when he had therefore opened the session in a dignified and conciliatory speech which was chiefly of his own composition, the president, m. pastoret, a member of the constitutional party, replied in a language which was not only respectful, but affectionate. the constitution, he said, had given the king friends in those who were formerly only styled his subjects. the assembly and the nation felt the need of his love. as the constitution had rendered him the greatest monarch in the world, so his attachment to it would place him among the kings most beloved by their people. and it seemed as if the parisians in general shared to the full the loyal sentiments uttered by m. pastoret. writing the same week to her brother, marie antoinette, with a confidence which could only spring from a sincere attachment to the whole nation, reiterated her old opinion that "the good citizens and good people had always in their hearts been friendly to the king and herself;[ ]" and expressed her belief that since the acceptance of the constitution the people "had again learned to trust them." she was "far from giving herself up to a blind confidence. she knew that the disaffected had not abandoned their treasonable purposes; but, as the king and she herself were resolved to unite themselves in sincere good faith to the people, it was impossible but that, when their real feelings were known, the bulk of the people should return to them. the mischief was that the well-meaning knew not how to act in concert." it did seem as if she were correct in her estimate of the feelings of the citizens, when, in the evening of the day on which louis had opened the assembly, the whole royal family, including the two children, went to the opera; and, as if with express design to ratify the loyal language of the president of the assembly, the whole audience greeted them with a most enthusiastic reception. more than once they interrupted the performance with loud cheers for both king and queen; and as the pleasure of children is always an attractive sight, they sympathized especially with the delight of the little dauphin, their future king, as they all then thought him, who, being new to such a spectacle, only took his eyes off the stage to imitate the gestures of the actors to his mother, and draw her attention to them. in more than one of her letters the queen had vehemently deplored the want of a stronger ministry than of late had been in the king's service. it was a natural complaint, though in fact the ability or want of ability displayed by the ministers was a matter of but slight practical importance, so completely had the assembly engrossed the whole power of the state; but in the course of the autumn some changes were made, one of which for a time certainly added to the comfort of the sovereigns. m. montmorin retired; m. de lessart was transferred to his office; and m. bertrand de moleville, who was entirely new to official life, became the minister of marine. the whole kingdom did not contain a man more attached to the king and queen. but he combined statesman-like prudence with his loyalty; and his conduct before he took office elicited a very remarkable proof of the singleness of mind and purpose with which the king and queen had accepted the constitution. m. bertrand had previously refused office, and was very unwilling to take it now; and he frankly told louis that he could not hope to be of any real service to him unless he knew the plans which the king might have formed with respect to the constitution, and the line of conduct which he desired his ministers to observe on the subject; and louis told him distinctly that though "he was far from regarding the constitution as a masterpiece, and though he thought it easy to reform it advantageously in many particulars, yet he had sworn to observe it as it was, and that he was bound to be, and resolved to be, strictly faithful to his oath; the more so because it seemed to him that the most exact observance of the constitution was the surest method to lead the nation to understand it in all its bearings; when the people themselves would perceive the character of the changes in it which it was desirable to make." m. bertrand expressed his warm approval of the wisdom of such a policy, but thought it so important to know how far the queen coincided in her husband's sentiments that he ventured to put the question to his majesty. the king assured him that he had been speaking her sentiments as well as his own, and that he should hear them from her own lips; and accordingly the queen immediately granted the new minister an audience, in which, after expressing, with her habitual grace and kindness, her feeling that, by accepting office at such a time, he was laying both the king and herself under a personal obligation, she added, "the king has explained to you his intentions with respect to the constitution; do not you think that the only plan for him to follow is to be faithful to his oath?" "undoubtedly, madame." "well, you may depend upon it that nothing will make us change. have courage, m. bertrand; i hope that, with patience, firmness, and consistency, all is not yet lost.[ ]" nor was m. bertrand the only one of the ministers who received proofs of the resolution of the queen to adhere steadily to the constitution. there was also a new minister of war, the count de narbonne, as firmly attached to the persons of the sovereigns as m. bertrand himself, though in political principle more inclined to the views of the constitutionalists than to those of the extreme royalists. he was likewise a man of considerable capacity, eloquent and fertile in resources; but he was ambitious and somewhat vain; and he was so elated at the approval expressed by the assembly of a report on the military resources of the kingdom which he laid before it soon after his appointment, that he obtained an audience of the queen, the object of which was to convince her that the only means of saving the state was to confer on a man of talent, energy, sagacity, and activity, who enjoyed the confidence of the assembly and of the nation, the post of prime minister; and he admitted that he intended to designate himself by this description. marie antoinette, though fully aware of the desirableness of having a single man of ability and firmness at the head of the administration, was for a moment surprised out of her habitual courtesy. she could not forbear a smile, and in plain terms asked him "if he were crazy.[ ]" but she proceeded with her usual kindness to explain to him the impracticability of the scheme which he had suggested, and the foundation of her argument was an explanation that such an appointment would be a violation of the constitution, which forbade the king to create any new ministerial office. and the count deserves to have it mentioned to his honor that the rebuff which he had received in no degree cooled his attachment to the king and queen, or the zeal with which he labored for their service. we have no information how far the new minister coincided in a step which the queen took in the course of november, and which is commonly ascribed to her judgment alone. before its dissolution, the late assembly had broken up the national guard of paris into separate legions, and had suppressed the appointment of commander-in-chief of the forces; and la fayette, whom this measure had left without employment, feeling keenly the diminution of his importance, and instigated by the restlessness common to men of moderate capacity, conceived the hope of succeeding bailly in the mayoralty of paris, which that magistrate was on the point of resigning. it had become a post of great consequence, since the extent to which the authority of the crown had been pared away tended to make the mayor the absolute dictator of the capital; and consequently the jacobins were anxious to secure the office for one of the extreme revolutionary party, and set up pétion as a rival candidate. the election belonged to the citizens, and, as in the city the two parties possessed almost equal strength, it was soon seen that the court, which had by no means lost its influence among the tradesmen and shop-keepers, had the power of deciding the contest in favor of the candidate for whom it should pronounce, marie antoinette declared for pétion. she knew him to be a jacobin,[ ] but he was so devoid of any reputation for ability that she did not fear him. nor, except that he had behaved with boorish disrespect and ill-manners during their melancholy return from varennes, had she any reason for suspecting him of any special enmity to the king. but la fayette, though always loud in his professions of loyalty, had never lost an opportunity of offering personal insults to both the king and herself. it was to his shameful neglect (to put his conduct in the most favorable light) that she justly attributed the danger to which she had been exposed at versailles, and the compulsion which had been put upon the king to take up his residence in paris; and, not to mention a constant series of petty insults which he had heaped on both louis and herself, and on the royalists as a body, he had given unmistakable proofs of his personal animosity toward the king by his conduct on the st of june, and by the indecent rigor with which he treated them both after their return from varennes. even when he was loudest in the profession of his desire and power to influence the assembly in the king's favor, one of his own friends had told him to his face that he was insincere,[ ] and that louis could not and ought not to trust his promises; and every part of his conduct toward the royal pair was stamped with duplicity as well as with ill-will. it was not strange, therefore, indeed it was fully consistent with the honest openness of marie antoinette's own character, that she should prefer an open enemy to a pretended friend. she even believed what, from the very commencement of the revolution, many had suspected, that la fayette cherished views of personal ambition, and aimed at reviving the old authority of a maire du palais over a roi fainéant[ ]. she therefore directed her friends to throw their weight into the scale in favor of pétion, who was accordingly elected by a great majority, while the marquis, greatly chagrined, retired for a time to his estate in auvergne. the victory, however, was an unfortunate one for the court. it contributed to increase the confidence of its enemies; and, as their instinct showed them that it was from the resolution of the queen that they had the most formidable opposition to dread, it was against her that, from their first entrance into the assembly, vergniaud and his friends specially exerted themselves; vergniaud openly contending that the inviolability of the sovereign, which was an article of the new constitution, applied only to the king himself, and in no degree to his consort; while in the jacobin and cordelier clubs the coarsest libels were poured forth against her with unremitting perseverance to stimulate and justify the most obscene and ferocious threats. the coarsest ruffians in a street quarrel never used fouler language of one another than these men of education applied to the pure-minded and magnanimous lady whose sole offense was that she was the wife of their kind-hearted king. and, in addition to this daily increase of their danger which such denunciations could not fail to augment, the royal family were now suffering inconveniences which even those whose measures had caused them had never designed. they were in the most painful want of money. the agitation of the last two years had rendered the treasury bankrupt. the paper money, which now composed almost the whole circulation of the country, was valueless. while, as it was in this paper money (assignats, as the notes were called, as being professedly secured by assignments on the royal domains and on the ecclesiastical property which had been confiscated), that the king's civil list was paid, at the latter end of each month it was not uncommon for him and the queen to be absolutely destitute. it was with great reluctance that they accepted loans from their loyal adherents, because they saw no prospect of being able to repay them; but had they not availed themselves of this resource, they would at times have wanted absolute necessaries.[ ] the royal couple still kept their health, the king's apathy being in this respect as beneficial as the queen's courage: they still rode a great deal when the weather was favorable; and on one occasion, at the beginning of , the queen, with her sister-in-law and her daughter, went again to the theatre. the opera was the same which had been performed at the visit in october; but this time the jacobins had not been forewarned so as to pack the house, and madame du gazon's duet was received with enthusiasm. again, as she sung "ah, que j'aime ma maîtresse!" she bowed to the royal box, and the audience cheered. as if in reply to one verse, "il faut les rendre heureux," "oui, oui!" with lively unanimity, came from all parts of the house, and the singers were compelled to repeat the duet four times. "it is a queer nation this of ours," says the princess elizabeth, in relating the scene to one of her correspondents, "but we must allow that it has very charming moments.[ ]" a somewhat curious episode to divert their minds from these domestic anxieties was presented by an embassy from the brave and intriguing sultan of mysore, the celebrated tippoo sahib, who sought to engage louis to lend him six thousand french troops, with whose aid he trusted to break down the ascendency which england was rapidly establishing in india. tippoo backed his request, in the oriental fashion, by presents, though not such as, in the opinion of m. bertrand, were quite worthy of the giver or of the receiver. to the king he sent some diamonds, but they were yellow, ill-cut, and ill-set; and the rest of the offering was composed of a few pieces of embroidered silk, striped cloth, and cambric: while the queen's present consisted of nothing more valuable than a few bottles of perfume of no very exquisite quality, and a few boxes of powdered scents, pastils, and matches. the king and queen gave nearly the whole present to m. bertrand for his grandchildren, the queen only reserving a bottle of attar of rose and a couple of pieces of cambric; and that chiefly to afford a pretext for seeing m. bertrand once or twice, without his reception being imputed to a desire to promote some austrian intrigue; for the jacobins had lately revived the clamor against austrian influence with greater vehemence than ever. as m. bertrand had grandchildren, he could well appreciate the pleasure of the queen at an incident which closed one of his audiences. while he was thus receiving her commands, the little dauphin, "beautiful as an angel," as the minister describes him, was capering about the room in high delight, brandishing a wooden sword, a new toy which had just been given him. an attendant called him to go to supper; and he bounded toward the door. "how is this, my boy?" said marie antoinette, calling him back; "are you going off without making m. bertrand a bow?" "oh, mamma," said the little prince, still skipping about, and smiling, "that is because i know well that m. bertrand is one of our friends.... good-evening, m. bertrand." "is not he a nice child?[ ]" said the queen, after he had left the room. "he is very happy to be so young. he does not feel what we suffer, and his gayety does us good." alas! that which was now perhaps her only pleasure--the contemplation of her child's opening grace and amiability--before long became even an addition to her affliction, as the probabilities increased that the madness of the people and the wickedness of their leaders would deprive him of the inheritance, to preserve which to him was the principal object of all her cares and exertions. but these moments of gratification were becoming fewer as time went on. each month, each week brought fresh and increasing anxieties to engross all her thoughts. as the girondin leaders began to feel their strength, the votes of the assembly became more violent. one day it passed a fresh decree against the priests, depriving all who refused to take the oath to the new ecclesiastical constitution of the stipends for which their former preferments had been commuted, placing them under strict supervision, and declaring them liable to instant banishment if they should venture to exercise their functions in private. another day it vented its wrath upon the emigrants, summoning the count de provence by name to return at once to france; and, with respect to the rest of the body, now very numerous, declaring their conduct in being assembled on the frontier of the kingdom in a state of readiness for war in itself an act of treason; and condemning to death and confiscation of their estates all who should fail to return to their native land before a stated day. but in these decrees the advocates of violence had for the moment gone too far--they had outrun the feelings of the nation. the emigrants, indeed, neither deserved nor found sympathy in any quarter. the main body of them was at this time settled at coblentz, where their conduct was such that it is hard to say whether it were more offensive to their country, more injurious to their king, or more discreditable to themselves. they could not even act in harmony. the king's two brothers established rival courts, with a mistress at the head of each. madame de balbi still ruled the count de provence; madame de polastron was the presiding genius of the coterie of the count d'artois. the two ladies, regarding each other with bitter jealousy, agitated the whole town with their rivalries and wranglings, and agreed in nothing but in their endeavors to excite some foreign sovereign or other to make war upon their native land. it was in vain that louis himself first entreated them, and, when he found his entreaties were disregarded, commanded his brothers to return. they positively refused obedience to his order, telling him, in language which can only be characterized as that of studied insult, that he was writing under coercion; that his letter did not express his real views, and that "their honor, their duty, even their affection for him, alike forbade them to obey him.[ ]" the queen could not command, but she wrote to them more than one letter of most earnest entreaty, and, as the princes founded part of their hopes on the co-operation of the northern sovereigns, she wrote also to the empress and to gustavus, pressing both, and especially the king of sweden,[ ] to restrain them; but they were too headstrong and full of their own projects to listen to her entreaties any more than to the king's commands, and did not even take the trouble to conceal their negotiations with foreign powers, nor their object, which could be nothing but war. it was impossible that such conduct steadily pursued by the king's own brothers could be any thing but most pernicious to his cause. it could not fail to excite suspicions of his own good faith. it supplied the jacobins with pretexts for putting fresh restraints on his authority; and it frightened even the constitutionalists, since it was plain that civil war must ensue, with, very probably, the addition of foreign war also, if these machinations of the emigrants were not suppressed. still, these sweeping proscriptions of entire classes were not yet to the taste of the nation. petitions from the country, and even one from the department of the seine, were presented to louis, begging him to refuse his assent to the decree against the priests; and the feeling which they represented was so strong, and the reputation of some of the petitioners stood so high for ability and influence, that the ministers believed that he could safely refuse his sanction to both the votes. even without their advice he would have rejected the decree against the priests, as one absolutely incompatible with his reverence for religion and its ministers; and his conduct on this subject supplies one more striking parallel to the history of the great english rebellion; since there can hardly be a more precise resemblance between events occurring in different ages and different countries than is afforded by the resistance made by charles to the last vote of the london parliament against the bishops, and this resistance of louis to the will of the assembly on behalf of the priests, and by the fatal effect which, in each case, their conscientious and courageous determination had upon the fortunes of the two sovereigns. louis therefore put his veto on both the decrees, with the exception of that clause in the act against the emigrants which summoned his brothers to return to the kingdom. but, that no one might pretend to fancy that he either approved of the conduct of the emigrants or sympathized with their principles or designs, he issued a circular letter to the governors of the different sea-ports, in which he remonstrated most earnestly with the sailors, numbers of whom, as it was reported in paris, were preparing to follow their example. he pointed out in it that those who thus deserted their country mistook their duty to that country, to him as their king, and to themselves; that the present aspect of the nation, desirous to return to order and to submission to the law, removed every pretext for such conduct. he set before them his own example, and bid them remain at their posts, as he was remaining at his; and, in language more impressive than that of command, he exhorted them not to turn a deaf ear to his prayers; and at the same time he addressed letters to the electors of trèves and mayence, and to the other petty german princes whose territories, bordering on the rhine, were the principal resort of the emigrants, requiring them to cease to give them shelter, and announcing that if they should refuse to remove them from their dominions he should consider their refusal a sufficient ground for war; while, to show that he did not intend this menace to be a dead letter, he soon afterward announced to the assembly that he had ordered a powerful army of a hundred and fifty thousand men to be moved toward the frontier, under the command of marshal luckner, marshal rochambeau, and general la fayette, and he invited the members to vote a levy of fifty thousand more men to raise the force of the nation to its full complement. chapter xxxiv. death of leopold.--murder of gustavus of sweden.--violence of vergniaud. --the ministers resign.--a girondin ministry is appointed.--character of dumouriez.--origin of the name sans-culottes.--union of different parties against the queen.--war is declared against the empire.--operations in the netherlands.--unskillfulness of la fayette.--the king falls into a state of torpor.--fresh libels on the queen.--barnave's advice.--dumouriez has an audience of the queen.--dissolution of the constitutional guard.-- formation of a camp near paris.--louis adheres to his refusal to assent to the decree against the priests.--dumouriez resigns his office, and takes command of the army. war of some kind--foreign war, civil war, or both combined--had apparently become inevitable; and marie antoinette deceived herself if she thought that the armed congress of sovereigns, for which she was above all things anxious, could lead to any other result. in any ease, a congress must have produced one consequence which she deprecated as much as any other, a waste of time, while, as she truly said, her enemies never wasted a moment. nor, with the very different views of the policy to be pursued, which the emperor and the king of prussia entertained (frederick being an advocate of an armed intervention in the affairs of france, which leopold opposed as impracticable, and, if practicable, impolitic), was it easy to see how a congress could have brought those monarchs to agree on any united system of action. but all projects of that kind necessarily fell to the ground in consequence of the death of the emperor, which took place, after a very short illness, on the st of march, ; and before the end of the same month the royal family lost another warm friend in gustavus of sweden, who was assassinated in the very midst of preparations which he confidently hoped might contribute to deliver his brother sovereign from his troubles. marie antoinette spoke truly when she said that the enemies of the crown never lost time. the very prospect of war increased the divisions of the assembly, since the jacobins were undisguisedly averse to it. not one of their body had any reputation for skill in arms, so that in the event of war it was evident that the chief commands, both in army and navy, must be conferred on persons unconnected with them; while the girondins, though, as far as was yet known, equally destitute of members possessed of any military ability, looked on war as favorable to their designs, whatever might be the issue of a campaign. they were above all things eager for the destruction of the monarchy, and they reckoned that if the french army were victorious, its success would disable those who were most willing and might be most able to support the throne; while, if the enemy should prevail, it would be easy to represent their triumph as the fruit of the mismanagement, if not of the treachery, of the king's generals and ministers; and the opposition of these two parties was at this time so notorious that the queen thought it favorable to the king, since each would be eager to preserve him as a possible ally against its adversaries. it is for her husband's and her child's safety that she expresses anxiety, never for her own. with respect to herself her uniform language is that of fearlessness. she does not for a moment conceal from her correspondents her sense of the dangers which surround her. she has not only open hostility to fear, but treachery, which is far worse; and she declares that "a perpetual imprisonment in a solitary tower on the sea-shore would be a less cruel fate than that which she daily endures from the wickedness of her enemies and the weakness of her friends. every thing menaces an inevitable catastrophe; but she is prepared for every thing. she has learned from her mother not to fear death. that may as well come to-day as to-morrow. she only fears for her dear children, and for those she loves; and high among those whom she loves she places her sister-in-law elizabeth, who is always an angel aiding her to support her sorrows, and who, with her poor, dear children, never quits her.[ ]" a long continuance of sorrows and fears, such as had now for nearly three years pressed upon the writer of this letter, would so wear away and break down ordinary souls that, when a crisis came, they would be found wholly unequal to grapple with it; and we may therefore the better form some idea of the strength of mind and almost superhuman fortitude of this admirable queen, if, from time to time, we fix our attention on these not exaggerated complaints, for indeed the misfortunes that elicited them admit of no exaggeration; and then remember that, after so long a period of such uninterrupted suffering, her spirit was so far from being broken, that, as increasing dangers and horrors thickened around her, her courage seemed to increase also. her faithful attendant, madame de campan, has remarked that her troubles had not even affected her temper; that no one ever saw her out of humor. in every respect, to the very last, she showed herself superior to the utmost malice of her enemies. the news of the death of leopold, whose son and successor, francis, was but three-and-twenty years of age, gave fresh encouragement to his sister's enemies. the intelligence had hardly reached paris when vergniaud began to prepare the way for a fresh assault on the crown by a denunciation of the ministers, while the jacobins and cordeliers made an open attack upon another club which the constitutionalists had lately formed under the name of les feuillants, holding its meetings in a convent of the monks of st. bernard,[ ] and closed it by main force. though several soldiers, and la fayette among them, were members of the feuillants, they made no resistance; they only applied to pétion, as mayor of the city, for protection; and that worthy magistrate refused them aid, telling them that though the law forbade them to be attacked, the voice of the people was against them, and to that voice he was bound to listen. the ministers fell before vergniaud, and the unhappy king had no resource but to choose their successors from the party which had triumphed over them. the absurd law by which the last assembly had excluded its members from office was still in force, so that the orator himself and his colleagues could obtain no personal promotion; but they were able to nominate the new ministers, who, with but one exception, were all men equally devoid of ability and reputation, and therefore were the better fitted to be the tools of those to whom they owed their preferment. the names of three were lacoste, degraves, and duranton, of whom nothing beyond their names is known. a fourth was roland, who was indeed known, though not for any abilities of his own, but as the husband of the woman who, as has been already mentioned, was the first person in the whole nation to raise the cry for the murder of the king and queen, and whose fierce thirst for blood so predominated over every other feeling that a few weeks afterward she even began to urge the assassination of the only one among her husband's colleagues who was possessed of the slightest ability because his views did not altogether coincide with her own. general dumouriez, whom she thus honored by singling him out for her especial hatred, was an exception to his colleagues in several points. he was a man of middle age, who enjoyed a good reputation, not only for military skill, but also for diplomatic sagacity and address, earned as far back as the latter years of the preceding reign; and he was so far from being originally imbued with revolutionary principles that, when, in the summer of , a mutinous spirit first appeared among the troops in paris, he volunteered to place his services at the king's disposal, recommending measures of vigor and resolution, which, if they had been adopted, might have quelled the spirit of rebellion, and have changed the whole subsequent history of the nation. but as necker had rejected mirabeau a few weeks before, so he also rejected dumouriez; and discontent at the treatment which he received from the minister, and which seemed to prove that active employment, of which he was desirous, could only be obtained through some other influence, drove the general into the ranks of the revolutionary party. he now accepted the post of foreign secretary in the new ministry; but the connection with the enemies of the monarchy was uncongenial to his taste; and, after a short time, the frequent intercourse with louis, which was the necessary consequence of his appointment, and the conviction of the king's perfect honesty and patriotism which this intercourse forced upon him, revived his old feelings of loyalty, and, so long as he remained in office, he honestly endeavored to avert the evils which he foresaw, and to give the advice and to support the policy by which, in his honest belief, it was alone possible for louis to preserve his authority. dumouriez was a gentleman in birth and manners; but his colleagues had so little of either the habits or appearance of decent society that the attendants on the royal family gave them the name of the sans-culottes; and this name, meant originally to describe the absence of the ordinary court dress, without which no previous ministers had ever ventured to appear in the presence of royalty, was presently adopted as a distinctive title by the whole body of the extreme revolutionists, who knew the value of a name under which to bind their followers together.[ ] the attacks on the ministry were accompanied with more direct attacks on the king and queen themselves than had ever been ventured on in the former assembly. by this time the system of espial and treachery by which they were surrounded had become so systematic that they could not even send a messenger to their nephew, the emperor, except under a feigned name;[ ] and the baron de breteuil, who announced his mission to francis, reported to him at the same time that the chiefs of the assembly were proposing to pass votes suspending the "king from his functions, and to separate the queen from him on the ground that an impeachment was to be presented against both, as having solicited the late emperor to form a confederacy among the great powers of europe in favor of the royal prerogative." the queen was, in fact, now, as always, more the object of their hatred than her husband, and toward the end of march a reconciliation of all her enemies took place, that the attack upon her might be combined with a strength that should insure its success. the marquis de condorcet, a man of some eminence in philosophy, as the word had been understood since the reign of the encyclopedists, and closely connected with the girondins, though not formally enrolled in their party, gave a supper, at which the duc d'orléans formally reconciled himself to la fayette; and both, in company with brissot and the abbé siéyes, who of late had scarcely been heard of, drew up an indictment against the queen.[ ] their malignity even went the length of resolving to separate the dauphin from his mother, on the plea of providing for his education; but the means which the girondins took to secure their triumph for the moment defeated them. la fayette did not keep the secret. one of his friends gave information to the king of the plot that was in contemplation, and the next day the constitutionalists mustered in the assembly in such strength that neither girondins nor jacobins dared bring forward the infamous proposal. but louis and marie antoinette reasonably regarded the attack on them as only postponed, not as defeated or abandoned. they began to prepare for the worst. they burned most of their papers, and removed into the custody of friends whom they could trust those which they regarded as too valuable to destroy; and at the same time they sent notice to their partisans to cease writing to them. they could neither venture to send nor to receive letters. they believed that at this time the plan of their enemies was to terrify them into repeating their attempt to escape; an attempt of which the espial and treachery with which they were surrounded would have insured the failure, but which would have given the jacobins a pretext for their trial and condemnation. but this scheme they could themselves defeat by remaining at their posts. patience and courage was their only possible defense, and with those qualities they were richly endowed. a vital difference of principle distinguished the old from the new ministry: the former had wished to preserve, the majority of the latter were resolved to destroy, the throne; and the means by which each sought to attain its end were as diametrically opposite as the ends themselves. bertrand and de lessart, the ministers who, in the late administration, had enjoyed most of the king and queen's confidence, had been studious to preserve peace, believing that policy to be absolutely essential for the safety of louis himself. because they entertained the same opinion, the new ministers were eager for war; and, unhappily dumouriez, in spite of his desire to uphold the throne, was animated by the same feeling. his own talents and tastes were warlike, and his office enabled him to gratify them in this instance. for the conciliatory tone which de lessart had employed toward the imperial government, he now substituted a language not only imperious, but menacing. prince kaunitz, who still presided over the administration at vienna, attached though he was to the system of policy which he had inaugurated under maria teresa, could not avoid replying in a similar strain, until at last, on the th of april, louis, sorely against his will, was compelled to announce to the assembly that all his efforts for the preservation of peace had failed, and to propose an instant declaration of war. the declaration was voted with enthusiasm; but for some time it brought nothing but disaster. the campaign was opened in the netherlands, where the austrians, taken by surprise, were so weak in numbers that it seemed certain that they would be driven from the country without difficulty or delay. marshal beaulieu, their commander-in-chief, had scarcely twenty thousand men, while the count de narbonne had left the french army in so good a condition that degraves, his successor, was able to send a hundred and thirty thousand men against him; and dumouriez furnished him with a plan for an invasion of the netherlands, which, if properly carried out, would have made the french masters of the whole country in a few days. but the largest division of the army, to which the execution of the most important portions of the intended operations was intrusted, had been placed under the command of la fayette, who proved equally devoid of resolution and of skill. some of his regiments showed a disorderly and insubordinate temper. one battalion first mutinied and murdered some of its officers, and then disgraced itself by cowardice in the field. another displayed an almost equal want of courage; and la fayette, disheartened and perplexed, though the number of his troops still more than doubled those opposed to him, retreated into france, and remained there in a state of complete inactivity. but, as has been said before, disaster was almost as favorable to the political views of the girondins as success, while it added to the dangers of the sovereigns by encouraging the jacobins, who were elated at the failure of a general so hateful to them as la fayette. they now adopted a party emblem, a red cap; and the duc d'orléans and his son, the duc de chartres,[ ] assumed it, and with studied insult paraded in it up and down the gardens of the palace, under the queen's windows; and if the two factions did not formally coalesce, they both proceeded with greater boldness than ever toward their desired object, not greatly differing as to the means by which it was to be attained. the palace was now indeed a scene of misery. the king's apathy was degenerating into despair. at one time he was so utterly prostrated that he remained for ten days absolutely silent, never uttering a word except to name his throws when playing at backgammon with elizabeth. at last the queen roused him from his torpor, throwing herself at his feet, and mingling caresses with her expostulations; entreating him to remember what he owed to his family, and reminding him that, if they must perish, it was better at least to perish with honor, and be king to the last, than to wait passively till assassins should come and murder them in their own rooms. she herself was in a condition in which nothing but her indomitable courage prevented her from utterly breaking down. sleep had deserted her. by day she rarely ventured out-of-doors. riding she had given up, and she feared to walk in the garden of the tuileries, even in the little portion marked off for the dauphin's playground, lest she should expose herself to the coarse insults which, the basest of hirelings were ever on the watch to offer her.[ ] she could not even venture to go openly to mass at easter, but was forced to arrange for one of her chaplains to perform the service for her before daylight. balked of their wish to offer her personal insults, her enemies redoubled their diligence in inventing and spreading libels. the demagogues of the palais royal revived the stories of her subservience to the interests of austria, and even sent letters forged in her name to different members of the assembly, inviting them to private conferences with her in the apartments of madame de lamballe. but she treated all such attacks with lofty disdain, and was even greatly annoyed when she learned that the chief of the police, with the king's sanction, had bought up a life of madame la mothe, in which that infamous woman pretended to give a true account of the affair of her necklace, and had had it burned in the manufactory of sèvres. she thought, with some reason, that to take a step which seemed to show a dread of such attacks was the surest way to encourage more of them, and that apparent indifference to them was the only line of action consistent with her innocence or with her dignity. the increasing dangers of her position moved the pity of some who had once been her enemies, and sharpened their desire to serve her. barnave, who probably overrated his present influence[ ] in many letters pressed his advice upon her; of which the substance was that she should lay aside her distrust of the constitutionalist party, and, with the king, throw herself wholly on the constitution, to which the nation was profoundly attached. he even admitted that it was not without defects; but held out a hope that, with the aid of the royalists, he and his friends might be able to amend them, and in time to re-invest the throne with all necessary splendor. and the queen was so touched by his evident earnestness that she granted him an audience, and assured him of her esteem and confidence. barnave was partly correct in his judgment, but he overlooked one all-essential circumstance. there is no doubt that he spoke truly when he declared that the nation in general was attached to the constitution; but he failed to give sufficient weight to the consideration that the jacobins and girondins were agreed in seeking to overthrow it, and that for that object they were acting with a concert and an energy to which he and his party were strangers. dumouriez too was equally earnest in his desire to serve the king and her, with far greater power to be useful than barnave. he too was admitted to an audience, of which he has left us an account which, while it shows both his notions of the state of the country and of the rival parties, and also his own sincerity, is no less characteristic of the queen herself. admitted to her presence, he found her, as he describes the interview, looking very red, walking up and down the room with impetuous strides, in an agitation which presaged a stormy discussion. the different events which had taken place since the king in the preceding autumn had ratified the constitution, the furious language held in, and the violent measures carried by, the assembly, had evidently changed her belief in the possibility of attempting, even for a short time, to carry on the government under the conditions imposed by that act. she came toward him with an air which was at once majestic and yet showed irritation, and said: "you, sir, are all-powerful at this moment; but it is only by the favor of the people, which soon breaks its idols to pieces. your existence depends on your conduct. you are said to have great talents. you must see that neither the king nor i can endure all these novelties nor the constitution. i tell you this frankly. now choose your side." to this fervid apostrophe dumouriez replied in a tone which he intended to combine a sorrowful tenderness with loyal respect: "madame," said he, "i am overwhelmed with the painful confidence which your majesty has reposed in me. i will not betray it; but i am placed between the king and the nation, and i belong to my country. permit me to represent to you that the safety of the king, of yourself, and of your august children is bound up with the constitution, as well as is the re-establishment of the king's legitimate authority. you are both surrounded with enemies who are sacrificing you to their own interests." the unfortunate queen, shocked as well as surprised at this opposition to her views, replied, raising her voice, "that will not last; take care of yourself." "madame," replied he, in his turn, "i am more than fifty years old. my life has been passed in countless dangers, and when i took office i reflected deeply that its responsibility was not the greatest of its perils." "this was alone wanting," cried out the queen, with an accent of indignant grief, and as if astonished herself at her own vehemence. "this alone was wanting to calumniate me! you seem to suppose that i am capable of causing you to be assassinated!" and she burst into tears. dumouriez was as agitated as she was. "god forbid," he replied, "that i should do you such an injustice!" and he added some flattering expressions of attachment, such as he thought calculated to soothe a mind so proud, yet so crushed. and presently she calmed herself, and came up to him, putting her hand on his arm; and he resumed: "believe me, madame, i have no object in deceiving you; i abhor anarchy and crime as much as you do. believe me, i have experience; i am better placed than your majesty for judging of events. this is not a short-lived popular movement, as you seem to think. it is the almost unanimous insurrection of a great nation against inveterate abuses. there are great factions which fan this flame. in all factions there are many scoundrels and many madmen. in the revolution i see nothing but the king and the entire nation. every thing which tends to separate them tends to their mutual ruin: i am laboring as much as i can to reunite them. it is for you to help me. if i am an obstacle to your designs, and if you persist in thinking so, tell me so. and i will at once send in my resignation to the king, and will retire into a corner to grieve over the fate of my country and of you." and he concludes his narrative by expressing his belief that he had regained the queen's confidence by his frank explanation of his views, while he himself in his turn was evidently fascinated by the affability with which, after a brief further conversation, she dismissed him.[ ] though, if we may trust madame de campan, marie antoinette was not as satisfied as she had seemed to be, but declared that it was not possible for her to place confidence in his protestations when she recollected his former language and acts, and the party with which he was even now acting. madame de campan probably gives a more correct report of the queen's feelings than the general himself, whom the consciousness of his own integrity of purpose very probably misled into believing that he had convinced her of it. but, though, if marie antoinette did listen to his professions and advice with some degree of mistrust, she undoubtedly did him less than justice: she can hardly be blamed for indulging such a feeling, when it is remembered in what an atmosphere of treachery she had lived for the last three years. undoubtedly dumouriez, though not a thorough-going royalist like m. bertrand, was not only in intention an honest and friendly counselor, but was by far the ablest adviser who had had access to her since the death of mirabeau, and in one respect was a more judicious and trustworthy adviser than even that brilliant and fertile statesman; since he did not fall into the error of miscalculating what was practical, or of overrating his own influence with the assembly or the nation. yet, had the king and queen adopted his views ever so unreservedly, it may well be doubted whether they would have averted or even deferred the fate which awaited them. the leaders of the two parties, before whose union they fell, had as little attachment to the new constitution as the queen. the moment that they obtained the undisputed ascendency, they trampled it underfoot in every one of its provisions. constitution or no constitution, they were determined to overthrow the throne and to destroy those to whom it belonged; and to men animated with such a resolution it signified little what pretext might be afforded them by any actions of their destined victims. the wolf never yet wanted a plea for devouring the lamb. one of the first fruits of the union between the jacobins and the girondins was the preparation of an insurrection. the assembly did not move fast enough for them. it might be still useful as an auxiliary, but the lead in the movement the clubs assumed to themselves. their first care was to deprive the king of all means of resistance, and with this view to get rid of the constitutional guard, the commander of which was still the gallant duke de brissac, a noble-minded and faithful adherent of louis amidst all his distresses. but it was not easy to find any ground for disbanding a force which was too small to be formidable to any but traitors; and the pretext which was put forward was so preposterous that it could excite no feeling but that of amusement, if the object aimed at were not too serious and shocking for laughter. at easter the dauphin had presented the mess of the regiment with a cake, one of the ornaments of which was a small white flag taken from among his own toys. pétion now issued orders to search the officers' quarters for this child's flag, and, when it was found, one of the jacobin members was not ashamed to produce it to the assembly as a proof that the court was meditating a counter- revolution and a massacre of the patriots, and to propose the instant dissolution of the guard. the motion was carried, though some of the constitutionalist party had the honesty to oppose it, as one which could have only regicide for its object; and louis did not dare refuse it his assent. he was now wholly disarmed. to render his defeat in the impending struggle more certain, one of the ministers, servan, himself proposed a levy of twenty thousand fresh soldiers, to be stationed permanently at paris, and this motion also was passed. again louis could not venture to withhold his sanction from the bill, though he comforted himself by dismissing the mover, with two of his colleagues, roland and clavière. roland's dismissal had indeed become indispensable, since, on the preceding day, he had had the audacity to write him an insolent letter, composed by his ferocious wife, which in express terms threatened him with death "if he did not give satisfaction to the revolution.[ ]" nor was madame roland inclined to be satisfied with the murder of the king and queen. as has been already mentioned, she at the same time urged upon her submissive husband the assassination of dumouriez, who, having intelligence of her enmity, began in self-defense to connect himself with the jacobins. on the dismissal of roland and the others, he had exchanged the foreign port-folio for that of war, and was practically the prime minister, being in fact the only one whom louis admitted to any degree of confidence; but this arrangement lasted less than a single week. louis had yielded to and adopted his advice on every point but one. he had sanctioned the dismissal of the constitutional guard, and the formation of the new body of troops, which, no one doubted, was intended to be used against himself; but he was as firmly convinced as ever that his religious duty bound him to refuse his assent to the decree against the priests, and he refused to do a violence to his conscience, and to commit what he regarded as a sin. but this very decree was the one which dumouriez regarded as the most dangerous one for him to reject, as being that which the assembly was most firmly resolved to make law; and, as his most vigorous remonstrances failed to shake the king's resolution on this point, he resigned his post as a minister, and repaired to the flemish frontier to take the command of the army, which greatly needed an able leader. chapter xxxv. the insurrection of june th. both jacobins and girondins felt that the departure of dumouriez from paris had removed a formidable obstacle from their path, and they at once began to hurry forward the preparations for their meditated insurrection. the general gave in his resignation on the th of june, and the th was fixed for an attack on the palace, by which its contrivers designed to effect the overthrow of the throne, if not the destruction of the entire royal family. it was organized with unusual deliberation. the meetings of conspirators were attended not only by the girondin leaders, to whom madame roland had recently added a new recruit, a young barrister from the south, named barbaroux, remarkable for his personal beauty, and, as was soon seen, for a pitiless hardness of heart, and energetic delight in deeds of cruelty that, even in that blood-thirsty company, was equaled by few; with them met all those as yet most notorious for ferocity--danton and legendre, the founders of the cordeliers; marat, daily, in his obscene and blasphemous newspaper, clamoring for wholesale bloodshed; santerre, odious as the sanguinary leader of the very first outbreaks of the revolution; rotondo, already, as we have seen, detected in attempting to assassinate the queen; and pétion, who thus repaid her preference of him to la fayette, which had placed him in the mayoralty, whose duties he was now betraying. some, too, bore a part in the foul conspiracy as partisans of the duc d'orléans, who were generally understood to have instructions to be lavish of their master's gold, the vile prince hoping that the result of the outbreak would be the assassination of his cousin, and his own elevation to the vacant throne. in their speeches they gave louis the name of monsieur veto, in allusion to the still legal exercise of his prerogative, by which he had sought to protect the priests; while the queen was called madame veto, though in fact she had finally joined dumouriez in urging her husband to give his royal assent to the decree against them, not, as thinking it on any pretense justifiable, but as believing, with the general, in the impossibility of maintaining its rejection. yet nothing could more completely prove the absolute innocence and unimpeachable good faith of both king and queen than the act of his enemies in giving them this nickname; so clear an evidence was it that they could allege nothing more odious against them than the possession by louis, in a most modified degree, of a prerogative which, without any modification at all, has in every country been at all times regarded as indispensable to, and inseparable from, royalty; and the exercise of it for the defense of a body of men of whom none could deny the entire harmlessness. on the night of the th the appointed leaders of the different bands into which the insurgents were to be divided separated; the watch-word, "destruction to the palace," was given out; and all paris waited in anxious terror for the events of the morrow. louis was as well aware as any of the citizens of the intended attack, and prepared for it as for death. on the afternoon of the th he wrote to his confessor to desire him to come to him at once. "he had never," he said, "had such need of his consolations. he had done with this world, and his thoughts were now fixed on heaven alone. great calamities were announced for the morrow; but he felt that he had courage to meet them." and after the holy man had left him, as he gazed on the setting sun he once more gave utterance to his forebodings. "who can tell," said he, "whether it be not the last that i shall ever see?" the royalists felt his danger almost as keenly as himself, but were powerless to prevent it by any means of their own. the duke de liancourt, who had some title to be listened to by the revolutionary party, since no one had been more zealous in promoting the most violent measures of the first assembly, pressed earnestly on pétion that his duty as mayor bound him to call out the national guards, and so prevent the intended outbreak, but was answered by sarcasms and insults; while vergniaud, from the tribune of the assembly itself, dared to deride all who apprehended danger. on the morning of the th, daylight had scarcely dawned when twenty thousand men, the greater part of whom were armed with some weapon or other--muskets, pikes, hatchets, crowbars, and even spits from the cook-shops forming part of their equipment--assembled on the place where the bastile had stood. santerre was already there on horseback as their appointed leader; and, when all were collected and marshaled in three divisions, they began their march. one division had for its chief the marquis de st. huruge, an intimate friend and adherent of the duc d'orléans; at the head of another, a woman of notorious infamy, known as la belle liégeoise, clad in male attire, rode astride upon a cannon; while, as it advanced, the crowd was every moment swelled by vast bodies of recruits, among whom were numbers of women, whose imprecations in ferocity and foulness surpassed even the foulest threats of the men. the ostensible object of the procession was to present petitions to the king and the assembly on the dismissal of roland and his colleagues from the administration, and on the refusal of the royal assent to the decree against the priests. the real design of those who had organized it was more truthfully shown by the banners and emblems borne aloft in the ranks. "beware the lamp,[ ]" was the inscription on one. "death to veto and his wife," was read upon another. a gang of butchers carried a calf's heart on the point of a pike, with "the heart of an aristocrat" for a motto. a band of crossing-sweepers, or of men who professed to be such, though the fineness of their linen was inconsistent with the rags which were their outward garments, had for their standard a pair of ragged breeches, with the inscription, "tremble, tyrants; here are the sans-culottes." one gang of ruffians carried a model of a guillotine. another bore aloft a miniature gallows with an effigy of the queen herself hanging from it. so great was the crowd that it was nearly three in the afternoon before the head of it reached the assembly, where its approach had raised a debate on the propriety of receiving any petition at all which was to be presented in so menacing a guise; m. roederer, the procurator-syndic, or chief legal officer of the department of paris, recommending its rejection, on the ground that such a procession was illegal, not only because of its avowed object of forcing its way to the king, but also because it was likely to lead into acts of violence even if it had not premeditated them. his arguments were earnestly supported by the constitutionalists, and opposed and ridiculed by vergniaud. but before the discussion was over, the rioters, who had now reached the hall, took the decision into their own hands, forced open the door, and put forward a spokesman to read what they called a petition, but which was in truth a sanguinary denunciation of those whom it proclaimed the enemies of the nation, and of whom it demanded that "the land should be purged." insolent and ferocious as it was, it, however, coincided with the feelings of the girondins, who were now the masters of the assembly. one orator carried a motion that the petitioners should receive what were called the honors of the assembly; or, in other words, should be allowed to enter the hall with their arms and defile before them. they poured in with exulting uproar. songs, half blood-thirsty and half obscene, gestures indicative some of murder, some of debauchery, cries of "vive la nation!" interspersed with inarticulate yells, were the sounds, the guillotine and the queen upon the gallows were the sights, which were thought in character with the legislature of a people which still claimed to be regarded as the pattern of civilization by all europe. evening approached before the last of the rabble had passed through the hall; and by that time the leading ranks were in front of the tuileries. there were but scanty means of resisting them. a few companies of the national guard formed the whole protection of the palace; and with them the agents of orleans and the girondins had been briskly tampering all the morning. many had been seduced. a few remained firm in their loyalty; but those on whom the royal family had the best reason to rely were a band of gentlemen, with the veteran marshal de noailles at their head, who had repaired to the tuileries in the morning to furnish to their sovereign such defense as could be found in their loyal and devoted gallantry. some of them besides the old marshal, the count d'hervilly, who had commanded the cavalry of the constitutional guard, and m. d'acloque, an officer of the national guard, brought military experience to aid their valor, and made such arrangements as the time and character of the building rendered practicable to keep the rioters at bay. but the utmost bravery of such a handful of men, for they were no more, and even the more solid resistance of iron gates and barriers, were unavailing against the thousands that assailed them. exasperated at finding the gates closed against them, the rioters began to beat upon them with sledge-hammers. presently they were joined by sergent and panis, two of the municipal magistrates, who ordered the sentinels to open the gates to the sovereign people. the sentinels fled; the gates were opened or broken down; the mob seized one of the cannons which stood in the place du carrousel, carried it up the stairs of the palace, and planted it against the door of the royal apartments; and, while they shouted out a demand that the king should show himself, they began to batter the door as before they had battered the gates, and threatened, if it should not yield to their hatchets, to blow it down with cannon-shot. fear of personal danger was not one of the king's weaknesses. the hatchets beat down the outer door, and, as it fell, he came forth from the room behind, and with unruffled countenance accosted the ruffians who were pouring through it. his sister, the princess elizabeth, was at his side. he had charged those around him to keep the queen back; and she, knowing how special an object of the popular hatred and fury she was, with a fortitude beyond that which defies death, remained out of sight lest she should add to his danger. for a moment the mob, respecting, in spite of themselves, the calm heroism with which they were confronted, paused in their onset; but those in front were pushed on by those behind, and pikes were leveled and blows were aimed at both the king and the princess, whom they mistook for the queen. at first there were but one or two attendants at the king's side, but they were faithful and brave men. one struck down a ruffian who was lifting his weapon to aim a blow at louis himself. a pike was even leveled at his sister, when her equerry, m. bousquet, too far off to bring her the aid of his right hand, called out, "spare the princess." delicate as were her frame and features, elizabeth was worthy of her blood, and as dauntless as the rest. she turned to her preserver almost reproachfully: "why did you undeceive him? it might have saved the queen." but after a few seconds, acloque with some grenadiers of the national guard on whom he could still rely, hastened up by a back staircase to defend his sovereign; and, with the aid of some of the gentlemen who had come with the marshal de noailles, drew the king back into a recess formed by a window; and raised a rampart of benches in front of him, and one still more trustworthy of their own bodies. they would gladly have attacked the rioters and driven them back, but were restrained by louis himself. "put up your swords," said he; "this crowd is excited rather than wicked." and he addressed those who had forced their way into the room with words of condescending conciliation. they replied with threats and imprecations; and sought to force their way onward, pressing back by their mere numbers and weight the small group of loyal champions who by this time had gathered in front of him. so great was the uproar that presently a report reached the main body of the insurgents, who were still in the garden beneath, that louis had been killed; and they mingled shouts of triumph with cheers for orleans as their new king, and demanded that the heads of the king and queen should be thrown down to them from the windows; but no actual injury was inflicted on louis, though he owed his safety more to his own calmness than even to the devotion of his guards. one ruffian threatened him with instant death if he did not at once grant every prayer contained in their petition. he replied, as composedly as if he had been on his throne at versailles, that the present was not the time for making such a demand, nor was this the way in which to make it. the dignity of the answer seemed to imply a contempt for the threateners, and the mob grew more uproarious. "fear not, sire," said one of acloque's grenadiers, "we are around you." the king took the man's hand and placed it on his heart, which was beating more calmly than that of the soldier himself. "judge yourself," said he, "if i fear." legendre, the butcher, raised his pike as if to strike him, while he reproached him as a traitor and the enemy of his country. "i am not, and never have been aught but the sincerest friend of my people," was the gentle but fearless answer. "if it be so, put on this red cap," and the butcher thrust one into his hand on the end of his pike, prepared, as louis believed, to plunge the weapon itself into his breast if he refused. the king put it on, and so little regarded it that he forgot to remove it again, as he afterward repented that he had not done, thinking that his conduct in allowing it to remain on his head bore too strong a resemblance to fear or to an unworthy compromise of his dignity. but still the uproar increased, and above it rose loud cries for the queen, till at last she also came forward. as yet, from the motives that have already been mentioned, she had consented to remain out of sight; but each explosion of the mob increased her unwillingness to keep back. it was, she felt, her duty to be always at the king's side; if need be, to die with him; to stand aloof was infamy; and at last, as the demands for her appearance increased, even those around her confessed that it might be safer for her to show herself. the door was thrown open, and, leading forth her children, from whom she refused to part, and accompanied by madame de tourzel, madame de lamballe, and others of her ladies, the most timid of whom seemed as if inspired by her example, marie antoinette advanced and took her place by the side of her husband, and, with head erect and color heightened by the sight of her enemies, faced them disdainfully. as lions in their utmost rage have recoiled before a man who has looked them steadily in the face, so did even those miscreants quail before their pure and high-minded queen. at first it seemed as if her bitterest enemies were to be found among her own sex. the men were for a moment silenced; but a young girl, whose appearance was not that of the lowest class, came forward and abused her in coarse and furious language, especially reviling her as "the austrian." the queen, astonished at finding such animosity in one apparently tender and gentle, condescended to expostulate with her. "why do you hate me? i have never injured you." "you have not injured me, but it is you who cause the misery of the nation." "poor child," replied marie antoinette, "they have deceived you. i am the wife of your king, the mother of your dauphin, who will be your king. i am a frenchwoman in every feeling of my heart. i shall never again see austria. i can only be happy or unhappy in france, and i was happy when you loved me." the girl was melted by her patience and gentleness. she burst into tears of shame, and begged pardon for her previous conduct. "i did not know you," she said; "i see now that you are good.[ ]" another asked her, "how old is your girl?" "she is old enough," replied the queen, "to feel acutely such scenes as these." but, while these brief conversations were going on, the crowd kept pressing forward. one officer had drawn a table in front of the queen as she advanced, so as to screen her from actual contact with any of the rioters, but more than one of them stretched across it as if to reach her. one fellow demanded that she should put a red cap, which he threw to her, on the head of the dauphin, and, as she saw the king wearing one, she consented; but it was too large and fell down the child's face, almost stifling him with its thickness. santerre himself reached across and removed it, and, leaning with his hands on the table, which shook beneath his vehemence, addressed her with what he meant for courtesy. "princess," said he, "do not fear. the french people do not wish to slay you. i promise this in their name." marie antoinette had long ago declared that her heart had become french; it was too much so for her to allow such a man's claim to be the spokesman of the nation. "it is not by such as you," she replied, with lofty scorn; "it is not by such as you that i judge of the french people, but by brave men like these;" and she pointed to the gentlemen who were standing round her as her champions, and to the faithful grenadiers. the well-timed and well-deserved compliment roused them to still greater enthusiasm, but already the danger was passing away. the assembly had seen with indifference the departure of the mob to attack the tuileries, and had proceeded with its ordinary business as if nothing were likely to happen which could call for its interference. but when the uproar within the palace became audible in the hall, the count de dumas, one of the very few men of noble birth who had been returned to this second assembly, with a few other deputies of the better class, hastened to see what was taking place, and, quickly returning, reported the king's imminent danger to their colleagues. dumas gave such offense by the boldness of his language that some of the jacobins threatened him with violence, but he refused to be silenced; and his firmness prevailed, as firmness nearly always did prevail in an assembly where, though there were many fierce and vehement blusterers, there were very few men of real courage. in compliance with his vehement demand for instant action, a deputation of members was sent to take measures for the king's safety; and then, at last, pétion, who had carefully kept aloof while there seemed to be a chance of the king being murdered, now that he could no longer hope for such a consummation, repaired to the palace and presented himself before him. to him he had the effrontery to declare that he had only just become apprised of his situation. from the assembly, at a later hour in the evening, he claimed the credit of having organized the riot. but louis would not condescend to pretend to believe him. "it was extraordinary," he replied, "that pétion should not have earlier known what had lasted so long." even he could not but be for a moment abashed at the king's unwonted expression of indignation. but he soon recovered himself, and with unequaled impudence turned and thanked the crowd for the moderation and dignity with which they had exercised the right of petition, and bid them "finish the day in similar conformity with the law, and retire to their homes." they obeyed. the interference of the deputies had convinced their leaders that they could not succeed in their purpose now. santerre, whose softer mood, such as it had been, had soon passed away, muttered with a deep oath that they had missed their blow, but must try it again hereafter. for the present he led off his brigands; the palace and gardens were restored to quiet, though the traces of the assault to which they had been exposed could not easily be effaced; and louis and his family were left in tranquillity to thank god for their escape, but to forebode also that similar trials were in store for them, all of which, it was not likely, would have so innocent a termination.[ ] chapter xxxvi. feelings of marie antoinette.--different plans are formed for her escape. --she hopes for aid from austria and prussia.--la fayette comes to paris. --his mismanagement.--an attempt is made to assassinate the queen.--the motion of bishop lamourette.--the feast of the federation.--la fayette proposes a plan for the king's escape.--bertrand proposes another.--both are rejected by the queen. we can do little more than guess at the feelings of marie antoinette after such a day of horrors. she could scarcely venture to write a letter, lest it should fall into hands for which it was not intended, and be misinterpreted so as to be mischievous to herself and to her correspondents. and two brief notes--one on the th of july to mercy, and one written a day or two later to the landgravine of hesse-darmstadt--are all that, so far as we know, proceeded from her pen in the sad period between the two attacks on the palace. brief as they are, they are characteristic as showing her unshaken resolution to perform her duty to her family, and proving at the same time how absolutely free she was from any delusion as to the certain event of the struggle in which she was engaged. no courage was ever more entirely founded on high and virtuous principle, for no one was ever less sustained by hope. to mercy she says: "july th, . "you know the occurrences of the th of june. our position becomes every day more critical. there is nothing but violence and rage on one side, weakness and inactivity on the other. we can reckon neither on the national guard nor on the army. we do not know whether to remain in paris, or to throw ourselves into some other place. it is more than time for the powers to speak out boldly. the th of july and the days which will follow it may become days of general mourning for france, and of regret to the powers who will have been too slow in explaining themselves. all is lost if the factions are not arrested in their wickedness by fear of impending chastisement. they are resolved on a republic at all risks. to arrive at that, they have determined to assassinate the king. it would be necessary that any manifesto[ ] should make the national assembly and paris responsible for his life and the lives of his family. "in spite of all these dangers, we will not change our resolution. you may depend on this as much as i depend on your attachment. it is a pleasure to me to believe that you allow me a share of the attachment which bound you to my mother. and this is a moment to give me a great proof of it, in saving me and mine, if there be still time.[ ]" the letter to the landgravine was one of reply to a proposal which that princess, who had long been one of her most attached friends, had lately made to her, that she should allow her brother, prince george of darmstadt, to carry out a plan by which, as he conceived, he could convey the queen and her children safely out of paris; the enterprise being, as both he and his sister flattered themselves, greatly facilitated by the circumstance that the prince's person was wholly unknown in the french capital. "july, .[ ] "your friendship and your anxiety for me have touched my very inmost soul. the person[ ] who is about to return to you will explain the reasons which have detained him so long. he will also tell you that at present i do not dare to receive him in my own apartment. yet it would have been very pleasant to talk to him about you, to whom i am so tenderly attached. no, my princess, while i feel all the kindness of your offers, i can not accept them. i am vowed for life to my duties, and to those beloved persons whose misfortunes i share, and who, whatever people may say of them, deserve to be regarded with interest by all the world for the courage with which they support their position. the bearer of this letter will be able to give you a detailed account of what is going on at present, and of the spirit of this place where we are living. i hear that he has seen much, and has formed very correct ideas. may all that we are now doing and suffering one day make our children happy! this is the only wish that i allow myself. farewell, my princess; they have taken from me every thing except my heart, which will always remain constant in its love for you. be sure of this; the loss of your love would be an evil which i could not endure. i embrace you tenderly. a thousand compliments to all yours. i am prouder than ever of having been born a german." in her mention of the th of july as likely to bring fresh dangers, she is alluding to the announcement of an intention of the jacobins to hold a fresh festival to commemorate the destruction of the bastile on the anniversary of that exploit; a celebration which she had ample reason to expect would furnish occasion for some fresh tumult and outrage. and we may remark that in one of these letters she rests her whole hope on foreign assistance; while in the other, she rejects foreign aid to escape from her almost hopeless position. but the key to her feeling in both cases is one and the same. above all things she was a devoted, faithful wife and mother. to herself and her own safety she never gave a thought. her first duty, she rightly judged, was to the king, and she looked to such a manifesto as she desired austria and prussia to issue, backed by the movements of a powerful army, as the measure which afforded the best prospect of saving her husband, who could hardly be trusted to save himself; while, for the very same reason, she refused to fly without him, even though flight might have saved her children, her son and heir, as well as herself, because it would have increased her husband's danger. in each case her decision was that of a brave and devoted wife, not perhaps in both instances judicious; for when prussia did mingle in the contest, as it did in the first week in july, it evidently increased the perils of louis, if indeed they were capable of aggravation, by giving the jacobins a plea for raising the cry "that the country was in danger." but in the second case, in her refusal to flee, and to leave her husband by himself to confront the existing and impending dangers, she judged rightly and worthily of herself; and the only circumstance that has prevented her from receiving the credit due for her refusal to avail herself of prince george's offer is that throughout the whole period of the revolution her acts of disinterestedness and heroism are so incessant that single deeds of the kind are lost in the contemplation of her entire career during this long period of trial. it was the peculiar ill-fortune of louis that more than once the very efforts made by people who desired to assist him increased his perils. the events of the th of june had shocked and alarmed even la fayette. from the beginning of the revolution he had vacillated between a desire for a republic and for a limited monarchy on something like the english pattern, without being able to decide which to prefer. he had shown himself willing to court a base popularity with the mob by heaping uncalled-for insults on the king and queen. but though he had coquetted with the ultra- revolutionists, and allowed them to make a tool of him, he had not nerve for the villainies which it was now clear that they meditated. he had no taste for bloodshed; and, though gifted with but little acuteness, he saw that the success of the jacobins and girondins would lead neither to a republic nor to a limited monarchy, but to anarchy; and he had discernment enough to dread that. he therefore now sincerely desired to save the king's life, and even what remained of his authority, especially if he could so order matters that their preservation should be seen to be his own work. he was conscious also that he could reckon on many allies in any effort which he might make for the prevention of further outrages. the more respectable portion of the parisians viewed the recent outrages with disgust, sharpened by personal alarm. the dominion of santerre and his gangs of destitute desperadoes was manifestly fraught with destruction to themselves as well as to the king. the greater part of the army under his command shared these feelings, and would gladly have followed him to paris to crush the revolutionary clubs, and to inflict condign punishment on the authors and chief agents in the late insurrection. if he had but had the skill to avail himself of this favorable state of feeling, there can be little doubt that it was in his power at this moment to have established the king in the full exercise of all the authority vested in him by the constitution, or even to have induced the assembly to enlarge that authority. he so mismanaged matters that he only increased the king's danger, and brought general contempt and imminent danger on himself likewise. his enemies had more than once accused him of wishing to copy cromwell. his friends had boasted that he would emulate monk. but if he was too scrupulous for the audacious wickedness of the one, he proved himself equally devoid of the well-calculating shrewdness of the other. if, subsequently, he had any reason to congratulate himself on the result of his conduct, it was that, like the stork in the fable, after be had thrust his head into the mouth of the wolf, he was allowed to draw it out again in safety. louis's enemies had abundantly shown that they did not lack boldness. if they were to be defeated, it could only be by action as bold as their own. unhappily, la fayette's courage had usually found vent rather in blustering words than in stout deeds; and those were the only weapons he could bring himself to employ now. he resolved to remonstrate with the assembly; but instead of bringing up his army, or even a detachment, to back his remonstrance, he came to paris with a single aid-de-camp, and, on the th of june, presented himself at the bar of the assembly and demanded an audience. a fortnight before he had written a letter to the president, in which he had denounced alike the jacobin leaders of the clubs and the girondin ministers, and had called on the assembly to suppress the clubs; a letter which had produced no effect except to unite the two parties against whom it was aimed more closely together, and also to give them a warning of his hostility to them, which, till he was in a position to show it by deeds, it would have been wiser to have avoided. he now repeated by word of mouth the statements and arguments which he had previously advanced in writing, with the addition of a denunciation of the recent insurrection and its authors, whom, he insisted, the assembly was bound instantly to prosecute. his speech was not ill received; for the constitutionalists, who knew what he designed to say, had mustered in full force, and had packed the galleries beforehand with hired clappers; and many even of the deputies who did not belong to that party cheered him, so obvious to all but the most desperate was the danger to the whole state, if santerre and his brigands should be allowed to become its masters. but they cared little for a barren indignation which had no more effectual weapon than reproaches. he had said enough to exasperate, but had not done enough to intimidate; while those whom he denounced had greater boldness and presence of mind than he, and had the forces on which they relied for support at hand and available. they instantly turned the latter on himself, and in their turn denounced him for having left his army without leave. he was frightened, or at least perplexed, by such a charge. he made no reply, but seemed like one stupefied; and it was only through the eloquence of one of his friends, m. ramond, that he was saved from the impeachment with which guadet and vergniaud openly threatened him for quitting the army without leave. ramond's oratory succeeded in carrying through the assembly a motion in his favor, and several companies of the national guard and a vast multitude of the citizens showed their sympathy with his views by escorting him with acclamations to his hotel. but neither their evident inclination to support him, nor even the danger with which he himself had been threatened, could give him resolution and firmness in action. for a moment he made a demonstration as if he were prepared to secure the success of his designs by force. he proposed that the king should the next morning review acloque's companies of the national guard, after which he himself would harangue them on their duty to the king and constitution. but the girondins persuaded pétion to exert his authority, as mayor, to prohibit the review. la fayette was weak enough to submit to the prohibition; and, quickened, it is said, by intelligence that pétion was preparing to arrest him, the next day retired in haste from paris and rejoined the army. he had done the king nothing but harm. he had shown to all the world that though the royalists and constitutionalists might still be numerically the stronger party, for all purposes of action they were by far the weaker. he had encouraged those whom he had intended to daunt, and strengthened those whom he had hoped to crush; and they, in consequence, proceeded in their treasons with greater boldness and openness than ever. marie antoinette, as we have seen, had expressed her belief that they designed to assassinate louis, and she now employed herself, as she had done once before, in quilting him a waistcoat of thickness sufficient to resist a dagger or a bullet; though so incessant was the watch which was set on all their movements that it was with the greatest difficulty that she could find an opportunity of trying it on him. but it was not the king, but she herself, who was the victim whom the traitors proposed to take off in such a manner; and in the second week of july a man was detected at the foot of the staircase leading to her apartments, disguised as a grenadier, and sufficiently equipped with murderous weapons. he was seized by the guard, who had previous warning of his design; but was instantly rescued by a gang of ruffians like himself, who were on the watch to take advantage of the confusion which might be expected to arise from the accomplishment of his crime. meanwhile the assembly wavered, hesitated, and did nothing; the girondins and jacobins were fertile in devising plots, and active in carrying them out. one day, as if seized with a panic at some report of the strength of the austrian and prussian armies, the assembly again passed a vote declaring the country in danger; on another, roused by a letter which a madame gouges, a daughter of a fashionable dress-maker, a lady of more notoriety than reputation, but who cultivated a character for philosophy, took upon herself to write to them, and still more by a curiously sentimental speech of the bishop of lyons, with the appropriate name of lamourette,[ ] the members bound themselves to have for the future but one heart and one sentiment; and for some minutes jacobins, girondins, constitutionalists, and royalists were rushing to and fro across the floor of the hall in a frenzy of mutual benevolence, embracing and kissing one another, and swearing an eternal friendship. they even sent a message to louis to beg him to come and witness this new harmony. he came at once. with his disposition, it was not strange that he yielded to the illusion of the strange spectacle which he beheld. he shed tears of joy, declared the complete agreement of his sentiments with theirs, and predicted that their union would save france. they escorted him back to the tuileries with cheers, and the very same evening, after a stormy debate, which was a remarkable commentary on the affection which they had just vowed to one another, they set him at defiance, insulting him by annulling some decrees to which he had given his assent, and passing a vote of confidence in pétion as mayor. the feast of the federation, as it was called, passed off quietly. the king again recognized the constitution before the altar erected in the champ de mars, and, as he drove back to the palace, the populace accompanied him the whole way, never ceasing their acclamations of "vivent le roi et la reine![ ]" till they had dismounted and returned to their apartments. such a close of the day had been expected by no one. la fayette, who seems at last to have become really anxious to save the lives of the king and queen, and to have been seriously convinced that they were in danger, had now formally opened a communication with the court. he concerted his plans with marshal luckner, and had learned so much wisdom from his recent failure that he now placed no reliance on any thing but a display of superior force. he accordingly proposed to louis to bring up a battalion of picked men from his and the marshal's armies to escort him to the champ de mars; and, judging that, even if the feast should pass off without any fresh danger, the king could never be considered permanently safe while he remained in paris, he recommended that on the next day, louis, still under the protection of the same troops, should announce to the assembly his departure for compiègne, and should at once quit the capital for that town, to which trusty officers would in the mean time have brought up other divisions of the army in sufficient strength to set all disaffected and seditious spirits at defiance. the plan was at all events well conceived, but it was declined. louis did not apparently distrust the marquis's good faith, but he doubted his ability to carry out an enterprise requiring an energy and decision of which no part of la fayette's career had given any indication; while the queen distrusted his loyalty even more than his capacity. one of those with whom she took counsel expressed his opinion of the marquis's real object by saying that he might save the monarch, but not the monarchy; and she replied that his head was still full of republican notions which he had brought from america, and refused to place the slightest confidence in him. we may suspect that she did not do him entire justice, and may rather believe, with louis, that he was now acting in good faith; but, with a recollection of all that she had suffered at his hands, we can not wonder at her continued distrust of him.[a ] but his was not the only plan proposed for the escape of the royal family. bertrand de moleville, though no longer louis's minister, retained his undiminished confidence, and he had found a place which he regarded as admirably suited for a temporary retreat--the castle of gaillon, near the left bank of the seine, in normandy, the people of which province were almost universally loyal. it was within the twenty leagues from paris which the assembly had fixed for the limit of the royal journeys; while yet, in case of the worst, it was likewise within easy distance of the coast. an able engineer officer had pronounced it to be thoroughly defensible; and the count d'hervilly, with other officers of proved courage and presence of mind, undertook the arrangement of all the military measures necessary for the safe escort of the entire royal family, which they themselves were willing to conduct, with the aid of some detachments of the swiss guards; while the necessary funds were provided by the loyal devotion of the duke de liancourt, who placed a million of francs at his sovereign's disposal, and of one or two other nobles who came forward with almost equally lavish offerings. louis certainly at first regarded the plan with favor, and, in the opinion of m. bertrand, it would not have been difficult to induce him to adopt it, if the queen could have been brought over to a similar view. unhappily several motives combined to disincline her to it. the insurrection which the girondins[ ] were preparing had originally been fixed for the th of july; but, a few days before, m. bertrand learned that it had been postponed till the th of august. this gave him time to mature his arrangements, all of which, as he reckoned, could be completed in time for the king to leave paris on the evening of the th. but before that day arrived news had reached the court that the duke of brunswick, the prussian commander-in-chief, had put his army in motion, and that he was not likely to meet any obstacle sufficient to prevent him from marching at once on paris; a measure which, to quote the language of m. bertrand, "the queen was too anxious to see accomplished to hesitate at believing in its execution.[ ]" and at the same time some of the jacobin leaders--danton, pétion, and santerre--had opened communications with the government, and had undertaken for a large bribe to prevent the threatened outbreak. the money had been paid to them, and marie antoinette more than once boasted to her attendants that they were now safe, as having gained over danton; placing the firmer reliance on this mode of extrication because it coincided with her belief that the mutual jealousy of the two parties would dispose one of them at least eventually to embrace the cause of the king, as their beat ally against the other. the result seems to show that the jacobins only took the bribe the more effectually to lull their destined victims into a false security. a third consideration, and that apparently not the weakest, was marie antoinette's rooted dislike of the constitutionalist party. in their rants the duc de liancourt had taken his seat in the first assembly; though, as he assured m. bertrand, the king himself was aware that his object in so doing had been to serve his majesty in the most effectual manner; and he was also the statesman whose advice had mainly contributed to induce the king to visit paris after the destruction of the bastile, a step which she had always regarded as the forerunner and cause of some of the most irremediable encroachments of the revolutionists. even the duke's present devotion to the king's cause could not entirely efface from her mind the impression that he was not in his heart friendly to the royal authority. she urged these arguments on the king. the last probably weighed with him but little: the two former he felt as strongly as the queen herself; and he delayed his decision, sending word to m. bertrand that he had resolved to defer his departure "till the last extremity.[ ]" his faithful servant was in amazement. "when," he exclaimed, "was the last extremity to be looked for, if it had not already come?" but his astonishment was turned to absolute despair when the next day m. montmorin informed him that the project had been entirely given up, the queen herself remarking "that m. bertrand overlooked the circumstance that he was throwing them altogether into the hands of the constitutionalists." she has been commonly blamed for this decision, as that which was the chief cause of all the subsequent calamities which overwhelmed her and the whole family. yet it is not difficult to understand the motives which influenced her, and it is impossible to refrain from regarding them with sympathy. she was now at the decisive moment of a crisis which might well perplex the clearest head. there could be no doubt that the coming insurrection would be the turning-point of the long conflict which had now lasted three years; and it was a conflict in which her husband's throne was certainly at stake, perhaps even his and her own life. they had indeed been so for three years; and throughout the whole contest her view had constantly been that honor was still dearer than life; and honor she identified with the preservation of her husband's crown, her children's inheritance. mirabeau had said that she would not care to save her life if she could not save the crown also; and, though she can not have decided without a terrible conflict of feeling, her decision was now in conformity with mirabeau's judgment of her. in the preceding year the journey to varennes had been treated by the republicans as a plea for pronouncing the deposition of the king; and, though they were defeated then, they were undoubtedly stronger in the new assembly. on the other hand, she suspected that they themselves had some misgivings as to the chance of a second attack on the palace being more successful than the former one had proved; and that the openness with which the preparations for it were announced was intended to terrify louis and herself into a second flight; and she might not unreasonably infer that what their enemies desired was not the wisest course for them to adopt. to fly would evidently be to leave the whole field in both the assembly and the city open to their enemies. it might save their lives, but it would almost to a certainty forfeit the crown. to stay and face the coming danger might indeed lose both, but it might also save both; and she determined rather to risk all, both crown and life, in the endeavor to save all, rather than to save the one by the deliberate sacrifice of the other. it was a gallant and unselfish determination: if in one point of view it was unwise, it was at least becoming her lofty lineage, and consistent with her heroic character. chapter xxxvii. preparation for a new insurrection.--barbaroux brings up a gang from marseilles.--the king's last levee.--the assembly rejects a motion for the impeachment of la fayette.--it removes some regiments from paris.-- preparations of the court for defense.--the th of august.--the city is in insurrection.--murder of mandat.--louis reviews the guards.--he takes refuge with the assembly.--massacre of the swiss guards.--sack of the tuileries.--discussions in the assembly.--the royal authority is suspended. the die was cast. nothing was left but to wait, with such patience as might be, for the coming explosion, which was sure not to be long deferred. madame de staël has said that there never can be a conspiracy, in the proper sense of the word, in paris; and that if there could be one, it would be superfluous, since every one at all times follows the majority, and no one ever keeps a secret. but on this occasion the chief movers of sedition studiously discarded all appearance of concealment. vergniaud, guadet, and gensonné wrote the king a letter couched in terms of the most insolent defiance, and signed with all their names, in which they openly announced to him that an insurrection was organized which should be abandoned if he replaced roland and his colleagues in the ministry, but which should surely break on the palace and overwhelm it if he refused. and barbaroux, who had promised madame roland to bring up from marseilles and other towns in the south a band of men capable of any atrocity, had collected a gang of five hundred miscreants, the refuse of the galleys and the jails, and paraded them in triumph through the streets, which their arrival was destined and intended to deluge with blood. and yet louis, or, to speak more correctly, marie antoinette, for it was with her that every decision rested, preferred to face the impending struggle in paris. she still believed that the king had many friends in whose devotion and gallantry he could confide to the very death. on sunday, the th of august, the very last sunday which he was ever to behold as the acknowledged sovereign of the land, his levee was attended by a more than usually numerous and brilliant company; though the gayety appropriate to such a scene was on this occasion clouded over by the anxiety for their royal master and mistress which sobered every one's demeanor, and spread a gloom over every countenance. and three days later both the assembly and the national guard displayed feelings which, to so sanguine a temper as hers, seemed to show a disposition to make a stout resistance to the further progress of disorder. the assembly, by a majority of more than two to one, rejected a motion made by vergniaud for the impeachment of la fayette for his conduct in june; and when the mob fell upon those who had voted against it, as they came out of the hall, the national guard came promptly to their rescue, and inflicted severe chastisement on the foremost of the rioters. the vote of the assembly may be said to have been the last it ever gave for any object but the promotion of anarchy. it more than neutralized its effect the very next day, when it passed a decree for the immediate removal of three regiments of the line which were quartered in paris. it even at first included in its resolution the swiss guards also; but was subsequently compelled to withdraw that clause, since an old treaty with switzerland expressly secured to the republic the right of always furnishing a regiment for the honorable service of guarding the palace. and at the same time, as if to punish the national guard for its conduct on the previous day, another vote broke up the staff of that force; cashiered its finest companies, the grenadiers and the mounted troopers, on the plea that such distinctions were inconsistent with equality; and filled up the vacancies with men who were the very dregs of the city, many of whom were, in fact, secret agents of the jacobins, by whose aid they hoped to spread disaffection through the entire force. the afternoon of the th was passed in anxious preparation by both the conspirators and those whom they were about to attack. the king and queen were not destitute of faithful adherents, whom their very danger only rendered the more zealous to place all their strength, their valor, and, as they truly foreboded, their lives, at the disposal of their honored and threatened sovereigns. the veteran marshal de mailly, one of those gallant nobles whose devoted loyalty had been so scandalously insulted by la fayette[ ] in the spring of the preceding year, though now eighty years of age, hastened to the defense of his royal master and mistress, and brought with him a chivalrous phalanx of above a hundred gentlemen, all animated with the same self-sacrificing heroism, as his own, to fight, or, if need should be, to die for their king and queen, though they had no arms but their swords. it seemed fortunate, too, that the command of the national guard for the day fell by rotation to an officer named mandat, a man of high professional skill, intrepid courage, and unshaken in his zeal for the royal cause, though in former days the constitutionalists had reckoned him among their adherents. his brigade numbered about two thousand four hundred men, on most of whom he could thoroughly rely. and it was no slight proof of his force of character and energy, as well as of his address, that, as the national guard could not be employed out of the routine of their regular duty without a special authorisation from the civil power, he contrived to extort from pétion, as mayor of the city, a formal authority to augment his brigade for the special occasion, and, if force should be used against him, to repel it by force. the swiss guard of about a thousand men were all trustworthy; and there was also a small body of heavy cavalry of the gendarmery who had proved true enough to resist all the seductions of the conspirators. there were likewise a few cannon. in all, nearly four thousand men could be mustered for the defense of the palace; a force, if well equipped and well led, not inadequate to the task of holding it out for some time against any number of undisciplined assailants. but they were not well armed. they were nearly destitute of ammunition, and mandat's most vehement entreaties and remonstrances could not wring out from pétion an order for a supply of cartridges, though, as he told him, several companies had not four rounds left, some had only one; and though it was notorious that the police had served out ammunition to the marseillese, who had no claim to a single bullet. still less were they well led; for at such a crisis every thing depended on the king's example, and louis was utterly wanting to himself. as night approached, the agitation in the palace, and still more in the city, grew more and more intense. it was a brilliant and a warm night. by ten o'clock the mob began to cluster in the streets, many only curious and anxious from uncertain fear; those in the secret hastening toward the point of rendezvous. the rioters also had cannon, and by eleven their artillery-men had taken charge of their guns. the conspirators had got possession of all the churches; and as the hour of midnight struck, a single cannon-shot gave the signal, and from every steeple and tower in the city the fatal tocsin began to peal. the insurrection was begun. pétion, who, from some motive which is not very intelligible, wished to save appearances, and who, though in fact he had been eager in promoting the insurrection, pretended innocence of all complicity in it even to the assembly, whom he was aware that he was not deceiving, on the first sound of the bells repaired to the hôtel de ville. he found, as indeed he was aware that he should find, a strange addition to the municipal council. the majority of the sections of the city had declared themselves in insurrection; had passed resolutions that they would no longer obey the existing magistrates; and had appointed a body of commissioners to overbear them, trusting in the cowardice of the majority, and in the willing acquiescence and co-operation of danton and the other members of the party of violence. the commissioners seized on a room in the hôtel by the side of the regular council-room, and their first measures were marked with a cunning and unscrupulousness which largely contributed to the success of their more active comrades in the streets. even pétion himself was not wicked enough or resolute enough for them. the authority which mandat had wrung from him on the previous morning was, in their eyes, a proof of unpardonable weakness. he might be terrified into issuing some other order which might disconcert or at least impede their plans; and accordingly they put him under a kind of honorable arrest, and sent him to his own house under the guard of an armed force, which was instructed to allow no one access to him; and at the same time they sent an order in his name to mandat to repair to the hôtel de ville, to concert with them the measures necessary for the safety of the city. had he acted on his own judgment, mandat would have disregarded the summons; but m. roederer urged upon him that he was bound to comply with an order brought in the name of the mayor. accordingly he repaired to the hôtel de ville, and gave to the municipal council so distinct an account of his measures, and of his reason for taking them, that, though danton and some of his more factious colleagues reproached him for exhibiting what they called a needless distrust of the people, the majority of the council approved of his conduct, and dismissed him to return to his duties. but as he quit their chamber, he was dragged before the other body, the commissioners of the sections,[ ] and subjected to another examination, which, as a matter of course, they conducted with every kind of insult and violence. the municipal council sent down a deputation to remonstrate with them; they rose on the council and expelled them from their own council-chamber by main force, and then sent off mandat to prison, whither, a few minutes later, they dispatched a gang of assassins to murder him. the news of his death soon reached the tuileries, where it struck a chill even into the firm heart of the queen,[ ] who had deservedly placed great reliance on his fidelity and resolution. she had now to trust to the valor and loyalty of the troops themselves, though thus deprived of their commander; and, as a last hope, she persuaded the king to go down and review them, hoping that his presence might animate the faithful, and perhaps fix the waverers. louis consented, as he would have consented to any course that was recommended to him; but on such occasions more depends on the grace and spirit with which a thing is done than on the act itself, and grace and spirit were now less than ever to be looked for in the unhappy louis. he visited first the courts of the palace, and the carrousel, and then the gardens, at whose different entrances strong detachments of troops were stationed. when he first appeared he was greeted by one general cheer of "vive le roi!" but as he passed along the ranks the unanimity and loyalty began to disappear. even of those regiments which were still true to him the cheers were faint, as if half suppressed by alarm; while many companies mingled shouts for "the nation" with those for himself, and individual soldiers murmured audibly, "down with the veto!" or, "long live the sans-culottes!" secure that their officers would not venture to reprove, much less to chastise them. the swiss guard alone showed enthusiasm in their loyalty and resolution in their demeanor. but when he reached the artillery, on whom perhaps most depended, many of the gunners made no secret of their disaffection. some even quit their ranks to offer him personal insults, doubling their fists in his face, and shouting out the coarsest threats which the revolution had yet taught them. both cheers and insults the hapless king received with almost equal apathy. the despair which was in his heart was shown in his dress, which had no military character or decoration, but was a suit of plain violet such as was never worn by kings of france but on occasions of mourning. it was to no purpose that the queen put a sword into his hand, and exhorted him to take the command of the troops himself, and to show himself ready to fight in person for his crown. it was only once or twice that he could even be brought to utter a few words of acknowledgment to those who treated him with respect, of expostulation to those who insulted and threatened him; and presently, pale, and, as it seemed, exhausted with that slight effort, he returned to his apartments. the queen was almost in despair. she told madame de campan that all was lost; that the king had shown no energy; that such a review as that had done harm rather than good. all that could now be done was for her to show herself not wanting to the occasion, nor to him. her courage rose with the imminence of the danger. those who beheld her, as with dilating eyes and heightened color she listened to the unceasing tumult, and, repressing every appearance of alarm, strove with unabated energy to rouse her husband, and to fortify the good disposition of the loyal friends around her, have described in terms of enthusiastic admiration the majestic dignity of her demeanor at this trying moment. she had need of all her presence of mind; for even among those who were most faithful to her dissensions were springing up. at the first alarm marshal de mailly and his company of gallant nobles and gentlemen had hastened to her side; but the national guards were jealous of them. it seemed as if they expected to be allowed to remain nearest to the royal person; and the soldiers disdained to yield the post of honor to men who were not in uniform, and whom, as they were mostly in court dress, they even disliked as aristocrats. they besought the queen to dismiss them. "never!" she replied; and, trusting rather that the example of their self-sacrificing devotion might stimulate those who thus complained, and full of that royal magnanimity which feels that it confers honor on those whom it trusts, and that it has a right to look for the loyalty of its servants even to the death, she added, "they will serve with you, and share your dangers. they will fight with you in the van, in the rear, where you will. they will show you how men can die for their king." but meanwhile the insurgents were rapidly approaching the palace, and already the tramp of the leading column might be heard. the tocsin had continued its ominous sound throughout the night, and at six in the morning the main body of the insurgents, twenty thousand strong, and well armed--for the new council had opened to them the stores of the arsenal-- began their march under the command of santerre. as they advanced they were joined by the marseillese, who had been quartered in a barrack near the hall of the cordeliers, and their numbers were further swelled by thousands of the populace. soon after eight they reached the carrousel, forced the gates, and pressed on to the royal court, the national guard and swiss falling back before them to the entrance to the royal apartments, where the more confined space seemed to afford a better prospect of making an effectual resistance. but already the palace was deserted by those who were the intended objects of the attack. roederer, and one or two of the municipal magistrates, in whom the indignity with which the new commissioners of the sections had treated them had excited a feeling of personal indignation, had been actively endeavoring to rouse the national guards to an energetic resistance; but they had wholly failed. those who listened to them most favorably would only promise to defend themselves if attacked, while some of the artillery-men drew the charges from their guns and extinguished their matches. roederer, whom the strange vicissitudes of the crisis had for the moment rendered the king's chief adviser, though there seems no reason to doubt his good faith, was not a man of that fiery courage which hopes against hope, and can stimulate waverers by its example. he saw that if the rioters should succeed in storming the palace, and should find the king and his family there, the moment that made them masters of their persons would be the last of their lives and of the monarchy. he returned into the palace to represent to louis the utter hopelessness of making any defense, and to recommend him, as his sole resource, to claim the protection of the assembly. the queen, who, to use her own words, would have preferred being nailed to the walls of the palace to seeking a refuge which she deemed degrading, pointed to the soldiers, and showed by her gestures that they were the only protectors whom it became them to look to. roederer assured her that they could not he relied on. she seemed unconvinced. he almost forgot his respect in his earnestness. "if you refuse, madame, you will be guilty of the blood of the king, of your two children; you will destroy yourself, and every soul within the palace." while she was still hesitating between her feeling of shame and her anxiety for those dearest to her, the king gave the word. "let us go," said he. "let us give this last proof of our devotion to the constitution." the princess spoke. "could roederer answer for the king's life?" he affirmed that he would answer for it with his own. the queen repeated the question. "madame," he replied, "we will answer for dying at your side--that is all that we can promise." "let us go," said louis, and moved toward the door. even at the last moment, one officer, m. boscari, commander of a battalion of the national guard, known as that of les filles st. thomas, whose loyalty no disaster had ever been able to shake, implored him to change his mind. his men, united to the swiss, would be able, he said, to cut a way for the royal family to the rouen road; the insurgents were all on the other side of the city, and nothing could resist him. but again, as on all previous occasions, louis rejected the brave advice. he pleaded the risk to which he should expose those dearest to him, and led them to almost certain death in committing them to the assembly. some of de mailly's gentlemen gathered round him to accompany him; but such an escort seemed to roederer likely to provoke additional animosity, and at his entreaty louis trusted himself to a company of his faithful swiss and to a detachment of the national guard, who formed themselves into an escort to conduct him to the assembly, whose hall looked into one side of the palace garden. the minister for foreign affairs walked at his side. the queen leaned on the arm of m. dubouchage, the minister of marine, and with the other hand led the dauphin. the princess elizabeth and the princess royal followed with another minister. and thus, with the princess de lamballe, madame de tourzel, and one or two other ministers and attendants, the royal family left the palace of their ancestors, which only one of them was ever to behold again. as they quit the saloon, moved down the stairs, and crossed the garden, their every step was one toward a downfall and a destruction which could never be retraced. marie antoinette felt it to be so, and, as she reached the foot of the staircase, cast restless and anxious glances around, looking perhaps even then for any prospect of succor or of effectual resistance which might present itself. one of the swiss misunderstood her, and with rude fidelity endeavored to encourage her. "fear nothing, madame," said he, "your majesty is surrounded by honest citizens." she laid her hand on her heart. "i do fear nothing," and passed on without another word. as they crossed the garden the king broke the silence. "how unusually early," he remarked, "the leaves fall this year!" to those who heard him, the bareness which he remarked seemed an omen of the fate which awaited himself, about to be stripped of his royal dignity; perhaps even, like some superfluous crowder of the grove, to fall beneath the axe. the assembly had already been deliberating whether it should invite him to take refuge with them when they heard that he was approaching. it was instantly voted that a deputation should be sent to meet him, which, after a few words of respectful salutation, fell in behind. a vast crowd was collected outside the doors of the hall. they hooted the king, and, still more bitterly, the queen, as they advanced. "down with veto!" was the chief cry; but mingled with it were still more unmanly insults, invoking more especially death on all the women. but the guards kept the mob at a distance, though when they reached the hall the jacobins made an effort to deprive them of that protection. they declared that it was illegal for soldiers to enter the hall, as indeed it was; yet without them the princes must at the last moment have been exposed to all the fury of the mob. at this critical moment roederer showed both fidelity and presence of mind. he implored the deputies to suspend the law which forbade the entrance of the troops, and, while the jacobins were reviling him and his proposal, he pretended to suppose that it had been agreed to, and led forward a detachment of soldiers who cleared the way. one grenadier look up the dauphin in his arms and carried him in; and, although the pressure of the crowd was extreme, at last the whole family were placed within the hall in such safety as the assembly was able or disposed to afford them. louis bore himself not without dignity. his words were few but calm. "i am come here to prevent a great crime. i think i can not be better placed, nor more safely, gentlemen, than among you." the president, who happened to be vergniaud, while appearing to desire to give him confidence, yet avoided uttering a single word, except the simple address of "sire," which should be a recognition of the royal dignity, if indeed his speech was not a studied disavowal of it. louis might reckon, he said, on the firmness of the national assembly: its members had sworn to die in support of the rights of the people and of the constituted authorities: and then, on the plea that the assembly must continue its deliberations, and that the law forbade them to be conducted in the presence of the sovereign, he assigned him and his family a little box behind the president's chair, which was usually set apart for the reporters of the debates. a jacobin deputy proposed their removal into one of the committee-rooms, with the idea, as he afterward boasted, that it would be easy there to admit a band of assassins to murder them all; but vergniaud and his party divined his object and overruled him. it might seem that the girondins, though they had been the original promoters and chief organizers of the insurrection, were as yet disposed to be content with the overthrow of the throne, and had not arrived at the hardihood which can not be sated without murder; and it is a remarkable instance of the rapidity with which unprincipled men sink deeper and deeper into iniquity, that they who now exerted themselves successfully to save the life of louis, five months afterward were as unanimous as the most ferocious jacobins in destroying him. one object of louis in abandoning his palace had been to save the lives of the national guards and of the swiss, by withdrawing them from what he regarded as an unequal combat with the infuriated multitude; and of the national guard the greater part did escape, drawing off silently in small detachments, when the sovereign whom it had been their duty to defend, seemed no longer to require their service. but the swiss remained bravely at their posts around the royal staircase, though, as they abstained from provoking the rioters by any active opposition, which now seemed to have no object, they hoped that they might escape attack. but the mob and santerre were bent on their destruction. some of the insurgents tried to provoke them by threats. some endeavored to tamper with them to desert their allegiance. but an accidental interruption suddenly terminated their brief period of inaction. in the confusion a pistol went off, and the swiss fancied it was meant as a signal for an assault upon them. thinking that the time was come to defend their own lives, they leveled their muskets and fired: they charged down the steps, driving the insurgents before them like sheep; they cleared the inner or royal court, forced their way into the carrousel, recovered the cannon which were posted in the large square, and were so completely victorious that, had there been any superior officer at hand to direct their movements, they might even now have checked the insurrection. there might even have been some hope had not louis himself actually interfered to check their exertions. hearing what they had accomplished, the gallant d'hervilly made his way to them, and called on them to follow him to the rescue of the king. they hesitated, unwilling to leave their wounded comrades to the mercy of their enemies; but their hesitation was brief, for it was put an end to by the wounded men themselves, who bid them hasten forward; their duty, they told them, was to save the king; for themselves, they could but die where they lay.[ ] there were still plenty of gallant spirits to do their duty to the king, if he could but have been persuaded to take a right view of his duty to himself and to them. the swiss gladly obeyed d'hervilly's summons. forming in close order, and as steady as on parade, they marched through the garden, one battalion moving toward the end opposite to the palace, where there was a draw-bridge which it was essential to secure; the other following d'hervilly to the assembly hall. nothing could resist their advance: they forced their way up the stairs; and in a few moments a young officer, m. de salis, at the head of a small detachment, sword in hand, entered the chamber. some of the deputies shrieked and fled, while others, more calm, reminded him that armed men were forbidden to enter the hall, and ordered him to retire. he refused, and sent his subaltern to the king for orders. but louis still held to his strange policy of non-resistance. even the terrible scenes of the morning, and the deliberate attack of an armed mob upon his palace, had failed to eradicate his unwillingness to authorize his own guards to fight in his behalf, or to convince him that when his throne (perhaps even his life and the lives of all his family) was at stake, it was nobler to struggle for victory, and, if defeated, to die with arms in his hands, than tamely to sit still and be stripped of his kingly dignity by brigands and traitors. could he but have summoned energy to put himself at the head of his faithful guards, as we may be sure that his brave wife urged him to do; could he have even sent them one encouraging order, one cheering word, there still might have been hope; for they had already proved that no number of santerre's ruffians could stand before them.[ ] but louis could not even now bring himself to act; he could only suffer. his command to the officer, the last he ever issued, was for the whole battalion to lay down their arms, to evacuate the palace, and to retire to their barracks. he would not, he said, that such brave men should die. they knew that in fact he was consigning them to death without honor; but they were loyal to the last. they obeyed, though their obedience to the first part of the order rendered the last part impracticable. they laid down their arms, and were at once made prisoners; and the fate of prisoners in such hands as those of their captors was certain. a small handful, consisting, it is said, of fourteen men, escaped through the courage of one or two friends, who presently brought them plain clothes to exchange for their uniforms, but before night all the rest were massacred. not more fortunate were their comrades of the other battalion, except in falling by a more soldier-like death. though no longer supported by the detachment under d'hervilly, they succeeded in forcing their way to the draw-bridge. it was held by a strong detachment of the national guard, who ought to have received them as comrades, but who had now caught the contagion of successful treason, and fired on them as they advanced. but the gallant swiss, in spite of their diminished numbers still invincible, charged through them, forced their way across the bridge into the place louis xv., and there formed themselves into square, resolved to sell their lives dearly. it was all that was left to them to do. the mounted gendarmery, too, came up and turned against them. hemmed in on all sides, they fell one after another; louis, who had refused to let them die for him, having only given their death the additional pang that it had been of no service to him. the retreat of the king had left the tuileries at the mercy of the rioters. furious to find that he had escaped them, they wreaked their rage on the lifeless furniture, breaking, hewing, and destroying in every way that wantonness or malice could devise. different articles which had belonged to the queen were the especial objects of their wrath. crowds of the vilest women arrayed themselves in her dresses, or defiled her bed. her looking-glasses were broken, with imprecations, because they had reflected her features. her footmen were pursued and slaughtered because they had been wont to obey her. nor were the monsters who slew them contented with murder. they tore the dead bodies into pieces; devoured the still bleeding fragments, or deliberately lighted fire and cooked them; or, hoisting the severed limbs on pikes, carried them in fiendish triumph through the streets. and while these horrors were going on in the palace, the tumult in the assembly was scarcely less furious. the majority of the members--all, indeed, except the girondins and jacobins, who were secure in their alliance with the ringleaders--were panic-stricken. many fled, but the rest sat still, and in terrified helplessness voted whatever resolutions the fiercest of the king's enemies chose to propose. it was an ominous preliminary to their deliberations that they admitted a deputation from the commissioners of the sections into the hall, where guadet, to whom vergniaud had surrendered the president's chair, thanked them for their zeal, and assured them that the assembly regarded them as virtuous citizens only anxious for the restoration of peace and order. they were even formally recognized as the municipal council; and then, on the motion of vergniaud, the assembly passed a series of resolutions, ordering the suspension of louis from all authority; his confinement in the luxembourg palace; the dismissal and impeachment of his ministers; the re-appointment of roland and those of his colleagues whom he had dismissed, and the immediate election of a national convention. a large pecuniary reward was even voted for the marseillese, and for similar gangs from one or two other departments which had been brought up to paris to take a part in the insurrection. yet so deeply seated were hope and confidence in the queen's heart, so sanguine was her trust that out of the mutual enmity of the populace and the assembly safety would still be wrought for the king and the monarchy, that even while the din of battle was raging outside the hall, and inside deputy after deputy was rising to heap insults on the king and on herself, or to second vergniaud's resolutions for his formal degradation, she could still believe that the tide was about to turn in her favor. while the uproar was at its height she turned to d'hervilly, who still kept his post, faithful and fearless, at his master's side. "well, m. d'hervilly," said she, with an air, as m. bertrand, who tells the story, describes it, of the most perfect security, "did we not do well not to leave paris?" "i pray god," said the brave noble, "that your majesty may be able to ask me the same question in six months' time.[ ]" his foreboding was truer than her hopes. in less than six months she was a desolate, imprisoned widow, helplessly awaiting her own fate from her husband's murderers. all these resolutions of vergniaud, all the ribald abuse with which different members supported them, the unhappy sovereigns were condemned to hear in the narrow box to which they had been removed. they bore the insults, the queen with her habitual dignity, the king with his inveterate apathy; louis even speaking occasionally with apparent cheerfulness to some of the deputies. the constant interruptions protracted the discussions through the entire day. it was half-past three in the morning before the assembly adjourned, when the king and his family were removed to the adjacent convent of the feuillants, where four wretched cells had been hastily furnished with camp-beds, and a few other necessaries of the coarsest description. so little was any attempt made to disguise the fact that they were prisoners, that their own domestic servants were not allowed the next day to attend them till they had received a formal ticket of admittance from the president. yet even in this extremity of distress marie antoinette thought of others rather than of herself; and when at last her faithful attendant, madame de campan, obtained access to her, her first words expressed how greatly her own sorrows were aggravated by the thought that she had involved in them those loyal friends whose attachment merited a very different recompense.[ ] chapter xxxviii. indignities to which the royal family are subjected.--they are removed to the temple.--divisions in the assembly.--flight of la fayette.--advance of the prussians.--lady sutherland supplies the dauphin with clothes.--mode of life in the temple.--the massacres of september.--the death of the princess de lamballe.--insults are heaped on the king and queen.--the trial of the king.--his last interview with his family.--his death. from the th of august the life of marie antoinette is almost a blank to us. we may be even thankful that it is so, and that we are spared the details, in all their accumulated miseries, of a series of events which are a disgrace to human nature. for month after month the gentle, benevolent king, whom no sovereign ever exceeded in love for his people, or in the exercise of every private virtue; the equally pure-minded, charitable, and patriotic queen, who, to the somewhat passive excellences of her husband added fascinating graces and lofty energies of which he was unhappily destitute, were subjected to the most disgusting indignities, to the tyranny of the vilest monsters who ever usurped authority over a nation, and to the daily insults of the meanest of their former subjects, who thought to make a merit with their new masters of their brutality to those whose birthright had been the submission and reverence of all around them. vergniaud's motion had only extended to the suspension of the king from his functions till the meeting of the convention; but no one could doubt that that suspension would never be taken off, and that louis was in fact dethroned. marie antoinette never deceived herself on the point, and, retaining the opinion as to the fate of deposed monarchs which she had expressed three years before, pronounced that all was over with them. "my poor children," said she, apostrophizing the little dauphin and his sister, "it is cruel to give up the hope of transmitting to you so noble an inheritance, and to have to say that all is at an end with ourselves;" and, lest any one else should have any doubt on the subject, the assembly no longer headed its decrees with any royal title, but published them in the name of the nation. in one point the resolutions of the th were slightly departed from. the municipal authorities reported that the luxembourg had so many outlets and subterranean passages, that it would be difficult to prevent the escape of a prisoner from that palace; and accordingly the destination of the royal family was changed to the temple. thither, after having been compelled to spend two more days in the assembly, listening to the denunciations and threats of their enemies, whom even the knowledge that they were wholly in their power failed to pacify, they were conveyed on the th; and they never quit it till they were dragged forth to die. the temple had been, as its name imported, the fortress and palace of the knights templars, and, having been erected by them in the palmy days of their wealth and magnificence, contained spacious apartments, and extensive gardens protected from intrusion by a lofty wall, which surrounded the whole. it was not, unfit for, nor unaccustomed to, the reception of princes; for the count d'artois had fitted up a portion of it for himself whenever he visited the capital. and to his apartments those who had the custody of the king and queen at first conducted them. but the new municipal council, whom the recent events had made the real masters of paris, considered those rooms too comfortable or too honorable a lodging for any prisoners, however royal; and the same night, before they could retire to rest, and while louis was still occupying himself in distributing the different apartments among the members of his family and the few attendants who were allowed to share his captivity, an order was sent down to remove them all into a small dilapidated tower which had been used as a lodging for some of the count's footmen, but whose bad walls and broken windows rendered it unfit for even the servants of a prince. besides their meanness and ruinous condition, the number of the rooms it contained was so scanty, that for the first few days the only room that could be found for the princess elizabeth was an old, disused kitchen; and even after that was remedied, she was forced to share her new chamber, though it was both small and dark, with her niece, madame royale; while the dauphin's bed was placed by the side of the queen's, in one which was but little large.[ ] and the dungeon-like appearance of the entire place impressed the whole family with the idea that it was not intended that they should remain there long, but that an early death was preparing for them. even this distress was speedily aggravated by a fresh severity. four days afterward an order was sent down which commanded the removal of all their attendants, with the exception of one or two menial servants. madame de tourzel, the governess of the royal children, was driven away with the coarsest insults. the princess de lamballe, that most faithful and affectionate friend of the queen, was rudely torn from her embrace by the municipal officers; and, though no offense was even imputed to her, was dragged off to a prison, where she was soon to pay the forfeit of her loyalty with her blood. from this time forth the king and queen were completely cut off from the outer world. they were treated with a rigor which in happier countries is not even experienced by convicted criminals. they were forbidden to receive letters or newspapers; and presently they were deprived of pens, ink, and paper; though they would neither have desired to write nor receive letters which would have been read by their jailers, and could only have exposed their correspondents to danger. after a few days they were even deprived of the attendance of all their servants but two[ ]--a faithful valet named cléry (fidelity such as his may well immortalize his name), to whom we are indebted for the greater part of the scanty knowledge which we possess of the fate of the captive princes as long as louis himself was permitted to live; and turgy, a cook, who, by an act of faithful boldness, had obtained a surreptitious entrance into the temple, and whose services seemed to have escaped notice, though at a later period they proved of no trivial importance. had they but known what was passing in the assembly, marie antoinette would in all probability have still found matter for some comfort and hope in the fierce mutual strife of the jacobins and girondins, which for some weeks kept the assembly in a constant state of agitation; and she would have found even greater encouragement in the dissatisfaction which in many departments the people expressed at the late events; and in the conduct of la fayette's army, which at first cordially approved of and supported the town-council and magistrates of sedan, who arrested and threw into prison the commissioners whom the assembly had sent to announce the suspension of the royal authority. but the intelligence of that demonstration in their favor never reached them, nor that of its suppression a few days later; when la fayette, who, as on a former occasion, had committed himself to measures beyond his strength to carry out, was forced to fly from the country, and by a strange violation of military law was thrown into an austrian prison. nor again, when for a moment the duke of brunswick appeared likely to realize the hopes on which marie antoinette had built so confidently, and by the capture of longwy seemed to have opened to himself the road to paris, did any tidings of his achievement come to the ears of those who had felt such deep interest in his operations. after a time the ingenuity of cléry found a mode of obtaining for them some little knowledge of what was passing outside, by contriving that some of his friends should send criers to cry an abstract of the news contained in the daily journals under his windows, which he in his turn faithfully reported to them while employed in such menial offices about their persons as took off the attention of their guards, who day and night maintained an unceasing espial on all their actions and even words. from the very first they had to endure strange privations for princes. they had not a sufficient supply of clothes; the little dauphin, in particular, would have been wholly unprovided, had not the english embassadress, lady sutherland, whose son was of a similar age and size, sent in a stock of such as she thought might be wanted. but as the garments thus received wore out, and as all means of replacing them were refused, the queen and princess were reduced to ply their own needles diligently to mend the clothes of the whole family, that they might not appear to their jailers, or to the occupants of the surrounding houses, who from their windows could command a view of the garden in which they took their daily walks, absolutely ragged. such enforced occupation must indeed in some degree have been welcome as a relief from thought, which their unbroken solitude left them but too much leisure to indulge. cléry has given us an account of the manner in which their day was parceled out.[ ] the king rose at six, and cléry, after dressing his hair, descended to the queen's chamber, which was on the story below, to perform the same service for her and for the rest of the family. and the hour so spent brought with it some slight comfort, as he could avail himself of that opportunity to mention any thing that he might have learned of what was passing out-of-doors, or to receive any instructions which they might desire to give him. at nine they breakfasted in the king's room. at ten they came down-stairs again to the queen's apartments, where louis occupied himself in giving the dauphin lessons in geography, while marie antoinette busied herself in a corresponding manner with madame royale. but, in whatever room they were, their guards were always present; and when, at one o'clock, they went down-stairs to walk in the garden, they were still accompanied by soldiers: the only member of the family who was not exposed to their ceaseless vigilance being the little dauphin, who was allowed to run up and down and play at ball with cléry, without a soldier thinking it necessary to watch all his movements or listen to all his childish exclamations. at two dinner was served, and regularly at that hour the odious santerre, with two other ruffians of the same stamp, whom he called his aids-de-camp, visited them to make sure of their presence and to inspect their rooms; and cléry remarked that the queen never broke her disdainful silence to him, though louis often spoke to him, generally to receive some answer of brutal insult. after dinner, louis and marie antoinette would play piquet or backgammon; as, while they were thus engaged, the vigilance of their keepers relaxed, and the noise of shuffling the cards or rattling the dice afforded them opportunities of saying a few words in whispers to one another, which at other times would have been overheard. in the evening the queen and the princess elizabeth read aloud, the books chosen being chiefly works of history, or the masterpieces of corneille and racine, as being most suitable to form the minds and tastes of the children; and sometimes louis himself would seek to divert them from their sorrows by asking the children riddles, and finding some amusement in their attempts to solve them. at bed-time the queen herself made the dauphin say his prayers, teaching him especially the duty of praying for others, for the princess de lamballe, and for madame de tourzel, his governess; though even those petitions the poor boy was compelled to utter in whispers, lest, if they were repeated to the municipal council, he should bring ruin on those whom he regarded as friends. at ten the family separated for the night, a sentinel making his bed across the door of each of their chambers, to prevent the possibility of any escape. in this way they passed a fortnight, when the monotony of their lives was fearfully disturbed. the jacobins had established their ascendency. they had created a revolutionary tribunal, which at once began its course of wholesale condemnation, sending almost every one who was brought before it to the scaffold with merely a form of trial; the guillotine being erected, as it was said, _en permanence_, that the deaths of the victims might never be delayed for want of means to execute them; while, that a succession of victims might never be wanting, danton, in his new character of minister of justice, instituted a search of every house for arms or papers, or any thing which might afford evidence or even suggest a suspicion that the owners disliked or feared the new authorities. but it was not enough to strike terror into all the peaceful citizens. the girondins had always been objects of jealous rivalry to the jacobins. fanatical and relentless as they were in their cruelty, they had recently given proofs that they disapproved of the furious blood-thirstiness that was beginning to decimate the city, and they had carried the assembly with them in a vote for the dissolution of the new municipal council. at the same time, intelligence of the prussian successes readied the capital, intelligence which, it seemed possible, might animate the royalists to some fresh effort; and, lest they should find means of reconciling themselves to vergniaud and his party, the jacobins and cordeliers resolved to give both a lesson by a deed of blood which should strike terror into them. we may spare ourselves the pain of relating the horrors of the september massacre, when, for more than four days, gangs of men worse than devils, and of women unsexed by profligacy and cruelty till they had become worse even than the men, gave themselves up to the work of indiscriminate slaughter, deluging the streets with blood, and where they could spare time, aggravating the pangs of death by superfluous tortures. it will be sufficient for our purpose to record the fate of one of the most innocent of all the victims, who owed her death to the fact that she had long been the queen's most chosen friend, and whose murder was gloated over with special ferocity by the monsters who perpetrated it, as enabling them to inflict an additional pang on her wretched friend and mistress. madame de lamballe, as we have seen, had accompanied the queen to the temple on the first day of her captivity, and had subsequently been removed to one of the city prisons known as la force. it was on the prisoners in the different places of confinement that the work of death was to be done: and she had been specially marked out for slaughter, not solely because she was beloved by marie antoinette, but also, it was understood, because, as she was very rich, and sister-in-law to the duc d'orléans, that detestable prince desired to add her inheritance to his owd already vast riches. she was dragged before hébert, one of the foulest of the jacobin crew, who had taken his seat at the gate of the prison to preside over the trials, as they were called, of the prisoners in la force. "swear," said he, "devotion to liberty and to the nation, and hatred to the king and queen, and you shall live." "i will take the first oath," she replied, "but the second never; it is not in my heart. the king and queen i have ever loved and honored." almost before she had finished speaking she was pushed into the gate-way. one ruffian struck her from behind with his sabre. she fell. they tore her into pieces. a letter of the queen's fell from her hair, in which she had hidden it. the sight of it redoubled the assassins' fury. they stuck her head on a pike, and carried it in triumph to the palais royal to display it to d'orléans, who was feasting with some of the companions of his daily orgies, and then proceeded to the temple to brandish it before the eyes of the queen. it was about three o'clock.[ ] dinner had just been removed, and the king and queen were sitting down to play backgammon, when horrid shouts were heard in the street. one of the soldiers on guard in the room, who had not yet laid aside every feeling of humanity, closed the window and even drew the curtain. another of different temper insisted that louis should come to the window and show himself. as the uproar increased, the queen rose from her seat, and the king asked what was the matter. "well," said the man, "since you wish to know, they want to show you the head of madame de lamballe." no event that had yet occurred had struck the queen with such anguish. the uproar increased. those who bore the head had wished even to force the doors, and bring their trophy, still bleeding, into the very room where the royal family were, and were only prevented by a compromise which permitted them to parade it round their tower in triumph. as the shouts died away, pétion's secretary arrived with a small sum of money which had been issued for the king's use. he noticed that the queen stood all the time that he was in the room, and fancied she assumed that attitude out of respect to the mayor. she had never stirred since she had heard of the princess's death, but had stood rooted, as it were, to the ground, stupefied and speechless with horror and anguish. it was long before she could be restored; and all through the night the rest of the princesses, if at least they could have slept, was broken by her sobs, which never ceased. as time passed on, the prospects of the unhappy prisoners became still more gloomy. on the st of september the convention met, and its first act was to abolish royalty and declare the government a republic, and an officer was instantly sent to make proclamation of the event under the temple walls; and, as if the establishment of a republic authorized an increase of insolence on the part of the guards of the prisoners, the insults to which they were subjected grew more frequent and more gross. sentences both menacing and indecent were written on the walls where they must catch their eye: the soldiers puffed their tobacco-smoke in the queen's face as she passed, or placed their seats in the passages so much in her way that she could hardly avoid stumbling over their legs as she went down to the garden. sometimes they even assailed her with direct abuse, calling her the assassin of the people, who in their turn would assassinate her. more than once the whole family had to submit to a personal search, and to empty their pockets, when the officers who made the search carried off whatever they chose to term suspicious, especially their knives and scissors, so that, when at work, the queen and princess were forced to bite off the threads with their teeth. and amidst all this misery no one ever heard marie antoinette utter a word to lament her own fate, or to ask pity for herself. she mourned over her husband's fall; she pitied elizabeth, to whom malice itself could not impute a share in the wrongs of which danton and vergniaud had taught the people to complain. most of all did she bewail the ruined prospects of her son; and more than once she brought tears into cléry's eyes by the earnest tenderness with which she implored him to provide for the safety of the noble child after his parents should have been destroyed. the insults increased, each being an additional omen of the future. the most painful injuries were reserved for the queen. toward the end of october the dauphin was removed from her apartment to that of the king, that she might thus be deprived of the comfort of ministering to his daily wants. but louis himself was not spared. one day an order came down to deprive him of his sword; on another he was stripped of his different decorations and orders of knighthood. the system of espial, too, was carried out with increased severity. their linen, when it came hack from the washer-woman, and even their washing-bills, were held to the fire to see if any invisible ink had been employed to communicate with them. their loaves and biscuits were cut asunder lest they should contain notes. the end was approaching. a week or two later the king was removed to another tower, and was only permitted to see his family during a certain portion of the day. at last it was determined to bring him to trial. on the th of december he was suddenly informed that he was to be brought before the convention; and from that day forth he was cut off from all intercourse with his family, even his wife being forbidden to see or hear from him. the barbarous restriction afforded him one more opportunity of showing his amiable unselfishness and fortitude. the regulation had been made by the municipal council, not by the assembly; and its inhuman and unprecedented severity, coupled with a jealousy of the council, as seeking to usurp the whole authority of the state, induced the assembly to rescind it, and to grant permission, for louis to have the dauphin and his sister with him. yet, lest these innocent children should prove messengers of conspiracy between him and the queen and elizabeth, it was ordered at the same time that, so long as they were allowed to visit him, they should be separated from their mother and their aunt; and louis, though never in greater need of comfort, thought it so much better for the children themselves that they should be with the queen, that for their sakes he renounced their society, and allowed the decree of the council to be carried out in all its pitiless cruelty. and, again, we may spare ourselves from dwelling on the details of what, in hideous mockery, was called the king's trial, though it was in fact a mere ceremonious prelude to his murder, which had been determined on before it began. deep as is the disgrace with which it has forever covered the nation which tolerated such an abomination, it was relieved by some incidents which did honor to the country and to human nature. the murderers of louis, in their ignoble pedantry, wearied the ear with appeals to the examples of the ancient romans, of decius[ ] and of brutus. but no roman ever gave a nobler proof of contempt of danger, and devotion to duty, than was afforded by the intrepid lawyers, malesherbes, de séze, and tronchet, who voluntarily undertook the king's defense, though louis himself warned them that their utmost efforts would be fruitless, and would only bring destruction on themselves without saving him. one member, too, of the convention, lanjuinais, though originally he had been a member of the breton club, and had latterly been generally regarded as connected with the girondins, made more than one eloquent effort in the king's behalf, provoking the jacobins and girondins to their very wildest fury by his contemptuous defiance of their menaces. and even when the verdict was being given; when jacobins, girondins, and cordeliers, robespierre, vergniaud, danton, and the infamous duc d'orléans were vying with one another in the eagerness with which they pushed forward to record their votes of condemnation; and when a mob of hired ruffians, who thronged the hall, were cheering every vote for death, and holding daggers to the throat of every one from whom they apprehended a contrary judgment; one noble of frail body, but of a spirit worthy of his birth and rank, the marquis de villette, laughed in the faces of his threateners, looked the assassins in the face, and told them that he would not obey their orders, and that they dared not kill him; and with a loud voice pronounced a vote of acquittal. but no courage or devotion of a few honest men could save louis. one vote by an immense majority pronounced him guilty; a second refused all appeal to the people; a third, by a majority of fifty voices, condemned him to death. and on the morning of the th of january, , louis was roused from his bed to hear his sentence, and to learn that it was to be carried out the next day. while the trial lasted, the queen and those with her had been kept in almost absolute ignorance of what was taking place. they never, however, doubted what the result would be,[ ] so that it was scarcely a shock to them when they heard the news-men crying the sentence under their windows --the only mercy that was shown to either the prisoner who was to die, or to those who were to survive him, being that they were allowed once more to meet on earth. at eight in the evening the queen, his children, and his sister were to be allowed to visit him. he prepared for the interview with astonishing calmness, making the arrangements so deliberately that, when he noticed that cléry had placed a bottle of iced water on the table, he bid him change it, lest, if the queen should require any, the chill should prove injurious to her health. even that last interview was not allowed to pass wholly without witnesses, since the municipal council refused, even on such an occasion, to relax their regulation that their guards were never to lose sight-of the king; and all that was permitted was that he might retire with his family into an inner room which had a glass door, so that, though what passed must be seen, their last words might not be overheard. his daughter, madame royale, now a girl of fourteen, and old enough, as her mother had said a few months before, to realize the misery of the scenes which she daily saw around her, has left us an account of the interview, necessarily a brief one, for the queen and princess were too wretched to say much. louis wept when he announced to them how short was the time which he had to live, but his tears were those of pity for the desolation of those he loved, and not of fear for himself. he was even, in some sense, a willing victim, for, as he told them, it had been proposed to save him by appealing to the primary assemblies of the nation; but he had refused his consent to a step which must throw the whole country into confusion, and might be the cause of civil war. he would rather die than risk the bringing of such calamities on his people. he even sought to comfort the queen by making some excuses for the monsters who had condemned him; and his last words to his family were an entreaty to forgive them; to his son, an injunction never to seek to revenge his death, even, if some change of fortune should enable him to do so. the queen said nothing, but sat clinging to him in speechless agony. at last he begged them to retire, that he might seek rest to prepare himself for the morrow; and then she spoke, to beg that at least they might meet again the next morning. "yes," said he, "at eight o'clock." "why not at seven?" asked she. "well, then, at seven." but, after she had left him he determined to avoid this second meeting, not so much because he feared its unnerving himself, but because he felt that the second parting must be too terrible for her. when she returned to her own chamber she had scarcely strength left to place the dauphin in his bed. she threw herself, dressed as she was, on her own bed, where her sister-in-law and daughter heard her, as the little princess describes her state, "shivering with cold and grief the whole night long.[ ]" even if she could have slept, her rest would soon have been disturbed by the movement of troops, the beating of the drums, and the heavy roll of the cannon passing through the street. for the miscreants who bore sway in the city knew well that the crime which they were about to commit was viewed with horror by the great majority of the nation, and even of the parisians, and to the last moment were afraid of a rescue. but no one could interpose between louis and his doom; and the next intelligence of him that reached his wife, who was waiting the whole morning in painful anxiety for the summons to see him once more, was that he had perished beneath the fatal guillotine, and that she was a widow. chapter xxxix. the queen is refused leave to see cléry.--madame royale is taken ill.-- plans are formed for the queen's escape by mm. jarjayes, toulan, and by the baron de batz.--marie antoinette refuses to leave her son.--illness of the young king.--overthrow of the girondins.--insanity of the woman tison.--kindness of the queen to her.--her son is taken from her, and intrusted to simon.--his ill-treatment.--the queen is removed to the conciergerie.--she is tried before the revolutionary tribunal.--she is condemned.--her last letter to the princess elizabeth.--her death and character. shouts in the streets announced to her and those around her that all was over. all the morning she had alarmed the princesses by the speechless, tearless stupor into which she seemed plunged; but at last she roused herself, and begged to see cléry, who had been with louis till he left the temple, and who, therefore, she hoped, might have some last message for her, some last words of affection, some parting gift. and so indeed he had;[ ] for the last act of louis had been to give that faithful servant his seal for the dauphin, and his ring for the queen, with a little packet containing portions of her hair and those of his children which he had been in the habit of wearing. and he had bid him tell them all--"the queen, his dear children, and his sister--that he had promised to see them that morning, but that he had desired to save them the pain of so cruel a separation. how much," he continued, "does it cost me to go without receiving their last embraces! you must bear to them my last farewell." but even the poor consolation of receiving these sad tokens of unchanged affection was refused to her. the council refused cléry admittance to her, and seized the little trinkets and the packet of hair. the king's last words never reached her. but a few days afterward, toulan, one of the commissioners of the council, who sympathized with her bereavement, found means to send her the ring and seal.[ ] her sister and her daughter were the more anxious that she should see cléry, from the hope that conversation with him might bring on a flood of tears, which would have given her some relief. but her own fortitude was her best support. miserable as she was, hopeless as she was, it was characteristic of her magnanimous courage that she did not long give way to womanly lamentations. she recollected that she had still duties to perform to the living, to her daughter and sister, and, above all, to her son, now her king, whom, if some happier change of fortune, when the nation should have recovered from its present madness, should replace him on his father's throne, it must be her care to render worthy of such a restoration. she began to apply herself diligently to the work of giving him lessons such as his father had given him, mingling them with the constant references to that father's example, which she never ceased to hold up to him, dwelling with the emphatic exaggeration of lasting affection on his gentleness, his benevolence, his love for his subjects; qualities which, in truth, he had possessed in sufficient abundance, had he but been gifted with the courage and firmness indispensable to secure to his people the benefits he wished them to enjoy. she had too, for a time, another occupation. the princess royal was, as she had said not long before, of an age to feel keenly the miseries of her parents, and the agitation into which she had been thrown had its natural effect upon her health. her own language on the subject affords a striking proof how well marie antoinette had succeeded in imbuing her with her own forgetfulness of self. as she has recorded the occurrence in her journal, "fortunately her affliction increased her illness to so serious a degree as to cause a favorable diversion to her mother's despair.[ ]" youth, however, and a strong constitution prevailed, and the little princess recovered; while other matters also for a time claimed a large share of her mother's attention. for herself, marie antoinette felt, as she well might feel, that, come what would, happiness and she were forever parted; and the death to which she never doubted that her enemies destined her could hardly have been anticipated by her as any thing but a relief, if she had thought only of her own feelings. but, again, she had others to think of besides herself--of her children. and she presently learned that others were thinking of her, and were willing (it should rather be said were eager and proud) to encounter any danger, if they might only have the happiness and honor of securing and saving her whom they still regarded as their queen. two had long been attached to the royal household: the wife of m. de jarjayes, a gentleman of ancient family in dauphiné, had been one of marie antoinette's waiting-women, and he himself, since the fatal expedition to varennes, had been employed by louis on several secret missions. from the moment that his royal master was brought before the convention he had despaired of his life, and had, therefore, bent all his thoughts on the preservation of the queen. m. turgy, the second, was in a humbler rank of life. he was, as we have seen, one of the officers of the kitchen; but in the household of a king of france even the cooks had pretensions to gentle blood. a third was a man named toulan, who had originally been a music-seller in paris, but had subsequently obtained employment under the municipal council, and was now a commissioner, with duties which brought him into constant contact with the imprisoned queen. either he had never in his heart been her enemy, or he had been converted by the dignified fortitude with which she bore her miseries, and by the irresistible fascination which even in prison she still exercised over all whose hearts had not been hardened by fanatical wickedness against every manly or honest feeling; he won the queen's confidence by the most welcome service, which has been already mentioned, of conveying to her her husband's seal and ring. she gave him a letter to recommend him to the confidence of jarjayes; and their combined ingenuity devised a plan for the escape of the whole family. it was in their favor that a man, who came daily to look to the lamps, usually brought with him his two sons, who nearly matched the size of the royal children. and jarjayes and toulan, aided by another of the municipal commissioners, named lepitre, who had also learned to abhor the indignities practiced on fallen royalty, had prepared full suits of male attire for the queen and princess, with red scarfs and sashes as were worn by the different commissioners, of whom there were too many for all of them to be known to the sentinels; and also clothes for the two children, ill-fitting and shabby, to resemble the dress of the lamp-lighter's boys. passports, too, by the aid of lepitre, whose duties lay in the department which issued them, were provided for the whole family; and after careful discussion of the arrangements to be adopted when once the prisoners were clear of the temple, it was settled that they should take the road to normandy in three cabriolets, which would be less likely to attract notice than any larger and less ordinary carriage. the end of february or the beginning of march was fixed for the attempt; but before that time the government and the people had become greatly disquieted by the operations of the german armies, which were about to receive the powerful assistance of england. prussia had gained decided advantages on the rhine. an austrian army, under the archduke charles, was making formidable progress in the netherlands. rumors, also, which soon proved to be well founded, of an approaching insurrection in the western departments of france, reached the capital. the vigilance with which the royal prisoners were watched was increased. information, too, though of no precise character, that they had obtained means of communicating with their partisans who were at liberty, was conveyed to the magistrates. and at last jarjayes and toulan were forced to abandon the idea of effecting the escape of the whole family, though they were still confident that they could accomplish that of the queen, which they regarded as the most important, since it was plain that it was she who was in the most immediate danger. elizabeth, as disinterested as herself, besought her to embrace their offers, and to let her and the children, as being less obnoxious to the jacobins, take their chance of some subsequent means of escape, or perhaps even mercy. but such a flight was forbidden alike by marie antoinette's sense of duty and by her sense of honor, if indeed the two were ever separated in her mind. honor forbade her to desert her companions in misery, whose danger might even be increased by the rage of her jailers, exasperated at her escape. duty to her boy forbade it still more emphatically. as his guardian, she ought not to leave him; as his mother, she could not. and her renunciation of the whole design was conveyed to m. jarjayes in a letter which did honor alike to both by the noble gratitude which it expressed, and which was long cherished by his heirs as one of their most precious possessions, till it was destroyed, with many another valuable record, when paris a second time fell under the rule of wretches scarcely less detestable than the jacobins whom they imitated.[ ] it was written by stealth, with a pencil; but no difficulties or hurry, as no acuteness of disappointment or depth of distress, could rob marie antoinette of her desire to confer pleasure on others, or of her inimitable gracefulness of expression. thus she wrote: "we have had a pleasant dream, that is all. i have gained much by still finding, on this occasion, a new proof of your entire devotion to me. my confidence in you is boundless. and on all occasions you will always find strength of mind and courage in me. but the interest of my son is my sole guide; and, whatever happiness i might find in being out of this place, i can not consent to separate myself from him. in what remains, i thoroughly recognize your attachment to me in all that you said to me yesterday. rely upon it that i feel the kindness and the force of your arguments as far as my own interest is concerned, and that i feel that the opportunity can not recur. but i could enjoy nothing if i were to leave my children; and this idea prevents me from even regretting my decision.[ ]" and to toulan she said that "her sole desire was to be reunited to her husband whenever heaven should decide that her life was no longer necessary to her children." he was greatly afflicted, but he could no longer be of use to her. her last commission to him was to convey to her eldest brother-in-law, the count de provence, her husband's ring and seal, that they might be in safer custody than her own, and that she or her son might reclaim them, if either should ever be at liberty. she gave toulan also, as a memorial of her gratitude, a small gold box, one of the few trinkets which she still possessed, and which, unhappily, proved a fatal present. in the summer of the next year it was found in his possession, its history was ascertained, and he was sent to the scaffold for the sole offense of having and valuing a relic of his murdered sovereign. nor was this the only plan formed for the queen's rescue. the baron de batz was a noble of the purest blood in france, seneschal of the duchy of albret, and bound by ancient ties of hereditary friendship to the king, as the heir of henry iv., whose most intimate confidence had been enjoyed by his ancestor. he was still animated by all the antique feelings of chivalrous loyalty, and from the first breaking-out of the troubles of the revolution he had brought to the service of his sovereign the most absolute devotion, which was rendered doubly useful by an inexhaustible fertility of resource, and a presence of mind that nothing could daunt or perplex. on the fatal st of january, he had even formed a project of rescuing louis on his way to the scaffold, which failed, partly from the timidity of some on whose co-operation he had reckoned, and partly, it is said, from the reluctance of louis himself to countenance an enterprise which, whatever might be its result, must tend to fierce conflict and bloodshed. since his sovereign's death he had bent all the energies of his mind to contrive the escape of the queen, and he had so far succeeded that he had enlisted in her cause two men whose posts enabled them to give must effectual resistance: michonis, who, like toulan, was one of the commissioners of the council; and cortey, a captain of the national guard, whose company was one of those most frequently on duty at the temple. it seemed as if all that was necessary to be done was to select a night for the escape when the chief outlets of the temple should be guarded by cortey's men; and de batz, who was at home in every thing that required manoeuvre or contrivance, had provided dresses to disguise the persons of the whole family while in the temple, and passports and conveyances to secure their escape the moment they were outside the gates. every thing seemed to promise success, when at the last moment secret intelligence that some plan or other was in agitation was conveyed to the council. it was not sufficient to enable them to know whom they were to guard against or to arrest, but it was enough to lead them to send down to the temple another commissioner whose turn of duty did not require his presence there, but whose ferocious surliness of temper pointed him out as one not easily to be either tricked or overborne. he was a cobbler, named simon, the very same to whose cruel superintendence the little king was presently intrusted. he came down the very evening that every thing was arranged for the escape of the hapless family. de batz saw that all was over if he staid, and hesitated for a moment whether he should blow out his brains, and try to accomplish the queen's deliverance by force; but a little reflection showed him that the noise of fire-arms would bring up a crowd of enemies beyond his ability to overpower, and it soon appeared that it would tax all his resources to secure his own escape. he achieved that, hoping still to find some other opportunity of being useful to his royal mistress; but none offered. the assembly did him the honor to set a price on his head; and at last he thought himself fortunate in being able to save himself. those who had co-operated with him had worse fortune. those in authority had no proofs on which to condemn them; but in those days suspicion was a sufficient death-warrant. michonis and cortey were suspected, and in the course of the next year a belief that they had at least sympathized with the queen's sorrows sent them both to the scaffold. with the failure of de batz every project of escape was abandoned; and a few weeks later the queen congratulated herself that she had refused to flee without her boy, since in the course of may he was seized with illness which for some days threatened to assume a dangerous character. with a brutality which, even in such monsters as the jacobin rulers of the city, seems almost inconceivable, they refused to allow him the attendance of m. brunier, the physician who had had the charge of his infancy. it would be a breach of the principles of equality, they said, if any prisoner were permitted to consult any but the prison doctor. but the prison doctor was a man of sense and humanity, as well as of professional skill. he of his own accord sought the advice of brunier; and the poor child recovered, to be reserved for a fate which, even in the next few weeks, was so foreshadowed, that his own mother must almost have begun to doubt whether his restoration to health had been a blessing to her or to himself. the spring was marked by important events. had one so high-minded been capable of exulting in the misfortunes of even her worst enemies, marie antoinette might have triumphed in the knowledge that the murderers of her husband were already beginning that work of mutual destruction which in little more than a year sent almost every one of them to the same scaffold on which he had perished. the jealousies which from the first had set the jacobins and girondins at variance had reached a height at which they could only be extinguished by the annihilation of one party or the other. they had been partners in crime, and so far were equal in infamy; but the jacobins were the fiercer and the readier ruffians; and, after nearly two months of vehement debates in the convention, in which robespierre denounced the whole body of the girondin leaders as plotters of treason against the state, and vergniaud in reply reviled robespierre as a coward, the jacobins worked up the mob to rise in their support. the convention, which hitherto had been divided in something like equality between the two factions, yielded to the terror of a new insurrection, and on the d of june ordered the arrest of the girondin leaders. a very few escaped the search made for them by the officers--roland, to commit suicide; barbaroux, to attempt it; pétion and buzot reached the forests to be devoured by congenial wolves. lanjuinais,[ ] whom the decree of the convention had identified with them, but who, even in the moments of the greatest excitement, had kept himself clear of their wickedness and crimes, was the only one of the whole body who completely eluded the rage of his enemies. the rest, with madame roland, the first prompter of deeds of blood, languished in their well-deserved prisons till the close of autumn, when they all perished on the same scaffold to which they had sent their innocent sovereign.[ ] but it may be that marie antoinette never learned their fall; though that if she had, pity would at least have mingled with, if it had not predominated over, her natural exultation, she gave a striking proof in her conduct toward one from whom she had suffered great and constant indignities. from the time that her own attendants were dismissed, the only person appointed to assist cléry in his duties were a man and woman named tison, chosen for that task on account of their surly and brutal tempers, in which the wife exceeded her husband. both, and especially the woman, had taken a fiendish pleasure in heaping gratuitous insults on the whole family; but at last the dignity and resignation of the queen awakened remorse in the woman's heart, which presently worked upon her to such a degree that she became mad. in the first days of her frenzy she raved up and down the courtyard declaring herself guilty of the queen's murder. she threw herself at marie antoinette's feet, imploring her pardon; and marie antoinette not only raised her up with her own hand, and spoke gentle words of forgiveness and consolation to her, but, after she had been removed to a hospital, showed a kind interest in her condition, and amidst all her own troubles found time to write a note to express her anxiety that the invalid should have proper attention.[ ] but very soon a fresh blow was struck at the hapless queen which made her indifferent to all else that could happen, and even to her own fate, of which it may be regarded as the precursor. at ten o'clock on the d of july, when the little king was sleeping calmly, his mother having hung a shawl in front of his bed to screen his eyes from the light of the candle by which she and elizabeth were mending their clothes, the door of their chamber was violently thrown open, and six commissioners entered to announce to the queen that the convention had ordered the removal of her boy, that he might he committed to the care of a tutor--the tutor named being the cobbler, simon, whose savageness of disposition was sufficiently attested by the fact of his having been chosen on the recommendation of marat. at this unexpected blow, marie antoinette's fortitude and resignation at last gave way. she wept, she remonstrated, she humbled herself to entreat mercy. she threw her arms around her child, and declared that force itself should not tear him from her. the commissioners were not men likely to feel or show pity. they abused her; they threatened her. she begged them rather to kill her than take her son. they would not kill her, but they swore that they would murder both him and her daughter before her eyes if he were not at once surrendered. there was no more resistance. his aunt and sister took him from the bed and dressed him. his mother, with a voice choked by her sobs, addressed him the last words he was ever to hear from her. "my child, they are taking you from me; never forget the mother who loves you tenderly, and never forget god! be good, gentle, and honest, and your father will look down on you from heaven and bless you!" "have you done with this preaching?" said the chief commissioner. "you have abused our patience finely," another added; "the nation is generous, and will take care of his education." but she had fainted, and heard not these words of mocking cruelty. nothing could touch her further. if it be not also a mockery to speak of happiness in connection with this most afflicted queen, she was happy in at least not knowing the details of the education which was in store for the noble boy whose birth had apparently secured for him the most splendid of positions, and whose opening virtues seemed to give every promise that he would be worthy of his rank and of his mother. a few days afterward simon received his instructions from a committee of the convention, of which drouet, the postmaster of ste. menehould, was the chief. "how was he to treat the wolf cub?" he asked (it was one of the mildest names he ever gave him). "was he to kill him?" "no." "to poison him?" "no." "what then?" "he was to get rid of him,[ ]" and simon carried out this instruction by the most unremitting ill-treatment of his pupil. he imposed upon him the most menial offices; he made him clean his shoes; he reviled him; he beat him; he compelled him to wear the red cap and jacket which had been adopted as the revolutionary dress; and one day, when his mother obtained a glimpse of him as he was walking on the leads of the tower to which he had been transferred, it caused her an additional pang to see that he had been stripped of the suit of mourning for his father, and had been clothed in the garments which, in her eyes, were the symbol, of all that was most impious and most loathsome. all these outrages were but the prelude of the final blow which was to fall on herself; and it shows how great was the fear with which her lofty resolution had always had inspired the jacobins--fear with such natures being always the greatest exasperation of hatred and the keenest incentive to cruelty--that, when they had resolved to consummate her injuries by her murder, they did not leave her in the temple as they had left her husband, but removed her to the conciergerie, which in those days, fitly denominated the reign of terror, rarely led but to the scaffold. on the night of the st of august (the darkest hours were appropriately chosen for deeds of such darkness) another body of commissioners entered her room, and woke her up to announce that they had come to conduct her to the common prison. her sister and her daughter begged in vain to be allowed to accompany her. she herself scarcely spoke a word, but dressed herself in silence, made up a small bundle of clothes, and, after a few words of farewell and comfort to those dear ones who had hitherto been her companions, followed her jailers unresistingly, knowing, and for her own sake certainly not grieving, that she was going to meet her doom. as she passed through the outer door it was so low that she struck her head. one of the commissioners had so much decency left as to ask if she was hurt. "no," she replied, "nothing now can hurt me.[ ]" six weeks later, an english gentleman saw her in her dungeon. she was freely exhibited to any one who desired to behold her, on the sole condition--a condition worthy of the monsters who exacted it, and of them alone--that he should show no sign of sympathy or sorrow.[ ] "she was sitting on an old worn-out chair made of straw which scarcely supported her weight. dressed in a gown which had once been white, her attitude bespoke the immensity of her grief, which appeared to have created a kind of stupor, that fortunately rendered her less sensible to the injuries and reproaches which a number of inhuman wretches were continually vomiting forth against her." even after all the atrocities and horrors of the last twelve months, the news of the resolution to bring her to a trial, which, it was impossible to doubt, it was intended to follow up by her execution, was received as a shook by the great bulk of the nation, as indeed by all europe. and necker's daughter, madame de staël, who, as we have seen, had been formerly desirous to aid in her escape, now addressed an energetic and eloquent appeal to the entire people, calling on all persons of all parties, "republicans, constitutionalists, and aristocrats alike, to unite for her preservation." she left unemployed no fervor of entreaty, no depth of argument. she reminded them of the universal admiration which the queen's beauty and grace had formerly excited, when "all france thought itself laid under an obligation by her charms;[ ]" of the affection that she had won by her ceaseless acts of beneficence and generosity. she showed the absurdity of denouncing her as "the austrian"--her who had left vienna while still little more than a child, and had ever since fixed her heart as well as her home in france. she argued truly that the vagueness, the ridiculousness, the notorious falsehood of the accusations brought against her were in themselves her all-sufficient defense. she showed how useless to every party and in every point of view must be her condemnation. what danger could any one apprehend from restoring to liberty a princess whose every thought was tenderness and pity? she reproached those who now held sway in france with the barbarity of their proscriptions, with governing by terror and by death, with having overthrown a throne only to erect a scaffold in its place; and she declared that the execution of the queen would exceed in foulness all the other crimes that they had yet committed. she was a foreigner, she was a woman; to put her to death would be a violation of all the laws of hospitality as well as of all the laws of nature. the whole universe was interesting itself in the queen's fate. woe to the nation which knew neither justice nor generosity! freedom would never be the destiny of such a people.[ ] it had not been from any feeling of compunction or hesitation that those who had her fate in their hands left her so long in her dungeon, but from the absolute impossibility of inventing an accusation against her that should not be utterly absurd and palpably groundless. so difficult did they find their task, that the jailer, a man named richard, who, when alone, ventured to show sympathy for her miseries, sought to encourage her by the assurance that she would be replaced in the temple. but marie antoinette indulged in no such illusion. she never doubted that her death was resolved on. "no," she replied to his well-meant words of hope, "they have murdered the king; they will kill me in the same way. never again shall i see my unfortunate children, my tender and virtuous sister." and the tears which her own sufferings could not wring from her flowed freely when she thought of what they were still enduring. but at last the eagerness for her destruction overcame all difficulties or scruples. the principal articles of the indictment charged her with helping to overthrow the republic and to effect the reestablishment of the throne; with having exerted her influence over her husband to mislead his judgment, to render him unjust to his people, and to induce him to put his veto on laws of which they desired the enactment; with having caused scarcity and famine; with having favored aristocrats; and with having kept up a constant correspondence with her brother, the emperor; and the preamble and the peroration compared her to messalina, agrippina, brunehaut, and catherine de' medici--to all the wickedest women of whom ancient or modern history had preserved a record. had she been guided by her own feelings alone, she would have probably disdained to defend herself against charges whose very absurdity proved that they were only put forward as a pretense for a judgment that had been previously decided on. but still, as ever, she thought of her child, her fair and good son, her "gentle infant," her king. while life lasted she could never wholly relinquish the hope that she might see him once again, perhaps even that some unlooked-for chance (none could be so unexpected as almost every occurrence of the last four years) might restore him and her to freedom, and him to his throne; and for his sake she resolved to exert herself to refute the charges, and at least to establish her right to acquittal and deliverance. louis had been tried before the convention. marie antoinette was to be condemned by the, if possible, still more infamous court that had been established in the spring under the name of the revolutionary tribunal; and on the th of october she was at last conducted before a small sub-committee, and subjected to a private examination. to every question she gave firm and clear answers.[ ] she declared that the french people had indeed been deceived, but not by her or by her husband. she affirmed "that the happiness of france always had been, and still was, the first wish of her heart;" and that "she should not even regret the loss of her son's throne, if it led to the real happiness of the country." she was taken back to her cell. the next day the four judges of the tribunal took their seats in the court. fouquier-tinville, the public prosecutor, a man whose greed of blood stamped him with an especial hideousness, even in those days of universal barbarity, took his seat before them; and eleven men, the greater part of whom had been carefully picked from the very dregs of the people--journeymen carpenters, tailors, blacksmiths, and discharged policemen--were constituted the jury. before this tribunal--we will not dignify it with the name of a court of justice--marie antoinette, the widow capet, as she was called in the indictment, was now brought. clad in deep mourning for her murdered husband, and aged beyond her years by her long series of sorrows, she still preserved the fearless dignity which became her race and rank and character. as she took her place at the bar and cast her eyes around the hall, even the women who thronged the court, debased as they were, were struck by her lofty demeanor. "how proud she is!" was the exclamation, the only sign of nervousness that she gave being that, as those who watched her closely remarked, she moved her fingers up and down on the arm of her chair, as if she had been playing on the harpsichord. the prosecutor brought up witness after witness; some whom it was believed that some ancient hatred, others whom it was expected that some hope of pardon for themselves, might induce to give evidence such as was required. the count d'estaing had always been connected with her enemies. bailly, once mayor of paris, as has been seen, had sought a base popularity by the wantonness of the unprovoked insults which he had offered to the king. michonis knew that his head was imperiled by suspicions of his recent desire to assist her. but one and all testified to her entire innocence of the different charges which they had been brought forward to support, and to the falsehood of the statements contained in the indictment. her own replies, when any question was addressed to herself, were equally in her favor. when accused of having been the prompter of the political mesures of the king's government, her answer could not be denied to be in accordance with the law: "that she was the wife and subject of the king, and could not be made responsible for his resolutions and actions." when charged with general indifference or hostility to the happiness of the people, she affirmed with equal calmness, as she had previously declared at her private examination, that the welfare of the nation had been, and always was, the first of her wishes. once only did a question provoke an answer in any other tone than that of a lofty imperturbable equanimity. she had not known till that moment the depth of her enemies' wickedness, or the cruelty with which her son's mind had been dealt with, worse ten thousand times than the foulest tortures that could be applied to the body. both her children had been subjected to an examination, in the hope that something might be found to incriminate her in the words of those who might hardly be able to estimate the exact value of their expressions. the princess had been old enough to baffle the utmost malice of her questioners; and the boy had given short and plain replies from which nothing to suit their purpose could be extracted, till they forced him to drink brandy, and, when he was stupefied with drink, compelled him to sign depositions in which he accused both the queen and elizabeth of having trained him in lessons of vice. at first, horror at so monstrous a charge had sealed the queen's lips; but when she gave no denial, a juryman questioned her on the subject, and insisted on an answer. then at last marie antoinette spoke in sublime indignation. "if i have not answered, it was because nature itself rejects such an accusation made against a mother. i appeal from it to every mother who hears me." marie antoinette had been allowed two counsel, who, perilous as was the duty imposed upon them, cheerfully accepted it as an honor; but it was not intended that their assistance should be more than nominal. she had only known their names on the evening preceding the trial; but when she addressed a letter to the president of the convention, demanding a postponement of the trial for three days, as indispensable to enable them to master the case, since as yet they had not had time even to read the whole of the indictment, adding that "her duty to her children bound her to leave nothing undone which was requisite for the entire justification of their mother," the request was rudely refused; and all that the lawyers could do was to address eloquent appeals to the judges and jurymen, being utterly unable, on so short notice, to analyze as they deserved the arguments of the prosecutor or the testimony by which he had professed to support them. but before such a tribunal it signified little what was proved or disproved, or what was the strength or weakness of the arguments employed on either side. it was long after midnight of the second day that the trial concluded. the jury at once pronounced the prisoner guilty. the judges as instantly passed sentence of death, and ordered it to be executed the next morning. it was nearly five in the morning of the th of october when the favorite daughter of the great empress-queen, herself queen of france, was led from the court, not even to the wretched room which she had occupied for the last ten weeks, but to the condemned cell, never tenanted before by any but the vilest felons. though greatly exhausted by the length of the proceedings, she had heard the sentence without betraying the slightest emotion by any change of countenance or gesture. on reaching her cell she at once asked for writing materials. they had been withheld from her for more than a year, but they were now brought to her; and with them she wrote her last letter to that princess whom she had long learned to love as a sister of her own, who had shared her sorrows hitherto, and who, at no distant period, was to share the fate which was now awaiting herself. " th october, . a.m. "it is to you, my sister, that i write for the last time. i have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. innocent like him, i hope to show the same firmness in my last moments. i am calm, as one is when one's conscience reproaches one with nothing. i feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor children: you know that i only lived for them and for you, my good and tender sister. you who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with us, in what a position do i leave you! i have learned from the proceedings at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. alas! poor child; i do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. i do not even know whether this will reach you. do you receive my blessing for both of them. i hope that one day when they are older they may be able to rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. let them both think of the lesson which i have never ceased to impress upon them, that the principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one another will constitute its happiness. let my daughter feel that at her age she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. and let my son in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which affection can inspire. let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through their union. let them follow our example. in our own misfortunes how much comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! and, in times of happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in one's own family? let my son never forget the last words of his father, which i repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths. i have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, i know how much pain the child must have caused you. forgive him, my dear sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever one wishes, especially when he does not understand it.[ ] it will come to pass one day, i hope, that he will better feel the value of your kindness and of your tender affection for both of them. it remains to confide to you my last thoughts. i should have wished to write them at the beginning of my trial; but, besides that they did not leave me any means of writing, events have passed so rapidly that i really have not had time. "i die in the catholic apostolic and roman religion, that of my fathers, that in which i was brought up, and which i have always professed. having no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are still in this place any priests of that religion[ ] (and indeed the place where i am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it but once), i sincerely implore pardon of god for all the faults which i may have committed during my life. i trust that, in his goodness, he will mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which i have for a long time addressed to him, to receive my soul into his mercy. i beg pardon of all whom i know, and especially of you, my sister, for all the vexations which, without intending it, i may have caused you. i pardon all my enemies the evils that they have done me. i bid farewell to my aunts and to all my brothers and sisters. i had friends. the idea of being forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the greatest sorrows that i suffer in dying. let them at least know that to my latest moment i thought of them. "farewell, my good and tender sister. may this letter reach you. think always of me; i embrace you with all my heart, as i do my poor dear children. my god, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! farewell! farewell! i must now occupy myself with my spiritual duties, as i am not free in my actions. perhaps they will bring me a priest; but i here protest that i will not say a word to him, but that i will treat him as a person absolutely unknown." her forebodings were realized; her letter never reached elizabeth, but was carried to fouquier, who placed it among his special records. yet, if in those who had thus wrought the writer's destruction there had been one human feeling, it might have been awakened by the simple dignity and unaffected pathos of this sad farewell. no line that she ever wrote was more thoroughly characteristic of her. the innocence, purity, and benevolence of her soul shine through every sentence. even in that awful moment she never lost her calm, resigned fortitude, nor her consideration for others. she speaks of and feels for her children, for her friends, but never for herself. and it is equally characteristic of her that, even in her own hopeless situation, she still can cherish hope for others, and can look forward to the prospect of those whom she loves being hereafter united in freedom and happiness. she thought, it may be, that her own death would be the last sacrifice that her enemies would require. and for even her enemies and murderers she had a word of pardon, and could address a message of mercy for them to her son, who, she trusted, might yet some day have power to show that mercy she enjoined, or to execute the vengeance which with her last breath she deprecated. she threw herself on her bed and fell asleep. at seven she was roused by the executioner. the streets were already thronged with a fierce and sanguinary mob, whose shouts of triumph were so vociferous that she asked one of her jailers whether they would tear her to pieces. she was assured that, as he expressed it, they would do her no harm. and indeed the jacobins themselves would have protected her from the populace, so anxious were they to heap on her every indignity that would render death more terrible. louis had been allowed to quit the temple in his carriage. marie antoinette was to be drawn from the prison to the scaffold in a common cart, seated on a bare plank; the executioner by her side, holding the cords with which her hands were already bound. with a refinement of barbarity, those who conducted the procession made it halt more than once, that the people might gaze upon her, pointing her out to the mob with words and gestures of the vilest insult. she heard them not; her thoughts were with god: her lips were uttering nothing but prayers. once for a moment, as she passed in sight of the tuileries, she was observed to cast an agonized look toward its towers, remembering, perhaps, how reluctantly she had quit it fourteen months before. it was midday before the cart reached the scaffold. as she descended, she trod on the executioner's foot. it might seem to have been ordained that her very last words might be words of courtesy. "excuse me, sir," she said, "i did not do it on purpose;" and she added, "make haste." in a few moments all was over. her body was thrown into a pit in the common cemetery, and covered with quicklime to insure its entire destruction. when, more than twenty years afterward, her brother-in-law was restored to the throne, and with pious affection desired to remove her remains and those of her husband to the time-honored resting-place of their royal ancestors at st. denis, no remains of her who had once been the admiration of all beholders could be found beyond some fragments of clothing, and one or two bones, among which the faithful memory of châteaubriand believed that he recognized the mouth whose sweet smile had been impressed on his memory since the day on which it acknowledged his loyalty on his first presentation, while still a boy, at versailles. thus miserably perished, by a death fit only for the vilest of criminals, marie antoinette, the daughter of one sovereign, the wife of another, who had never wronged or injured one human being. no one was ever more richly endowed with all the charms which render woman attractive, or with all the virtues that make her admirable. even in her earliest years, her careless and occasionally undignified levity was but the joyous outpouring of a pure innocence of heart that, as it meant no evil, suspected none; while it was ever blended with a kindness and courtesy which sprung from a genuine benevolence. as queen, though still hardly beyond girlhood when she ascended the throne, she set herself resolutely to work by her admonitions, and still more effectually by her example, to purify a court of which for centuries the most shameless profligacy had been the rule and boast; discountenancing vice and impiety by her marked reprobation, and reserving all her favor and protection for genius and patriotism, and honor and virtue. surrounded at a later period by unexampled dangers and calamities, she showed herself equal to every vicissitude of fortune, and superior to its worst frowns. if her judgment occasionally erred, it was in cases where alternatives of evil were alone offered to her choice, and in which it is even now scarcely possible to decide what course would have been wiser or safer than that which she adopted. and when at last the long conflict was terminated by the complete victory of her combined enemies-- when she, with her husband and her children, was bereft not only of power, but even of freedom, and was a prisoner in the hands of those whose unalterable object was her destruction--she bore her accumulated miseries with a serene resignation, an intrepid fortitude, a true heroism of soul, of which the history of the world does not afford a brighter example. footnotes preface [ ] one entitled "marie-antoinette, correspondance secrète entre marie- thérèse et le comte mercy d'argenteau, avec des lettres de marie-thérèse et de marie-antoinette." (the edition referred to in this work is the greatly enlarged second edition in three volumes, published at paris, .) the second is entitled "marie-antoinette, joseph ii., and leopold ii," published at leipsic, . [ ] entitled "louis xvi, marie-antoinette, et madame elizabeth," in six volumes, published at intervals from to . [ ] in his "nouveau lundi," march th, , m. sainte-beuve challenged m. feuillet de conches to a more explicit defense of the authenticity of his collection than he had yet vouchsafed; complaining, with some reason, that his delay in answering the charges brought against it "was the more vexatious because his collection was only attacked in part, and in many points remained solid and valuable." and this challenge elicited from m.f. de conches a very elaborate explanation of the sources from which he procured his documents, which he published in the _revue des deux mondes_, july th, , and afterward in the preface to his fourth volume. that in a collection of nearly a thousand documents he may have occasionally been too credulous in accepting cleverly executed forgeries as genuine letters is possible, and even probable; in fact, the present writer regards it as certain. but the vast majority, including all those of the greatest value, can not be questioned without imputing to him a guilty knowledge that they were forgeries--a deliberate bad faith, of which no one, it is believed, has ever accused him. it may be added that it is only from the letters of this later period that any quotations are made in the following work; and the greater part of the letters so cited exists in the archives at vienna, while the others, such as those, addressed by the queen, to madame de polignac, etc., are just such as were sure to be preserved as relics by the families of those to whom they were addressed, and can therefore hardly be considered as liable to the slightest suspicion. chapter i. [ ] sainte-beuve, "nouveaux lundis," august th, . chapter ii. [ ] "histoire de marie antoinette," par e. and j. de goncourt, p. . [ ] how popular masked halls were in london at this time may be learned from walpole's "letters," and especially from a passage in which he gives an account of one given by "sixteen or eighteen young lords" just two months before this ball at vienna.--_walpole to mann_, dated february th, . some one a few years later described the french nation as half tiger and half monkey; and it is a singular coincidence that walpole's comment on this masquerading fashion should be, "it is very lucky, seeing how much of the tiger enters into the human composition, that there should be a good dose of the monkey too." [ ] "mémoires concernant marie antoinette," par joseph weber (her foster- brother), i., p. . [ ] "goethe's biography," p. . [ ] "mémoires de bachaumont," january th, . [ ] la maison du roi. [ ] chevalier d'honneur. we have no corresponding office at the english court. [ ] the king said, "vous étiez déjà de la famille, car votre mère a l'âme de louis le grand."--sainte-beuve, _nouveaux lundis_, viii., p. . [ ] in the language of the french heralds, the title princes of the royal family was confined to the children or grandchildren of the reigning sovereign. his nephews and cousins were only princes of the blood. chapter iii. [ ] the word is maria teresa's own; "anti-français" occurring in more than one of her letters. [ ] quoted by mme. du deffand in a letter to walpole, dated may th, ("correspondance complète de mme. du deffand," ii., p. ). [ ] mercy to marie-thérèse, august th, ; "correspondance secrète entre marie-thérèse et la comte de mercy argenteau, avec des lettres de marie-thérèse et marie antoinette," par m. le chevalier alfred d'arneth, i., p. . for the sake of brevity, this collection will be hereafter referred to as "arneth." [ ] "the king of france is both hated and despised, which seldom happens to the same man."--lord chesterfield, _letter to mr. dayrolles_, dated may th, . [ ] maria teresa died in december, . [ ] mme. du deffand, letter of may th, . [ ] chambier, i., p. . [ ] mme. de campan, i., p. . [ ] he told mercy she was "'vive et un peu enfant, mais," ajouta-t-il, "cela est bien de son âge.'"--arneth, i., p. . [ ] arneth, i., p. - chapter iv. [ ] dates th and th., arneth, i., pp. , . [ ] marly was a palace belonging to the king, but little inferior in splendor to versailles itself, and a favorite residence of louis xv., because a less strict etiquette had been established there. choisy and bellevue, which will often be mentioned in the course of this narrative, were two others of the royal palaces on a somewhat smaller scale. they have both been destroyed. marly, choisy, and bellevue were all between versailles and paris. [ ] mém. de goncourt, quoting a ms. diary of hardy, p. . [ ] de vermond, who had accompanied her from vienna as her reader. [ ] see st. simon's account of dangeau, i., p. . [ ] the duc de noailles, brother-in-law of the countess, "l'homme de france qui a peut-être le plus d'esprit et qui connait le mieux son souverain et la cour," told mercy in august that "jugeant d'après son expérience et d'après les qualités qu'il voyait dans cette princesse, il était persuadé qu'elle gouvernerait un jour l'esprit du roi."--arneth, i., p. . [ ] la petite rousse. [ ] "de monter à cheval gâte le teint, et votre taille à la longue s'en ressentira."--_marie-thérèse à marie-antoinette_, arneth, i., p. . [ ] "on fit chercher partout des ânes fort doux et tranquilles. le on répéta la promenade sur les ânes. mesdames voulurent être de la partie ainsi que le comte de provence et le comte d'artois."--_mercy à marie- thérèse_, september , , arneth, i., p. . [ ] "madame la dauphine, à laquelle le trésor royal doit remettre frs. par mois, n'a réellement pas un écu dont elle peut disposer elle-même et sans le concours de personne" (octobre ).--arneth, i. p. . [ ] "ses garçons de chambre reçoivent cent louis [a louis was twenty-four francs, so that the hundred made francs out of her ] par mois pour la dépense du jeu de s.a.r.; et soit qu'elle perde ou qu'elle gagne, on ne revoit rien de cette somme."--arneth, i. [ ] "mme. adelaide ajouta, 'on voit bien que vous n'êtes pas de notre sang.'"--arneth, i., p. . [ ] arneth, i., p. . [ ] "finalement, mme. la dauphine se fait adorer de ses entours et du public; il n'est pas encore survenu un seul inconvénient grave dans sa conduite."--_mercy à marie-thérèse_, novembre , arneth, i., p. . [ ] prince de ligne, "mém." ii., p. . [ ] mercy to maria teresa, dated november th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] mercy to maria teresa, dated february th, , arneth, i, p. . chapter v [ ] see the "citizen of the world," letter . reference has often been made to lord chesterfield's prediction of the french revolution. but i am not aware that any one has remarked on the equally acute foresight of goldsmith. [ ] letter of april th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] arneth, i., p. . [ ] maria teresa to marie antoinette, july th, and august th, arneth, i., p. . [ ] "ne soyez pas honteuse d'être allemande jusqu'aux gaucheries.... le français vous estimera plus et fera plus de compte sur vous s'il vous trouve la solidité et la franchise allemande."--_maria teresa to marie antoinette._ may th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] walpole's letter to sir h. mann, june th, , v., p. . [ ] mercy to maria teresa, january d, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] the duc de la vauguyon, who, after the dauphin's marriage, still retained his post with his younger brother. chapter vi [ ] mercy's letter to the empress, august th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] mercy to maria teresa, november th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] marie antoinette to maria teresa, december th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] her sister caroline, queen of naples. [ ] her brother leopold, at present grand duke of tuscany, afterward emperor. his wife, marie louise, was a daughter of charles iii. of spain. [ ] they, with several of the princes of the blood and some of the peers, as already mentioned, had been banished for their opposition to the abolition of the parliaments; but now, in the hopes of obtaining the king's consent to his marriage with madame de montessan, a widow of enormous wealth, the due d'orléans made overtures for forgiveness, accompanying them, however, with a letter so insolent that it might we be regarded as an aggravation of his original offense. according to madame du deffand (letter to walpole, december th, , vol. ii., p. ), he was only prevented from reconciling himself to the king some months before by his son, the due de chartres (afterward the infamous Égalité), whom she describes as "a young man, very obstinate, and who hopes to play a great part by putting himself at the head of a faction." the princes, however, in the view of the shrewd old lady, had made the mistake of greatly overrating their own importance. "these great princes, since their protest, have been just citizens of the rue st. denis. no one at court ever perceived their absence, and no one in the city ever noticed their presence." [ ] lord stormont, the english embassador at vienna, from which city he was removed to paris. in the preceding september maria teresa had complained to him of being "animated against her cabinet, from indignation at the partition of poland." [ ] that is, sisters-in-law--the princesses clotilde and elizabeth. [ ] the hotel-dieu was the most ancient hospital in paris. it had already existed several hundred years when philip augustus enlarged it, and gave it the name of maison de dieu. henry iv. and his successors had further enlarged it, and enriched it with monuments; and even the revolutionists respected it, though when they had disowned the existence of god they changed its name to that of l'hospice de l'humanité. it had been almost destroyed by fire a fortnight before the date of this letter, on the night of the th of december. [ ] st. anthony's day was june th, and her name of antoinette was regarded as placing her under his especial protection. chapter vii [ ] they have not, however, been preserved. [ ] mercy to maria teresa, june th, , arneth, i., p. . [ ] "marie antoinette, louis xvi., et la famille royale", p. . [ ] marie antoinette to maria theresa, july th, arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "histoire de marie antoinette," par m. de goncourt, p. . quoting an unpublished journal by m.m. hardy, in the royal library. [ ] it is the name by which she is more than once described in madame du deffand's letters. see her "correspondence," ii., p. . [ ] mercy to maria teresa, december th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "mémoires de besenval," i., p. . chapter viii [ ] mercy to maria teresa, august th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] the money was a joint gift from herself as well as from him. great distress, arising from the extraordinarily high price of bread, was at this time prevailing in paris. [ ] the term most commonly used by marie antoinette in her letters to her mother to describe madame du barri. she was ordered to retire to the abbey of pont-aux-dames, near meaux. subsequently she was allowed to return to luciennes, a villa which her royal lover had given her. [ ] madame de mazarin was the lady who, by the fulsomeness of her servility to madame du barri, provoked madame du deffand (herself a lady not altogether _sans reproche_) to say that it was not easy to carry "the heroism of baseness and absurdity farther." [ ] lorraine had become a french province a few years before, on the death of stanislaus leczinsky, father of the queen of louis xv. [ ] maria teresa to marie antoinette, may th, and to mercy on the same day, arneth, ii., p. . [ ] see his letter of th may to maria teresa. "il faut que pour la suite de son bonheur, elle commence à s'emparer de l'autorité que m. le dauphin n'exercera jamais que d'une façon convenable, et ... ce serait du dernier danger et pour l'état et pour le système général que qui ce soit s'emparât de m. le dauphin et qu'il fut conduit par autre que par madame la dauphine."--arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "je parle à l'amie, à la confidente du roi."--_maria teresa to marie antoinette_, may th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "jusqu'à présent l'étiquette de cette cour a toujours interdit aux reines et princesses royales de manger avec des hommes."--_mercy to maria teresa_, june th, , arneth, ii, p. [ ] "elle me traite, à mon arrivée, comme tous les jeunes gens qui composaient ses pages, qu'elle comblait de bontés, en leur montrant une bienveillance pleine de dignité, mais qu'on pouvait aussi appeler maternelle."--_marie thérèse, mémoires de tilly_, i., p. . [ ] le don, ou le droit, de joyeux avènement. [ ] la ceinture de la reine. it consisted of three pence (deniers) on each hogs-head of wine imported into the city, and was levied every three years in the capital.--arneth, ii, p. . [ ] the title "ceinture de la reine" had been given to it because in the old times queens and all other ladies had carried their purses at their girdles. chapter ix [ ] the title by which the count was usually known: that of the countess was madame. [ ] st. simon, , ch. v., and , ch. i, vols. vii. and xiii., ed. . [ ] ibid., , ch xxx., vol. ii., p. . [ ] arneth, ii, p. . [ ] madame de campan, ch. iv. [ ] madame de campan, ch. v., p. . [ ] _id._, p. . [ ] "_sir peter_. ah, madam, true wit is more neatly allied to good-- nature than your ladyship is aware of."--_school for scandal_, act ii., sc. . chapter x [ ] "elle avait entièrement le défaut contraire [à la prodigalité], et je pouvais prouver qu'elle portait souvent l'économie jusqu'à des détails d'une mesquinerie blâmable, surtout dans une souveraine."--madame de campan, ch. v., p. , ed. . [ ] arneth, ii., p. . [ ] see the author's "history of france under the bourbons," iii., p. . lacretelle, iv., p. , affirms that this outbreak, for which in his eyes "une prétendue disette" was only a pretext, was "évidemment fomenté par des hommes puissans," and that "un salaire qui était payé par des hommes qu'on ne pouvait nommer aujourd'hui avec assez de certitude, excitait leurs fureurs factices." [ ] la guerre des farines. [ ] arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "souvenirs de vaublanc," i., p. . [ ] august d, , no. , in cunningham's edition, vol. vi., p. . [ ] the prince of wales and the duke of york, who were just at this time astonishing london with their riotous living. chapter xi [ ] "gustave iii. et la cour de france," i. p. . [ ] the duc d'angoulême, afterward dauphin, when the count d'artois succeeded to the throne as charles x. [ ] marie antoinette to maria teresa, august th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "le projet de la reine était d'exiger du roi que le sieur turgot fût chassé, même envoyé à la bastille ... et il a fallu les représentations les plus fortes et les plus instantes pour arrêter les effets de la colère de la reine."--_mercy to maria teresa_, may th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] the compiler of "marie antoinette, louis xvi., et la famille royale" (date april th, ) has a story of a conversation between the king and queen which illustrates her feeling toward the minister. she had just come in from the opera. he asked her "how she had been received by the parisians; if she had had the usual cheers." she made no reply; the king understood her silence. "apparently, madame, you had not feathers enough." "i should have liked to have seen you there, sir, with your st. germain and your turgot; you would have been rudely hissed." st. germain was the minister of war. [ ] mercy to maria teresa, may th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] january th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] the ground-floor of the palace was occupied by the shops of jewelers and milliners, some of whom were great sufferers by the fire. [ ] in a letter written at the end of , mercy reports to the empress that some of turgot's economical reforms had produced real discontent among those "qui trouvent leur intérêt dans le désordre," which they had vented in scandalous and seditious writings. many songs of that character had come out, some of which were attributed to beaumarchais, "le roi et la reine n'y ont point été respectés."--_december th_, . arneth, ii, p. . [ ] mercy to maria teresa, november th, , arneth, ii., p. . chapter xii. [ ] "le petit nombre de ceux que la reine appelle 'sa société'"--_mercy to marie teresa_, february th, , arneth, iii., p. . [ ] "il faut cependant convenir que dans ces circonstances si rapprochées de la familiarité, la reine, par un maintien qui tient à son âme, a toujours su imprimer à ceux qui l'entouraient une contenance de respect qui contrebalançait un peu la liberté des propos."--_mercy to maria teresa_, arneth, ii, p. . [ ] brunoy is about fifteen miles from paris. [ ] "au reste il est temps pour la santé de la reine que le carnaval finisse. on remarque qu'elle s'en altère, et que sa majesté maigrit beaucoup."--_marie thérèse à louis xvi._, la date février , , p . [ ] once when he had spoken to her with a severity which alarmed mercy, who feared it might irritate the queen, "il me dit en riant qu'il en avait agi ainsi pour sonder l'âme de la reine, et voir si par la force il n'y aurait pas moyen d'obtenir plus que par la douceur."--_mercy to maria teresa_, arneth, iii., p. . [ ] arneth, iii., p. . chapter xiii. [ ] when mercy remonstrated with her on her relapse into some of her old habits from which at first she seemed to have weaned herself, "la seule réponse que j'aie obtenu a été la crainte de s'ennuyer."--_mercy to maria teresa_, november th, , arneth, iii., p. . [ ] see marie antoinette's account to her mother of his quarrel with the duchess de bourbon at a _bal de l'opéra_, arneth, iii., p. . [ ] "il y a apparence que notre marine dont on s'occupe depuis longtemps va bientôt être en activité. dieu veuille que tous ces mouvements n'amènent pas la guerre de terre."--_marie antoinette to maria teresa_, march th, , arneth, iii., p. . [ ] "jamais les anglais n'ont eu tant de supériorité sur mer; mais ils en eurent sur les français dans tous les temps."--_siècle de louis_, ch xxxv. [ ] the comte de la marck, who knew him well, says of him, "il était gauche dans toutes ses manières; sa taille était très élevée, ses cheveux très roux, il dansait sans grâce, montait mal à cheval, et les jeunes gens avec lesquels il vivait se montraient plus adroits que lui dans les diverses exercices d'alors à la mode." he describes his income as "une fortune de , livres de rente," a little under £ a year.-- _correspondance entre le comte de mirabeau et le comte de la marck_, i. p. . [ ] "on a parlé de moi dans tous les cercles, même après que la bonté de la reine m'eut valu le régiment du roi dragons."--_mémoires de ma main, mémoires de la fayette_, i., p . [ ] "la lettre où votre majesté, parlant du roi de prusse, s'exprime ainsi .... 'cela ferait un changement dans notre alliance, ce qui me donnerait la mort,' j'ai vu la reine pâlir en me lisant cet article."--_mercy to maria teresa_, february th, , arneth, iii., p. . [ ] see coxe's "house of austria," ch. cxxi. the war, which was marked by no action or event of importance, was terminated by the treaty of teschen, may th, . [ ] "il n'a pas voulu y consentir, et a toujours été attentif à exciter lui-même la reine aux choses qu'il jugeait pouvoir lui être agréables."-- _mercy to maria teresa_, march th, , arneth, iii., p. . [ ] marie antoinette to joseph ii, and leopold ii., p. , date january th, . [ ] louis. [ ] marie antoinette to maria teresa, may th, arneth, iii., p. . [ ] weber, i., p. . [ ] one of his admirers, seeing his mortification, said to him: "you are very simple to have wished to go to court. do you know what would have happened to you? i will tell you. the king, with his usual affability, would have laughed in your face, and talked to you of your converts at ferney. the queen would have spoken of your plays. monsieur would have asked you what your income was. madame would have quoted some of your verses. the countess of artois would have said nothing at all; and the count would have conversed with you about 'the maid of orleans.'"--_marie antoinette, louis xvi. et la famille royale_, p. , march d. chapter xiv. [ ] "la cour se précipite pêle-mêle avec la foule, car l'étiquette de france veut que tous entrent à ce moment, que nul ne soit refusé, et que le spectacle soit public d'une reine qui va donner un héritier à la couronne, ou seulement un enfant au roi."--_mém. de goncourt_, p. . [ ] arneth, iii., p. . [ ] madame de campan, ch. ix. [ ] _ibid_., ch. ix. [ ] chambrier, i., p. . [ ] "marie antoinette, louis xvi., et la famille royale," p. , december th, . [ ] _garde-malades_ was the name given to them. [ ] "du moment qu'ils [les enfants] peuvent être à l'air on les y accoutume petit à petit, et ils finissent par y être presque toujours; je crois que c'est la manière la plus saine et la meilleure des les élever." [ ] letter of marie antoinette to maria teresa, may th, , arneth, iii., p. . [ ] maria teresa had offered the mediation of the empire to restore peace between england and france. [ ] spain had recently entered into the alliance against england in the hope of recovering gibraltar. and just at the date of this letter the combined fleet of sixty-six sail of the line sailed into the channel, while a french army of , men was waiting at st. malo to invade england so soon as the british channel fleet should have been defeated; but, though sir charles hardy had only forty sail under his orders, d'orvilliers and his spanish colleague retreated before him, and at the beginning of september, from fear of the equinoctial gales, of which the queen here speaks with such alarm, retired to their own harbors, without even venturing to come to action with a foe of scarcely two-thirds of their own strength. see the author's "history of the british navy," ch. xiv. [ ] letter of september th. [ ] letter of october th. [ ] letter of november th. [ ] letter of november th. [ ] kaunitz had been the prime minister of the empress, who negotiated the alliances with france and russia, which were the preparations for the seven years' war. chapter xv. [ ] "on assure que sa majesté ne joue pas bien; ce que personne, excepté le roi, n'a osé lui dire. au contraire, on l'applaudit à tout rompre."-- _marie antoinette, louis xvi. et la famille royale_ p. , date september th, . [ ] in may, , sir henry clinton took charleston, with a great number of prisoners, a great quantity of stores and four hundred guns.--lord stanhope's _history of england_, ch. lxii. [ ] "cette disposition a été faite deux ans plutôt que ne le comporte l'usage établi pour les enfants de france."--_mercy to maria teresa_, october th, arneth, iii. p. . [ ] madame de campan, ch. ix. [ ] "gustave iii. et la cour de france," i., p. . [ ] an order known as that "du mérite" had been recently distributed for foreign protestant officers, whose religion prevented them from taking the oath required of the knights of the grand order of st. louis. [ ] "sa figure et son air convenaient parfaitement à un héros de roman, mais non pas d'un roman français; il n'en avait ni le brillant ni légèreté."--_souvenirs et portraits_, par m. de levis, p. . [ ] "la marck et mirabeau," p. . [ ] see his letter to lord north proposing peace, date december st, . lord stanhope's "history of england," vol. vii., appendix, p. . chapter xvi. [ ] "gustave iii. et la cour de france," i., p. . [ ] chambrier, i., p. ; "gustave iii.," etc., i., p. . [ ] "gustave iii.," etc., i., p. . [ ] "mémoires de weber," i., p. . [ ] "on s'arrêtait dans les rues, on se parlait sans se connaître."-- madame de campan, ch. ix. [ ] l'oeil de boeuf. [ ] madame de campan, ch. ix.; "marie antoinette, louis xii., et la famille royale," p. . [ ] "un soleil d'été"--weber, i., p. . [ ] la muette derived its name from _les mues_ of the deer who were reared there. it had been enlarged by the regent d'orléans, who gave it to his daughter, the duchess de berri; and it, was the frequent scene of the orgies of that infamous father and daughter, while more recently it had been known as the parc aux cerfs, under which title it had acquired a still more infamous reputation. [ ] "après le dîner il y eut appartement jeu, et la fête fut terminée par un feu d'artifice."--weber, i., p. , from whom the greater part of those details are taken. for the etiquette of the "jeu," see madame de campan, ch. ix., p. , and ed. . chapter xvii. [ ] mercy to maria teresa, june th, , arneth iii., p. . [ ] le tabouret. see st. simon. [ ] see _infra_, the queen's letter to madame de tourzel, date july th, . [ ] "souvenirs de quarante ans," by mademoiselle de tourzel, p. . [ ] "filia dolorosa."--châteaubriand. [ ] napoleon, in , called her the only man of her family. [ ] madame de campan, ch. x. [ ] mémoires de madame d'oberkirch, i., p. [ ] the marshal prince de soubise, whose incapacity and cowardice caused the disgraceful rout of rosbach, was the head of this family; his sister, madame marsan, as governess of the "children of france", had brought up louis xvi. [ ] "il [rohan] a même menacé, si on ne veut pas prendre le bon chemin qui lui indique, que ma fille s'en ressentira."--_marie-thérèse à mercy_, august th, , arneth, ii., p. . [ ] "ils paraissent si excédés du grand monde et des fêtes, qu'avec d'autres petites difficultés qui se sont élevées, nous avons décidé qu'il n'y aurait rien à marly."--_marie antoinette to mercy; marie antoinette, joseph ii., and leopold ii_., p. . [ ] "no fewer than five actions were fought in , and the spring of , by those unwearied foes. de suffrein's force was materially the stronger of the two; it consisted of ten sail of the line, one fifty-gun ship, and four frigates; while sir e. hughes had but eight sail of the line, a fifty-gun ship, and one frigate," see the author's "history of the british navy," i., p. . [ ] weber, i., p. . for the importance at this time attached to a reception at court, see châteaubriand, "mémoires d'outre-tombe," i., p. . chapter xviii. [ ] joseph to marie antoinette, date september th, .--_marie antoinette, joseph ii., and leopold ii._, p. , which, to save such a lengthened reference, will hereafter be referred to as "arneth." [ ] she was again expecting a confinement; but, as had happened between the birth of madame royale and that of the dauphin, an accident disappointed her hope, and her third child was not born till . [ ] date september th, , arneth, p. . [ ] ministre de la maison du roi. [ ] arneth, p. . chapter xix. [ ] "le roi signa une lettre de cachet qui défendait cette représentation."--madame de campan, ch. xi.; see the whole chapter. madame de campan's account of the queen's inclinations on the subject differs from that given by m. de loménie, in his "beaumarchais et son temps," but seems more to be relied on, as she had certainly better means of information. [ ] see m. gaillard's report to the lieutenant of police.--_beaumarchais et son temps_, ii., p. . [ ] "il n'y a que les petits hommes qui redoutent les petits écrits."-- _act v., scene_ . [ ] "avec _goddam_ en, angleterre on ne manque de rien nulle part. voulez- vous tâter un bon poulet gras ... _goddam_ ... aimez-vous à boire un coup d'excellent bourgogne ou de clairet? rien que celui-ci _goddam_. les anglais à la vérité ajoutent par-ci par-là autres mots en conversant, mais il est bien aisé de voir que _goddam_ est le fond de la langue."--_act_ iii., _scene_ . [ ] "gustave iii. et la cour de france," ii., p. [ ] _ibid_., p. . chapter xx. [ ] "de par la reine." [ ] madame de campan, ch. xi. [ ] "'la légèreté à tout croire et à tout dire des souverains,' écrit très justement m. nisard (_moniteur_ du janvier, ), 'est un des travers de notre pays, et comme le défaut de notre qualité de nation monarchique. c'est ce travers qui a tué marie antoinette par la main des furieux qui eurent peut-être des honnêtes gens pour complices. sa mort devait rendre à jamais impossible en france la calomnie politique.'"--chambrier, i., p. . [ ] "mémoires de la reine de france," par m. lafont d'aussonne, p. . [ ] see her letters to mercy, december th, , and to the emperor, december st, , and february th, , arneth, p. , _et seq._ [ ] "j'ai été réellement touchée, de la raison et de la fermeté que le roi a mises dans cette rude séance."--_marie antoinette to joseph ii._, august d, , arneth, p. . [ ] "la calomnie s'est attachée à poursuivre la reine, même avant cette époque où l'esprit de parti a fait disparaître la vérité de la terre."-- madame de staël, _procès de la reine_, p. [ ] madame de campan, "Éclaircissements historiques," p. ; "marie antoinette et le procès du collier," par m. Émile campardon, p. , _seq._ [ ] "permet au cardinal de rohan et au dit de cagliostro de faire imprimer et afficher le présent arrêt partout où bon leur semblera."--campardon, p. . [ ] "sans doute le cardinal avait les mains pures de toute fraude; sans doute il n'était pour rien dans l'escroquerie commise par les époux de la mothe."--campardon, p. . [ ] campardon, p. , quoting madame de campan. [ ] the most recent french historian, m.h. martin, sees in this trial a proof of the general demoralization of the whole french nation. "l'impression qui en résulte pour nous est l'impossibilité que la reine ait été coupable. mais plus les imputations dirigées contre elle étaient vraisemblables, plus la créance accordée à ces imputations était caractéristique, et attestait la ruine morale de la monarchie. c'était l'ombre du parc aux cerfs qui couvrait toujours versailles."--_histoire de france_, xvi., p. , ed. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . some of the critics of m.f. de conches's collection have questioned without sufficient reason the probability of there having been any correspondence between the queen and her elder sister. but the genuineness of this letter is strongly corroborated by a mistake into which no forger would have fallen. the queen speaks as if the cardinal had alleged that he had given her a rose; while his statement really was that oliva, personating the queen, had dropped a rose at his feet. a forger would have made the letter correspond with the evidence and the fact. the queen, in her agitation, might easily make a mistake. [ ] "il se retira dans son évêché de l'autre côté du rhin. là sa noble conduite fit oublier les torts de sa vie passée," etc.--campardon, p. . [ ] campardon, p. . [ ] it was from ettenheim that the duke d'enghien was carried off in march, . the cardinal died in february, . chapter xxi. [ ] "le duc déclarait de son côté à mr. elliott que ... si la reine l'eût mieux traité il eut peut-être mieux fait."--chambrier, i., p. [ ] sophie hélène béatrix, born july th, , died june th, , f. de conches, i. p. . [ ] see her letter to her brother, february, , arneth, p. . [ ] "c'est un vrai enfant de paysan, grand frais et gros."--arneth, pp. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i, p. . [ ] apparently she means the notables and the parliament. [ ] the duc de guines. [ ] see _ante_, ch. xviii. [ ] "'il faut,' dit-il, avec un mouvement d'impatience qui lui fit honneur, 'que, du moins, l'archevêque de paris croie en dieu.'"-- _souvenirs par le duc de levis_, p. . [ ] the continuer of sismondi's history, a. renée, however, attributes the archbishop's appointment to the influence of the baron de breteuil. [ ] "son grand art consistait à parler à chacun des choses qu'il croyait qu'on ignorait."--de levis, p. . [ ] the loan he proposed in june was eighty millions (of francs); in october, that which he demanded was four hundred and forty millions. [ ] it is worth noticing that the french people in general did not regard the power of arbitrary imprisonment exercised by their kings as a grievance. in their eyes it was one of his most natural prerogatives. a year or two before the time of which we are speaking, dr. moore, the author of "zeluco," and father of sir john moore, who fell at corunna, was traveling in france, and was present at a party of french merchants and others of the same rank, who asked him many questions about the english constitution, when he said that the king of england could not impose a tax by his own authority, "they said, with some degree of satisfaction, 'cependant c'est assez beau cela.'"... but when he informed them "that the king himself had not the power to encroach upon the liberty of the meanest of his subjects, and that if he or the minister did so, damages were recoverable in a court of law, a loud and prolonged 'diable!' issued from every mouth. they forgot their own situation, and turned to their natural bias of sympathy with the king, who, they all seemed to think, must be the most oppressed and injured of manhood. one of them at last, addressing himself to the english politician, said, 'tout ce que je puis vous dire, monsieur, c'est que votre pauvre roi est bien à plaindre.'"--_a view of the society and manners in france_, etc., by dr. john moore, vol. i., p. , ed. . chapter xxii. [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] m. foulon was about this time made paymaster of the army and navy, and was generally credited with ability as a financier; but he was unpopular, as a man of ardent and cruel temper, and was brutally murdered by the mob in one of the first riots of the revolution. [ ] the king. [ ] necker. [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] _ibid_., p. . [ ] on one occasion when the marquis de bouillé pointed out to him the danger of some of his plans as placing the higher class at the mercy of the mob, "dirigé par les deux passions les plus actives du coeur humain, l'intérêt et l'amour propre, ... il me répondit froidement, en levant les yeux au ciel, qu'il fallait bien compter sur les vertus morales des hommes."--_mémoires de m. de bouillé_, p. ; and madame de staël admits of her father that he was "se fiant trop, il faut l'avouer, à l'empire de la raison," and adds that he "étudia constamment l'esprit public, comme la boussole à laquelle les décisions du roi devaient se conformer."-- _considérations sur la révolution française_, i., pp. , . [ ] her exact words are "si ... il fasse reculer l'autorité du roi" (if he causes the king's authority to retreat before the populace or the parliament). [ ] "histoire de marie antoinette," par m. montjoye, p. . [ ] madame de campan, p. . [ ] this edict was registered in the "chambre syndicate," september th, .--_la reine marie antoinette et la rév. française, recherches historiques_, par le comte de bel-castel, p. . [ ] there is at the present moment so strong a pretension set up in many constituencies to dictate to the members whom they send to parliament as if they were delegates, and not representatives, that it is worth while to refer to the opinion which the greatest of philosophical statesman, edmund burke, expressed on the subject a hundred years ago, in opposition to that at a rival candidate who admitted and supported the claim of constituents to furnish the member whom they returned to parliament with "instructions" of "coercive authority." he tells the citizens of bristol plainly that such a claim he ought not to admit, and never will. the "opinion" of constituents is "a weighty and respectable opinion, which a representative ought always to rejoice to hear, and which he ought most seriously to consider; but _authoritative instruction_, mandates issued which the member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to the clearest conviction of his judgment and his conscience; these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise from a fundamental mistake of the whole order and tenor of our constitution. parliament is not a _congress_ of embassadors from different and hostile interests...but parliament is a _deliberative_ assembly of _one_ nation, with _one_ interest, that of the whole, where not local purposes, not local prejudices ought to guide, but the general good resulting from the general reason of the whole. you choose a member indeed; but when you have chosen him, he is not member of bristol, but he is a member of parliament."--_general election speech at the conclusion of the poll at bristol_, november d, , burke's works, vol. iii., pp. , , ed. . [ ] de tocqueville considers the feudal system in france in many points more oppressive than that of germany.--_ancien régime_, p. . [ ] silence des grenouilles. arthur young, "travels in france during , ' , ' ," p. . it is singular proof how entirely research into the condition of the country and the people of france had been neglected both by its philosophers and its statesmen, that there does not seem to have been any publication in the language which gave information on these subjects. and this work of mr. young's is the one to which modern french writers, such as m. alexis de tocqueville, chiefly refer. [ ] "the _lettres de cachet_ were carried to an excess hardly credible; to the length of being sold, with blanks, to be filled up with names at the pleasure of the purchaser, who was thus able, in the gratification of private revenge, to tear a man from the bosom of his family, and bury him in a dungeon, where he would exist forgotten and die unknown."--a. young, p. . and in a note he gives an instance of an englishman, named gordon, who was imprisoned in the bastile for thirty years without even knowing the reason of his arrest. [ ] arthur young, writing january th, , identifies les enragés with the club afterward so infamous as the jacobins. "the ardent democrats who have the reputation of being so much republican in principle that they do not admit any political necessity for having even the name of the king, are called the enragés. they have a meeting at the jacobins', the revolution club which assembles every night in the very room in which the famous league was formed in the reign of henry iii." (p. ). [ ] m. droz asserts that a collector of such publications bought two thousand five hundred in the last three months of , and that his collection was far from complete.--_histoire de louis xvi_., ii., p. . [ ] "tout auteur s'érige en législateur."--_memorial of the princes to the king_, quoted in a note to the last chapter of sismondi's history, p. , brussels ed., . [ ] in reality the numbers were even more in favor of the commons: the representatives of the clergy were three hundred and eight, and those of the nobles two hundred and eighty-five, making only five hundred and ninety-three of the two superior orders, while the deputies of the tiers- État were six hundred and twenty-one.--_souvenirs de la marquise de créquy_, vii., p. . [ ] "se levant alors, 'non,' dit le roi, 'ce ne peut être qu'à versailles, à cause des chasses.'"--louis blanc, ii., p. , quoting barante. [ ] "la reine adopta ce dernier avis [that the states should meet forty or sixty leagues from the capital], et elle insista auprès du roi que l'on s'eloignât de l'immense population de paris. elle craignait dès lors que le peuple n'influençât les délibérations des députés."--madame de campan, ch . [ ] chambrier, i., p. . chapter xxiii. [ ] it was called "l'insurrection du faubourg st. antoine." [ ] the best account of this riot is to be found in dr. moore's "views of the causes and progress of the french revolution," i., p. . [ ] madame de campan specially remarks that the disloyal cry of "vive le duc d'orléans" came from "les femmes du peuple" (ch. xiii.). [ ] afterward louis philippe, king of the french. [ ] "view of the causes and progress of the french revolution," by dr. moore, i., p. . [ ] the dauphin was too ill to be present. the children were madame royale and the duc de normandie, who became dauphin the next month by the death of his elder brother. [ ] "aucun nom propre, excepté le sien, n'était encore célèbre dans les six cents députés du tiers."--_considérations sur la révolution française_, pp. , [ ] in the first weeks of the session he told the count de la marck, "on ne sortira plus de là sans un gouvernement plus ou moins semblable à celui d'angleterre."--_correspondance entre le comte de la marck_, i., p. . [ ] he employed m. malouet, a very influential member of the assembly, as his agent to open his views to necker, saying to him, "je m'adresse donc à votre probité. vous êtes lié avec mm. necker et de montmorin, vous devez savoir ce qu'ils veulent, et s'ils ont un plan; si ce plan est raisonnable je le défendrai."--_correspondance de mirabeau et la marck_, i., p. . [ ] there is some uncertainty about mirabeau's motives and connections at this time. m. de bacourt, the very diligent and judicious editor of that correspondence with de la marck which has been already quoted, denies that mirabeau ever received money from the duc d'orléans, or that he had any connection with his party or his views. the evidence on the other side seems much stronger, and some of the statements of the comte de la marck contained in that volume go to exculpate mirabeau from all complicity in the attack on versailles on the th of october, which seems established by abundant testimony. chapter xxiv. [ ] a letter of madame roland dated the th of this very month, july, , declares that the people "are undone if the national assembly does not proceed seriously and regularly to the trial of the illustrious heads [the king and queen], or if some generous decius does not risk his life to take theirs." [ ] this story reached even distant province. on the th of july arthur young, being at colmar, was assured at the _table-d'hôte_ "that the queen had a plot, nearly on the point of execution, to blow up the national assembly by a mine, and to march the army instantly to massacre all paris." a french officer presumed but to doubt of the truth of it, and was immediately overpowered with numbers of tongues. a deputy had written it; they had seen the letter. and at dijon, a week later, he tells us that "the current report at present, to which all possible credit is given, is that the queen has been convicted of a plot to poison the king and monsieur, and give the regency to the count d'artois, to set fire to paris, and blow up the palais royal by a mine."--arthur young's _travels, etc., in france_, pp. , . [ ] "car dès ce moment on menaçait versailles d'une incursion de gens armés de paris."--madame de campan, ch. xiv. [ ] lacretelle, vol. vii., p. . [ ] she meant to say, "messieurs, je viens remettre entre vos mains l'épouse et la famille de votre souverain. ne souffrez pas que l'on désunisse sur la terre ce qui a été uni dans le ciel."--madame de campan, ch. xiv. [ ] napoleon seems to have formed this opinion of his political views: "selon m. gourgaud, buonaparte, causant à ste. hélène le traitait avec plus de mépris [que madame de staël]. 'la fayette était encore un autre niais. il était nullement taillé pour le rôle qu'il avait à jouer.... c'était un homme sans talents, ni civils, ni militaires; esprit borné, caractère dissimulé, dominé par des idées vagues de liberté mal digérées chez lui; mal conçues.'"--_biographie universelle_. [ ] in his memoirs he boasts of the "gaucherie de ses manières qui ne se plièrent jamais aux grâces de la cour," p. . [ ] see her letter to mercy, without date, but, apparently written a day or two after the king's journey to paris, feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] "souvenirs de quarante ans" (by madame de tourzel's daughter), p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . chapter xxv. [ ] "mémoires de la princesse de lamballe," i., p. . [ ] les gardes du corps. [ ] louis blanc, iii., p. , quoting the procédure du châtelet. [ ] "souvenirs de la marquise de créquy," vol. vii, p. . [ ] there is some uncertainty where la fayette slept that night. lacretelle says it was at the "maison du prince de foix, fort éloignée du château." count dumas, meaning to be as favorable to him as possible, places him at the hôtel de noailles, which is "not one hundred paces from the iron gates of the chapel" ("memoirs of the count dumas," p. ). however, the nearer he was to the palace, the more incomprehensible it is that he should not have reached the palace the next morning till nearly eight o'clock, two hours after the mob had forced their entrance into the cour des princes. [ ] weber, i., p. . [ ] le boulanger (the king), la boulangère (the queen), et le petit mitron (the dauphin). [ ] "souvenirs de la marquise de créquy," vii., p. . [ ] weber, ii, p. . [ ] "souvenirs de quarante ans," p. . chapter xxvi. [ ] madame de campan, ch. xv. [ ] f. de conches, p. . [ ] madam de campan, ch. xv. [ ] see a letter from m. huber to lord auckland, "journal and correspondence of lord auckland," ii, p. . [ ] la marck et mirabeau, ii., pp. - , . [ ] "arthur young's travels," etc., p. ; date, paris, january th, . [ ] feuillet de conches, iii., p. . [ ] joseph died february th. [ ] "je me flatte que je la mériterai [l'amitié et confiance] de votre part lorsque ma façon de penser et mon tendre attachement pour vous, votre époux, vos enfants, et tout ce qui peut vous intéresser vous seront mieux connus."--arneth, p. . leopold had been for many years absent from germany, being at florence as grand duke of tuscany. [ ] feuillet de conches, iii., p. . [ ] as early as the second week in october (la marck, p. , seems to place the conversation even before the outrages of october th and th; but this seems impossible, and may arise from his manifest desire to represent mirabeau as unconnected with those horrors), mirabeau said to la marck, "tout est perdu, le roi et la reine y périront et vous le verrez, la populace battra leurs cadavres." [ ] lèse-nation. chapter xxvii. [ ] arthur young's "journal," january th, , p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] "le mal déjà fait est bien grave, et je doute que mirabeau lui-même puisse réparer celui qu'on lui a laissé faire."--_mirabeau et la marck_, i., p. . [ ] la marck et mirabeau, i., p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] mirabeau et la marck, i., p. . [ ] he alludes to maria teresa's appearance at presburg at the beginning of the silesian war. [ ] "il lui [à l'assemblée] importait de faire une épreuve sur toutes les gardes nationales de france, d'animer ce grand corps dont tous les membres étaient encore épars et incohérents, de leur donner une même impulsion.... enfin, de faire sous les yeux de l'europe une imposante revue des force qu'elle pourrait un jour opposer à des rois inquiets ou courroucés."-- lacretelle, vii., p. . chapter xxviii. [ ] we learn from dr. moore that there was a leader with five subaltern officers and one hundred and fifty rank and file in each gallery of the chamber; that the wages of the latter were from two to three francs a day; the subaltern had ten francs, the leaders fifty. the entire expense was about a thousand francs a day, a sum which strengthens the suspicion that the pay-master (originally, at least) was the duc d'orléans.--dr. moore's _view of the causes, etc., of the french revolution_, i., p. . [ ] mirabeau et la marck, ii., p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] marie antoinette to mercy, feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] _ibid_., i., p. . [ ] arneth, p. . [ ] it is remarkable that he, like one or two of the girondin party, belonged by birth to the huguenot persuasion, and marat had studied medicine at edinburgh. [ ] the marquise de brinvilliers had been executed for poisoning several of her own relations in the reign of louis xiv. [ ] madame de campan, ch. xvii.; chambrier, ii., p. . [ ] he said to la marck, "aucun homme seul ne sera capable de ramener les français an bon sens, le temps seul peut rétablir l'ordre dans les esprits," etc., etc.--_ mirabeau et la marck_, i., p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p, . [ ] marie antoinette to leopold, date december th, , arneth, p. . chapter xxix. [ ] the marshal de bouillé, who was la fayette's cousin, says, in october of this year, "l'évêque de pamiers me fit le tableau de la situation malheureux de ce prince et de la famille royale ... que la rigueur et dureté de la fayette, devenu leur geôlier, rendent de jour en jour plus insupportable."--_mémories de de bouillé_, pp. , . and in june he had remarked, "que sa popularité (de la fayette) dépendait plutôt de la captivité du roi, qu'il tenait prisonnier, et qui était sous sa garde, que de sa force personnelle, qui n'avait plus d'autre appui que la milice parisienne." [ ] _ibid_., p. . [ ] the letter to the king of prussia is given by lamartine; its date is december d, .--_histoire des girondins_, book v., § . [ ] mercy to marie antoinette, from the hague, december th, , feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] _ibid., p. , date december th, . [ ] "mirabeau et la marck," ii., pp. -- . [ ] letter to the queen, date february th, ; "correspondance de mirabeau et la marck," ii., p. . [ ] "mirabeau et la marck," ii., pp. , , _et passim._ [ ] "souvenirs de quarante ans," p. . [ ] "mirabeau aurait préféré que louis xvi. sortit publiquement, et en roi, m. de bouillé pensait de même."--_mirabeau et la marck_, i., p. . [ ] , see _ante_, p. . [ ] date february th, , feuillet de conches, i., p. . [ ] "mirabeau et la marck," ii., p., date february d, . chapter xxx. [ ] feuillet de conches, ii., p. , date march th. [ ] arneth, p. , letter of the queen to leopold, february th, . [ ] feuillet de conches, ii., p. , date march th, . [ ] letter of m. simolin, the russian embassador, april th, , feuillet de conches, ii., p. . [ ] "souvenirs sur mirabeau," par Étienne dumont, p. . [ ] in her letter to mercy of august th, of which extracts are given in ch. xi., she takes credit for having encountered the dangers of the journey to montmédy for the sake of "the public welfare." [ ] arneth, p. . [ ] letter of leopold to marie antoinette, date may d, , arneth, p. . [ ] "cette démarche est le terme extrême de réussir ou périr. les choses en sont-elles au point de rendre ce risque indispensable?"--_mercy to marie antoinette_, may th, , arneth, p. . [ ] the day on which the king and she had been prevented from going to st. cloud. [ ] the king. chapter xxxi. [ ] chambrier, ii., p. - . [ ] lamartine's "histoire des girondins," ii., p. . [ ] moore's "view," ii., p. . [ ] the palais royal had been named the palais national. all signs with the portraits of the king or queen, all emblems of royalty, had been torn down. a shop-keeper was even obliged to erase his name from his shop because it was louis.--moore's _view_, etc., ii., p. . chapter xxxii. [ ] a certain set of writers in this country at one time made la fayette a subject for almost unmixed eulogy, with such earnestness that it may be worth while to reproduce the opinion expressed of him by the greatest of his contemporaries--a man as acute in his penetration into character as he was stainless in honor--the late duke of wellington. in the summer of , he told sir john malcolm that "he had used la fayette like a dog, as he merited. the old rascal," said he, "had made a false report of his mission to the emperor of russia, and i possessed complete evidence of his having done so. i told him, the moment he entered, of this fact; i did not even state it in the most delicate manner. i told him he must be sensible he had made a false report. he made no answer." and the duke bowed him out of the room with unconcealed scorn.--kaye's _life of sir j. malcolm_, ii., p. . [ ] lamartine calls the cordeliers the club of coups-de-main, as he calls the jacobins the club of radical theories.--_histoire des girondins_, xvi., p. . [ ] dr. moore, ii., p. ; chambrier, ii., p. . [ ] mercy to marie antoinette, may th, feuillet de conches, ii., p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] a resolution, that is, to recognize the constitution. [ ] arneth, p. ; feuillet de conches, ii, p. . [ ] the letter took several days to write, and was so interrupted that portions of it have three different dates affixed, august th, st, th. mercy's letter, which incloses burke's memorial, is dated the th, from london, so that the first portion of the queen's letter can not be regarded as an intentional answer to burke's arguments, though it is so, as embodying all the reasons which influenced the queen. [ ] the manifesto which he left behind him when starting for montmédy. [ ] the king. [ ] feuillet de conches, ii., p. ; arneth, p. . [ ] the emperor leopold died march st, . [ ] the declaration of pilnitz, drawn up by the emperor and the king of prussia at a personal interview, august st, , did not in express words denounce the new constitution (which, in fact, they had not seen), but, after declaring "the situation of the king of france to be a matter of common interest to all european sovereigns," and expressing a hope that "the reality of that interest will be duly appreciated by the other powers whose assistance they invoke," they propose that those other powers "shall employ, in conjunction with their majesties, the most efficacious means, in order to enable the king of france to consolidate in the most perfect liberty the foundation of a monarchical government, conformable alike to the rights of sovereigns and the well-being of the french nation."-- alison, ch. ix., section . [ ] arneth, p. . [ ] _ibid_, p. ; feuillet de conches, ii., p. . [ ] letter, date december d, . feuillet de conches, iv., p. . [ ] madame de campan, ch xix. [ ] "leurs touffes de cheveux noirs volaient dans la salle, eux seuls à cette époque avaient quitté l'usage de poudrer les cheveux."--_note on the passage by madame de campan_, ch xix. [ ] this first assembly, as having framed the constitution, is often called the constituent assembly; the second, that which was about to meet, being distinguished as the legislative assembly. chapter xxxiii. [ ] "mémoires particuliers," etc., par a.f. bertrand de moleville, i., p. . brissot, isnard, vergniaud, gaudet, and an infamous ecclesiastic, the abbé fauchet, are those whom he particularly mentions, adding: "mais m. de lessart trouva que c'était les payer trop cher, et comme ils ne voulurent rien rabattre de leur demande, cette négociation n'eut aucune suite, et ne produisit d'autre effet que d'aigrir davantage ces cinq députés contre ce ministre." [ ] feuillet de conches, ii., p. , date october th: "je pense qu'au fond le bon bourgeois et le bon peuple ont toujours été bien pour nous." [ ] "mémoires particuliers," etc., par a.f. bertrand de moleville, i., p. - . it furnishes a striking proof of the general accuracy of dr. moore's information, that he, in his "view" (ii., p. ), gives the name account of this conversation, his work being published above twenty years before that of m. bertrand de moleville. [ ] "la reine lui répondit par un sourire de pitié, et lui demanda s'il était fou.... c'est par la reine elle-même que, le lendemain de cette étrange scène, je fus instruit de tous les détails que je viens de rapporter."--bertrand de moleville, i., p. . [ ] she herself called him so on this occasion, and he belonged to the jacobin club; but he was also one of the girondin party, of which, indeed, he was one of the founders, and it was as a girondin that he was afterward pursued to death by robespierre. [ ] narrative of the comte valentin esterhazy, feuillet de conches, iv., p. . [ ] the queen spoke plainly to her confidants: "m. de la fayette will only be the mayor of paris that he may the sooner become mayor of the palace. pétion is a jacobin, a republican; but he is a fool, incapable of ever becoming the leader of a party. he would be a nullity as mayor, and, besides, the very interest which he knows we take in his nomination may bind him to the king."--lamartine's _histoire des girondins_ vi., p. . [ ] "elle [madame d'ossun, dame d'atours de la reine] m'a dit, il y a trois semaines, que le roi et la reine avaiet été neuf jours sans un sou." _letter of the prince de nassau-siegen to the russian empress catherine_, feuillet de conches, iv., p. ; of also madame de campan, ch. xxi. [ ] letter of the princess to madame de bombelles, feuillet de conches, v., p. . [ ] "n'est-il pas bien gentil, mon enfant?"--_mémoires particuliers_, p. . [ ] see two most insolent letters from the count de provence and count d'artois to louis xvi, feuillet de conches, v., pp. , . [ ] feuillet de conches, iv., p. chapter xxxiv. [ ] letter to madame de polignac, march th, feuillet de conches, v., p. . [ ] the monks of st. bernard were known as feuillants, from feuillans, a village in languedoc where their principal convent was situated. [ ] lamartine, "histoire des girondins," xiii., p. . [ ] the messenger was m. goguelat: he took the name of m. daumartin, and adhered to the cause of his sovereigns to the last moment of their lives. [ ] letter of the count de fersen, who was at brussels, to gustavus (who, however, was dead before it could reach him), dated march th, . in many respects the information de fersen sends to his king tallies precisely with that sent by breteuil to the emperor; he only adds a few circumstances which had not reached the baron. [ ] afterward louis philippe, king of the french, who was himself driven from the throne by insurrection above half a century afterward. [ ] madame de campan, ch. xx. [ ] _ibid._, ch. xix. [ ] "vie de dumouriez," ii, p. , quoted by marquis de ferrières, feuillet de conches, and several other writers. [ ] even lamartine condemns the letter, the greater part of which he inserts in his history as one in which "the threat is no less evident than the treachery."--_histoire des girondins,_ xiii., p. . chapter xxxv. [ ] "gare la lanterne," alluding to the use of the chains to which the street-lamps were suspended as gibbets. [ ] madame de campan, ch. xxi. [ ] dumas, "memoirs of his own time," i., p. . chapter xxxvi. [ ] to be issued by the foreign powers. [ ] feuillet de conches, vi., p. , and arneth, p. . [ ] the day is not mentioned. "lettres de la reine marie antoinette à la landgravine louise," etc. p. . [ ] the bearer was prince george himself, but she does not venture to name him more explicitly. [ ] lamourette might correspond to the english name lovekin. [ ] letter of the princess elizabeth, date july th, , feuillet de conches, vi., p. . [ ] it is remarkable, however, that, if we are to take lamartine as a guide in any respect, and he certainly was not in intention unfavorable to la fayette, the marquis was even now playing a double game. speaking of this very proposal, he says: "la fayette himself did not disguise his ambition for a protectorate under louis xvi. at the very moment when he seemed devoted to the preservation of the king he wrote thus to his confidante, la colombe: 'in the matter of liberty i do not trust myself either to the king or any other person, and if he were to assume the sovereign, i would fight against him as i did in .'"--_histoire des girondins_, xvii., p. (english translation). it deserves remark, too, if his words are accurately reported, that the only occasion on which he "fought against" louis must have been october th and th, when he professed to be using every exertion for his safety. [ ] m. bertrand expressly affirms the insurrection of august th to have been almost exclusively the work of the girondin faction.--_mémoires particuliers,_ ii., p. . [ ] _mémoires particuliers,_ ii., p. . [ ] "mémoires particuliers," p. . chapter xxxvii. [ ] see _ante_. [ ] "histoire de la terreur," par mortimer ternaux, ii., p. . for the transactions of this day, and of the following months, he is by far the most trustworthy guide, as having had access to official documents of which earlier writers were ignorant. but he admits the extreme difficulty of ascertaining the precise details and time of each event. and it is not easy in every instance to reconcile his account with that of madame de campan, on whom for many particulars he greatly relies. he differs from her especially as to the hour at which the different occurrences of this day took place. for instance, he says (p. , note ) that mandat left the tuileries a little after five, while madame de campan says it was four o'clock when the queen told her he had been murdered. both, however, agree that it was soon after eight o'clock when the king left the palace. [ ] "À quatre heures la reine sortit de la chambre du roi, et vint nous dire qu'elle n'espérait plus rien; que m. mandat venait d'être assassiné."--madame de campan, ch. xxi. [ ] "la terreur," viii., p. . [ ] it is clear that this is the opinion formed by m mortimer ternaux. he sums up the fourth chapter of his eighth book with the conclusion that "le palais de la royauté ne fut pas enlevé de vive force, mais abandonné par ordre de louis xvi." and in a note he affirms that the entire number of killed and wounded on the part of the rioters did not exceed one hundred and sixty "en chiffres ronds." [ ] bertrand de moleville, ch. xxvii. [ ] madame de campan, ch. xxi. chapter xxxviii. [ ] "dernières années du règne et de la vie de louis xvi.," par françois hue, p. . [ ] for about a fortnight they had two, both men--hue, the valet to the dauphin, as well as cléry; but hue was removed on the d of september. he, as well as cléry, has left an account of the imprisonment till the day of his dismissal. [ ] "journal de ce qui s'est passé à la tour du temple," etc. p. , _seq._ [ ] "mémoires particuliers," par madame la duchesse d'angoulême, p. . [ ] decius was the hero whose example was especially invoked by madame roland. the historians of his own country had never accused him of murdering any one; but she, in the very first month of the revolution, had called, with a very curious reading of history, for "some generous decius to risk his life to take theirs" (the lives of the king and queen). [ ] the princess told cléry, "la reine et moi nous nous attendons à tout, et nous ne nous faisons aucune illusion sur le sort qu'on prépare au roi," etc.--clÉry, p. . [ ] "mémoires" de la duchesse d'angoulême, p. . chapter xxxix. [ ] cléry's "journal," p. . [ ] in march, having an opportunity of communicating with the count de provence, she sent these precious memorials to him for safer custody, with a joint letter from herself and her three fellow-prisoners: "having a faithful person on whom we can depend, i profit by the opportunity to send to my brother and friend this deposit, which may not be intrusted to any other hands. the bearer will tell you by what a miracle we were able to obtain these precious pledges. i reserve the name of him who is so useful to us, to tell it you some day myself. the impossibility which has hitherto existed of sending you any intelligence of us, and the excess of our misfortunes, make us feel more vividly our cruel separation. may it not lie long. meanwhile i embrace you as i love you, and you know that that is with all my heart.--m.a." a line is added by the princess royal, and signed by her brother, as king, as well as by herself: "i am charged for my brother and myself to embrace you with all my heart.--m.t. [maria teresa], louis." and another by the princess elizabeth: "i enjoy beforehand the pleasure which you will feel in receiving this pledge of love and confidence. to be reunited to you and to see you happy is all that i desire. you know if i love you. i embrace you with all my heart.-- e." the letters were shown by the count de provence to cléry, whom he allowed to take a copy of them.--clÉry's _journal_, p. . [ ] "mémoires" de la duchesse d'angoulême, p. . [ ] it was burned in , in the time of the commune. [ ] feuillet de conches, vi., p. . the letter is neither dated nor signed. [ ] lanjuinais had subsequently the singular fortune of gaining the confidence of both napoleon and lounis xviii. the decree against him was reversed in , and he became a professor at rennes. though he had opposed the making of napoleon consul for life, napoleon gave him a place in his senate; and at the first restoration, in , louis xviii named him a peer of france. he died in . [ ] some of the apologists of the girondins--nearly all the oldest criminals of the revolution have found defenders, except perhaps marat and robespierre--have affirmed that the girondins, though they had not courage to give their votes to save the life of louis, yet hoped to save him by voting for an appeal to the people; but the order in which the different questions were put to the convention is a complete disproof of this plea. the first question put was, was louis guilty? they all voted "oui" (lacretelle, x., p. ). but though on the second question, whether this verdict should be submitted to the people for ratification, many of them did vote for such an appeal being made, yet after the appeal had been rejected by a majority of one hundred and forty-two, and the third question, "what penalty shall be inflicted on louis?" (lacretelle, x., p. ) was put to the convention, they all except lanjuinais voted for "death." the majorities were, on their question, to ; on the second, to ; on the third, to ; so that on this last, the fatal question, it would have been easy for the girondins to have turned the scale. and lamartine himself expressly affirms (xxxv., p. ) that the king's life depended on the girondin vote, and that his death was chiefly owing to vergniaud. [ ] goncourt, p. , quoting "fragments de turgy." [ ] "s'en défaire."--_louis xvii., sa vie, son agonie, sa mort_, par m. de beauchesne, quoting senart. see croker's "essays on the revolution," p. . [ ] duchesse d'angoulême, p. . [ ] see a letter from miss chowne to lord aukland, september d, , journal, etc., of lord aukland, ii., p. . [ ] "le peuple la reçut non seulement comme une reine adorée, mais il semblait aussi qu'il lui savait gré d'être charmante," p. , ed. . [ ] great interest was felt for her in england. in october horace walpole writes: "while assemblies of friends calling themselves _men_ are from day to day meditating torment and torture for his [louis xvi.'s] heroic widow, on whom, with all their power and malice, and with every page, footman, and chamber-maid of hers in their reach, and with the rack in their hands, they have not been able to fix a speck. nay, do they not talk of the inutility of evidence? what other virtue ever sustained such an ordeal?" walpole's testimony in such a matter is particularly valuable, because he had not only been intimately acquainted with all the gossip of the french capital for many years, but also because his principal friends in france did not belong to the party which might have been expected to be most favorable to the queen. had there been the very slightest foundation for the calumnies which had been propagated against her, we may be sure that such a person as madame du deffand would not only have heard them, but would have been but too willing to believe them. his denunciation of them is a proof that she knew their falsehood. [ ] goncourt, p. , quoting _la quotidienne_ of october th, th. [ ] the depositions which the little king had been compelled to sign contained accusations of his aunt as well as of his mother. [ ] as we shall see in the close of the letter, she did not regard those priests who had taken the oath imposed by the assembly, but which the pope had condemned, as any longer priests. index. abbé de mandoux; de sabran; de sieyés; de vermond. abolition of titles of honour. addresses presented from paris and from the states of languedoc. adelaide, princess, intrigues of; afflicted with the small-pox; flight of. admiral de coligny; d'orvilliers; du chaffault; keppel; rodney. ailesbury, lady. alliance formed with the united states; with russia and prussia; with spain. american war, the. anglomania in paris. _anglomanie_, a name given to english fashions. anti-austrian feeling in paris. antoinette, marie. see _marie antoinette_. arbitrary powers of the sovereign of france. archbishop loménie de brienne. archduke maximilian visits his sister. arpay-de-duc, where the king's aunts were detained. arnould, mademoiselle. arrest of cardinal rohan. assassination of gustavus iii. of sweden. assembly, parties in the, "the right," "the left," and "the plain,"; abolishes all privileges august th, ; disorders in the; tyranny of the; meeting of the new. austria, antagonistic feeling against; emperor joseph of, visits france _incognito_; writes to his sister, the queen of france, on european politics; austria, maria teresa, empress of; death of joseph ii., emperor of; influence of, in france, causes jealousy; remonstrating by the emperor leopold with the french government; death of leopold; war declared against. autun, bishop of. axel de fersen, count. bagatelle, a house belonging to the comte d'artois, which was built in sixty days. bailli de suffrein. bailly, m., and the national guard; effrontery of. "baker," a name given to the king. balbi, countess de. balloons introduced into france by montgolfier. banquet at the hotel de ville on account of the birth of the dauphin. barbaroux, m. "barber of seville," play of the. barnave, m. and the constitutionalists; gives advice to the queen. baron de batz; de besenval; de breteuil. baroness de staël. barri, countess du, jealous of marie antoinette; sent to a convent. bastile, attack on the, ; and murder of the governor; anniversary of the capture of. battle of brandywine. batz, baron de. bavaria, affairs in; at the death of the elector . beauharnais, general. beaulieu, marshal. beaumarchais, m. beauty of marie antoinette. beauvau, m. de, and the opposition. bertrand, m.. besenval, baron de; and the reveillon riot. birth of duc d'angoulême; of the princess marie-thérèse charlotte (madame royale); of the dauphin, son of marie antoinette. bishop lamourette; talleyrand. body-guard, ball given by the; and the versailles mob; protecting the court. boehmer, the court jeweler. boillé, marquis de; flies from france. boutourlin's, m., attacks on m. necker. brandywine, battle of. breteuil, baron de; appointed prime minister; and foreign intervention. breton club. brienne, loménie de, archbishop of toulouse. brissac, duc de. brissot, m.. broglie, marshal de. brunier, m.. brunoy, entertainment given at. brunswick, duke of. brunswick, prince ferdinand of. burke's description of the beauty of the queen. buzot, m.. calonne, m. de; dismissed from the office of finance minister. campan, madame de. cap, red, of liberty. cape st. vincent. capet, name given to the queen before the trial. cardinal de rohan. carlisle, lord, receiving a challenge from la fayette in . carnival of . castle of gaillon. chaffault, admiral du. challenge sent by marquis de la fayette to lord carlisle. châlons, and the reception of the king on his arrest. champs de mars, fête in the, in celebration of the anniversary of the capture of the bastile. chantilly, festivities at. charity shown by louis xvi. and the queen during the winter of - . charleston, capture of. chartres, duc de and duc d'orléans recalled from banishment; and the comte d'artois establish horse-racing; displays cowardice as rear-admiral; refused marriage with madame royale; and the red cap of liberty. chevalier d'assas, story of the. chinon, m. de. choiseul, duc de; dismissal of; recall from banishment. choisy, private parties at. clergy, oppression of the. cléry, m., refused audience with the queen. clinton, sir harry. clootz, anacharsis, heads a deputation. clostercamp, the scene of the heroism displayed by the chevalier d'assas. clotilde, princess, marriage of the. clubs, political, springing up at paris. coigny, duc de. coligny, admiral de, and count de mirabeau. compiègne. comte d'artois; de la marck; de mercy; condorcet, marquis de. constitution, completing the, by the assembly; acceptance of the, by the king. constitutional guard, dissolution of the. constitutionalists, or "the plain". conti, prince de. cordeliers, the. cortey, m.. count d'estaing; de fersen; d'hervilly; de grasse; de luxembourg; de maurepas; de mirabeau; de narbonne; de roche-aymer; de rosenberg; de stedingk; de st. priest; de vaudreuil; esterhazy. countess de balbi; du barri; de grammont; de monnier; de la mothe; de noailles; de polignac; de provence. "coupe-têtes," the. court supper-parties. couthon, m. craufurd, mr. d'agoust, marquis. d'aiguillon, duc. dames de la halle. d'angoulême, duc, birth of. d'artois, comte, marriage of the; and; the duc de chartres establish horse-racing; his character; shielding the duc de chartres; watching at the queen's bedside during her illness; shows contempt for the commercial orders; flees from paris; misconduct of the; refuses to return to france. d'assas, chevalier, story of the. dauphin, proposal of marriage of marie antoinette to the; early education of the; introduction to; married at versailles, mary th, ; letter from maria teresa to the; admiration of the, for his wife; and the count de provence, characters of the; birth of the, son of louis xvi.; death of the, son of louis xvi., june th, , and succeeded by his brother; and m. bertrand. deane, silas. death of francis, emperor of germany; of louis xv.; of voltaire; of cardinal de rohan, at ettenheim; of princess sophie, daughter of the queen; of the dauphin, son of louis xvi., june th, ; of joseph ii., emperor of austria; of count de mirabeau; of leopold, emperor of austria. debt, the queen finds herself in. declaration of pilnitz. defeat of de grasse by admiral rodney. degraves, m. de launay, m., governor of the bastile, death of. des huttes, m. d'esprémesnil, duval. de staël, baroness. d'estaing, count. destruction of the spanish squadron by the british at cape st. vincent de varicourt, m. d'hervilly, count. d'huillier, m. disorders in the assembly. dissolution of the constitutional guard. distress and discontent in france in ; general, caused by the severity of the winter of - . d'oberkirch, madame donkey-riding; horse-riding. d'orléans, duc, and the duc de chartres recalled from banishment; and the archduke maximilian; shows hostility to the queen; and the presidency of the club "les enragés"; and the reveillon riot; and the versailles mob; leaves france for england; and the red cap. d'ormesson, m. d'orvilliers, admiral. duc d'aiguillon; d'angoulême; de brissac; de chartres; de choisseu; de coigny; de la feuillade; de maine; de la vauguyon; de liancourt; d'orléans; de richelieu. dugazon, madame. duke of brunswick; of normandy; paul of russia; of tarouka. dumont, m. dumouriez, general, character of; and the queen; resigns his position as minister, and takes command of the army. duportail, m. duranton, m. durepaire, m. durfort, marquis de. duverney, paris. education, the queen's views of. emigrant princes, misconduct of the. emigration from france repugnant to louis xvi. emperor francis of germany; joseph of austria; leopold of austria. empress catherine, of russia; maria teresa, of austria. encore, the first. epigram of metastasio. ermenonville, the burial-place of rousseau. escape from prison by the countess de la mothe; the royal family preparing to; arrested at varennes and brought back. esterhazy, count. etiquette, strictness of court; relaxation of. ettenheim, cardinal de rohan dies at. execution of m. de favras. expenses, court, retrenchment in. expostulation of the emperor maximilian with his sister. factious conduct of the princes of the blood. fall of turgot. favras, m. de, execution of. feast of the federation. federation, feast of the. ferdinand, duke, of brunswick. fersen, count axel de. feudal system, the, in france and its need of reform. feuillade's, duc de la, statue of louis xiv. feuillants, les. figaro, the marriage of, the play of. fire at the hôtel dieu; at the palace of justice. fire-works, explosion of, at paris. first impressions of the french court. flanders, the regiment of, arrives at versailles. fleurieu, m. fleury, joly de. flight from paris decided on. fontainebleau, the peasant at; grand review at. fontanges, m., de. forgeries of the queen's name committed. fouquier, tinville. france and germany, feelings in, regarding marie antoinette's marriage; distress and discontent in. francis, emperor of germany, death of. frost, severe, ant the seine frozen over. gaillon, castle of. gambling, court. garden-parties given at the trianon. general beauharnais; dumouriez. general rejoicings. gensonné, m. germany, death of francis, emperor of; and france, feelings in regarding marie antoinette's marriage. gibraltar, siege of. gifts of le joyeuse avénement and la ceinture de la reine renounced. girondins, rise of the; fall of the. gluck appointed to teach the harpsichord; visits paris. goethe. goldsmith's prediction of a french revolution. grains, war of the. grammont, countess de. grasse, count de. gaudet, m. guimenée, princess de. guines, duc de. gustavus iii., king of sweden, at the french court. horse-racing by comte d' artois. hôtel de ville, banquet at the, on account of the birth of the dauphin; storming of the, by the insurgents, july . hôtel dieu, great fire at. hughes, sir e., fights with m. de suffrein. hunting-field, marie antoinette in the. huttes, m. des. illuminations in paris at the birth of the dauphin. income, settlement of. indictment drawn up against the queen. inscription on a snow pyramid erected in gratitude by the parisians for the charity they received from their queen in the winter of -' . insolence shown to the queen by a virago. insurgents, the, under santerre. insurrection in paris, july, ; of june th ; of august th, . intrigues formed against marie antoinette; of madame adelaide. "iphigénie," opera of. jacobin club, the. jarjayes, madame de. jason and medea, tapestry representing the history of. jealousy shown by the queen's favorites; of the countess du barri; of the aunts; of austrian influence. jewelry and boehmer, the court jeweler. joséphine louise, princess of savoy, married to the count de provence. joseph, emperor of austria, visits france _incognito_; writes to his sister on european politics; death of. jussieu, bernard de. justice, remarkable, always shown by the queen. kaunitz, prince. keppel, admiral. king gustavus iii. of sweden visits the french court. korff, madame de. la belle liégeoise. lacoste, m. lacy, marshal. lady ailesbury; sutherland. la fayette, marquis de; and the national guard; and mirabeau; demands the suppression of titles; offered the sword of the constable of france, which he declines; shows insolence to the royal family; threatens the queen with a divorce; saves the castle at vincennes; insults the nobles who come to protect the king; his urgency to bring back the king, who had been arrested in his flight; arrogance of; shows personal animosity to the king; ordered to prepare for foreign service; unskillfulness of; shows much deficiency in military tactics; appears before the assembly, and narrowly escapes impeachment; proposes a plan for the royal family to escape; flies from france, and is thrown into an austrian prison. lamballe, princess de. lambel, m. lambert, m. lameth, alexander. lameth, charles. lamoignon, m. lamourette, bishop, makes a motion in the assembly. la muette, at choisy, palace of. lanjuinais, m. leopold, emperor of austria, remonstrates with the french government. _le patriote français_. lepitre, m. les enragés, a political club formed under the presidency of the duc d'orléans. "les Événements imprévus". lessart, m. letters from maria teresa to her daughter. see _maria teresa_. from marie antoinette to her mother. see _marie antoinette_. liancourt, duc de. libelous attacks on the queen. liberty, restorer of french, a title given to the king. lichtenstein, prince de, sent as envoy from austria. loménie de brienne, archbishop of toulouse, appointed prime minister; resigns office. lord carlisle; stormont. lorraine, prince of; death of. lorraine, princess of, at the state ball. louis xiv., the duc de la feuillade's statue of. louis xv., character and life of; apathy of; catches the smallpox; death of. louis xvi, receives homage on the death of his grandfather; influenced by his aunts; gives the pavilion of the little trianon to the queen; compared to louis xii. and henry iv.; crowned at rheims; concludes an alliance with the united states; exempts from the poll-tax all those unable to pay on the occasion of the birth of the dauphin; visits cherbourg; orders the arrest of two members of parliament, and also the closing-up of the house; conspicuous for his charity during the winter of - ; concedes the chief demands of the commons; opens the states in person, may th, ; loses his eldest son, the dauphin, june th, ; grants reforms to the states; removes necker; withdraws the troops from paris; visits paris, and appeals to the populace, july th, ; invites necker to return; called the "restorer of french liberty,"; sends his plate to be melted down for the benefit of the starving citizens; adheres to his conciliatory policy before the mob at versailles; fixes his residence at paris; accepts the constitution so far as it has been settled; accepts the services of the count de mirabeau; offers la fayette the sword of the constable of france, which he declines; appears at the fête at the champs de mars; contemplates foreign intervention; decides to remove to montmédy; report of attempted assassination of; reproves the nobles for coming to his aid; forbidden to remove more than twenty leagues from paris; urged to escape; escapes, and is arrested and brought back; acceptance of the new constitution by the king; dissolves the first constituent assembly; refuses his assent to the decrees against the priests and emigrants; issues a circular condemning emigration; apathy of; made to put on the red cap of liberty; a plot to assassinate; appears at the feast of federation; holds his last ball, august th, ; reviews the troops for the last time; appeals to the assembly for protection; receives notice that his authority is a nullity; made prisoner with his wife and family; sent to the temple; trial of; insults offered to; condemned to death; execution of. louvre, visit by the dauphin and dauphiness to the. luckner, marshal. luxembourg, count de, and the military banquet at versailles. luzerne, m. de. "madame deficit," a nickname given to the queen. madame royale refused in marriage to the duc de chartres. maillard, m., and the insurgents of . mailly, marshal de. maine, duke de. malesherbes, m. malouet, m. mandat, m.; assassination of. mandense, abbé. marat, m., denounces the queen. marchioness de tourzel. marck, count de la. maria teresa, empress of austria, her habits and life; her feelings at the departure of her daughter; letter from, to the dauphin; letter of advice to her daughter; appoints comte de mercy as embassador to france; letters from marie antoinette to; advice to marie antoinette; disapproval of her daughter appearing in the hunting field; expresses her approval of her daughter's liberality; receives a letter from her daughter on her state entrance into paris; anxieties about her daughter since her accession as queen of france; cautions her daughter against extravagances; admonishes her daughter; solicits an alliance between france and austria against prussia; writes about the birth of her daughter's child; death of. marie antoinette, importance of, in the french revolution of ; estimation of her character formed from her correspondences; her birth, november d, ; her childhood; projects for her marriage; her education; proposal of marriage to the dauphin; leaves vienna april th, ; strasburg, reception at; at soissons; meeting the king and dauphin at compiègne; visits the princess louise at the convent of st. denis; married at versailles, may th, ; difficulties in the path of; courage in her conduct; letter of advice from her mother; her sympathy with the sufferers at the fire-work explosion at paris and with the peasant at fontainebleau pleases the king and the people; description of her physical appearance; writes to her mother, giving her first impressions of the court and of her own position and prospects; dislike to the court etiquette; intrigues formed against; jealousy of the aunts; addresses from paris and the states of languedoc; gaining popularity; expresses a wish to learn to ride; donkey-riding; settlement of income upon; introduces sledging parties into france; gains admiration from her husband; advice of maria teresa; growing preference of louis xv. for; becomes a horse-woman; applying herself to study; taste for music acquired by; appears at a review at fontainebleau; in the hunting-field; writes to her mother early in ; liberality shown by, to the sufferers by the fire at the hôtel dieu; receives approval from her mother; expresses her feelings about poland; state entrance of, into paris; writes to her mother; presiding at the banquet of the dames de la halle; visiting the parisian theatres; writes to her mother on the death of louis xv.; shows her good character upon her accession as queen of france; procures the recall from banishment of the duc de choiseul; receives from the king the pavilion of the little trianon; desires for private friendships and constant amusements; accused of austrian preferences; receives increased allowance as queen; visited by the archduke maximilian; writes to her mother on the coronation of the king; gives garden parties at trianon; beauty of; shows her mortification at not having children; speaks disparagingly of the king; writes to her mother extolling the french people; indulges at the play-table; finds herself in debt and forgeries of her name committed; receives the duke of dorset and others with favor; receives a visit from her brother, the emperor of austria; writes to her mother concerning the emperor's visit; receives a letter of advice from her brother on his departure from france; inviting the king's ministers to the little trianon; writes political letters; expects to become a mother; declines to receive voltaire on his return to france; gives birth to a daughter, whom she names marie thérèse charlotte; goes to notre dame cathedral to return thanks; goes in a hackney-coach to a bal d'opéra; is attacked by measles; writes to her mother about the war between france and england; studies politics; engages in private theatricals; writes to her mother in the midst of her troubles; exhibits great grief at the death of her mother; gives birth to a son, the dauphin of france; on education; receives m. de suffrein with great honor; receives a letter from her brother, the emperor of austria, on european politics, and replies to it; st. cloud is bought for; gives birth to the duke of normandy; finds that her name has been forged and misrepresentations made for procuring a necklace made by boehmer; receives a visit from her sister, the princess of teschen; is treated with hostility by the duc d'orléans; receives the nickname of "madame deficit"; loses her second daughter, the princess sophie; writes two political letters to the duchess de polignac; writes to mercy on the present political state of affairs, august th, ; conspicuous for her charity during a severe winter; has serious views about the demands of the commons; refuses to accept the duc de chartres for husband to her daughter madame royale; attends the opening of the states; loses her eldest son, the dauphin, june th, ; writes to the duchess de polignac on the states' affairs; writes to the marchioness de tourzel, intrusting to her the education of her children; rejects barnave's overtures; is remarkable for her bravery; writes to mercy about her feelings at the present aspect of affairs; receives insolence from a virago; feels the death of her brother, the emperor joseph ii. of austria; writes to her brother leopold, who succeeded joseph ii.; refuses to give evidence against the mob rioters; shows kind feeling toward the widowed marchioness de favras; makes a speech to the deputies; is well received at the theatre; receives the services of the count de mirabeau; interviews him; shows her presence of mind at the fête at the champ de mars; writes to mercy about the difficulty of managing mirabeau; has to bid farewell to mercy, who is removed to the hague; gives audience to prince de lichtenstein; denounced by marat; attempts made to assassinate; writes to the emperor of austria, her brother leopold, october d, ; refuses to quit france by herself; is threatened with a divorce by la fayette; writes to the comte d'artois, expostulating with him; writes to her brother to send troops to intervene; escapes from paris with her family, and is arrested and brought back; writes to de fersen; writes to her brother, emperor leopold; sends a letter to mercy about the revolution; writes to mercy about the declaration of pilnitz and the constitution; declares her feelings in a letter to the empress catherine of russia; m. bertrand and the queen; receives news of the death of her brother leopold, the emperor of austria; direct attacks made against; dumouriez speaks his mind strongly to; appears before the insurrectionists at the tuileries, june th, ; writes to mercy, july th, ; receives proposals for her escape; writes to the landgravine louise; employs her time in quilting her husband a waistcoat to resist a dagger or a bullet; attempt made to assassinate; determines to sacrifice personal safety to loss of the crown and constitution; made prisoner with her husband; plans formed for the escape of, fail; additional insults offered to; has a trial and is sentenced; writes a final letter to the princess elizabeth; is executed; her remains treated with indignity; summary of the character of. maritime superiority possessed by england. marly, palace at. marmier, madame de. marquis d'agoust; de bouillé; de condorcet; de durfort; de la fayette; de montesquieu; de savonières; de st. huruge; de vaudreuil. "marriage of figaro." the play of the. marriage of marie antoinette to the dauphin of france, may , ; feelings in germany and france regarding the. marsan, madame de. marseillese, the. marshal beaulieu; de broglie; de mailly; lacy; luckner; rochambeau. maubourg, m. latour. maurepas, count de. maximillan, archduke, visits his sister. mazarin, madame de. measles, the queen is attacked by the. mercy, comte de, appointed as embassador to france; reports to maria teresa; position and influence of, upon the accession of louis xvi.; receives letters from the queen on the political state of affairs; replies to the same; introduces count de mirabeau to the queen; receives letter from the queen about mirabeau; is removed to the hague; the queen writes urgently to. metastasio, epigram of. michonis, m. miomandre, m. mirabeau, count de, and court etiquette; and his conjugal rights; his character his behavior at the opening of the states; drives necker from office, and presents a petition to the king to withdraw the troops from paris; changes his views; his services accepted by the court; denounced by the jacobin club; interviews the queen, and is pleased with her; interviews the count de la marck; great difficulty in managing; retires from office; stands by the queen; death of; funeral of. mob at versailles. moleville, m. bertrand de. monnier, countess de, and the count de mirabeau. montesquieu, marquis de. montgolfier's balloons introduced. montmédy. montmorency, viscount matthieu de. montmorin, m.. montsabert, m., arrest of. moreau, m.. mothe, countess de la. murder of mandat; of the princess de lamballe. music, great taste for, exhibited by the dauphiness. mutiny in the marquis de bouillé's army. mutual jealousies of the queen's favorites. mysore, tippoo sahib, sultan of. narbonne, count de. "national assembly," the, first proposed. national guard, formation of the; fires on the people. necker, m.; retires from the ministry; invited to rejoin, and declines; appointed prime mister; aims at popularity; convokes the states-general; resumes office. necklace made by boehmer, the court jeweler; story of the, revived. noailles, countess de. normandy, duke of. notables, the calonne, assembles; loménie de brienne dismisses. notre dame, public thanksgiving at, on account of the birth of madame royale; also on the occasion of the birth of the dauphin. oliva, mademoiselle, and the great necklace forgery case. opera of "iphigénie en aulide" performed in paris. opinion of foreign nations. outrages in the provinces in . overthrow of the girondins. paris duverney. paris, fire-work explosion at; state entrance of the dauphin and marie antoinette into; great scarcity in, september, ; riots in; and the reveillon riot; riots in, july, ; the court removes to; insurrection in, june th, ; riots in, august th, . parliament, violence of the; arrest of two of its members; closing-up of, by the king's order; recall of, by necker. pastoret, m.. paul, grand duke of russia, visits the french court with his wife. peace restored between prussia and austria; between france and england. peasant, the, at fontainebleau. _people's friend, the_, a newspaper published by the revolutionists. pétion, m.. pilnitz, declaration of. poland, the partition of. polastron, madame de. polignac, countess de. political clubs springing up in paris. poll-tax, exemptions from, made by louis xvi.. popularity of marie antoinette, increasing. prince charles of lorraine, death of; de conti; de lichtenstein sent as envoy from austria; ferdinand of brunswick; kaunitz; cardinal louis de rohan. princess adelaide; clotilde; de guimenée; de lamballe; joséphine louise of savoy; of lorraine; sophie of france; of teschen; victoire. private theatricals. provence, count de, married to the princess joséphine louise of savoy. provence, countess de. provinces, outrages in the. prussia allies with russia. and the declaration of pilnitz. public thanksgiving at the birth of madame royale; at the birth of the dauphin. race-course established in the bois de boulogne. ramond, m.. red cap of liberty worn. reform, the necessity of, generally admitted; granted by louis xvi.. rejoicings, general, in france at the birth of the princess; at the birth of the dauphin. republic declared. "restorer of french liberty," title given to the king. rétaux de villette. retrenchment in court expenditure. reveillon, m., and the paris riot. revolution of commenced. revolutionary tribunal; trial of the queen. rheims, coronation of louis xvi. at. richelieu, duc de. ride, marie antoinette expresses a wish to learn to; donkey-riding. riding, donkey; horse. riots, formidable in some of the provinces; in paris; the reveillon, in paris; in paris, july, ; in paris, june th, ; in paris, august th, ; robespierre, m. rochambeau, marshal. roche-aymer, count de. rodney, admiral. roederer, m. rohan, cardinal prince de. roland, madame, urging secret assassinations of the king and queen; and robespierre; death of. romenf, m. "rose of the north," a name given to the countess de fersen. rosenburg, count de. rousseau, jean jacques. royal family, the, preparing to escape; arrested; authority suspended. royalists, the name first used as a reproach. russia allies with prussia; grand duke of, visits the french court; catherine empress of. sabran, abbé de. sahib, tippoo, sultan of mysore. salis, m. de. sans-culottes. santerre, m., and the attack on the bastille; and the paris insurrection; and the insurgents. sartines, m. de. savonières, marquis de. scarcity of food in paris in september, . schönbrunn, retreat at. seine, water-parties on the; frozen over. seven years' war, the. severity of the winter of -' much felt in france. seville, the barber of, the play of. séze, m. de. sieyès, abbé. simolin, m. simon m., and the young king. sir edward hughes. sledging-parties. small-pox caught by louis xv.; caught by madame adelaide. snow pyramids and obelisks erected, and inscriptions made on them showing the french people's gratitude for the charity displayed by the queen in the winter of -' . soissons. songs of the dames de la halle on the occasion of the birth of the dauphin. sophie hélène beatrice, princess, born july th, , died june th . sovereign of france, arbitrary powers of the. spain and france form an alliance against the british. spanish squadron destroyed by the british. st anthony's day. st. cloud, visit of the dauphin and dauphiness to; purchased for the queen. st huruge, marquis de. st. priest, count de. st. targeau, m. de. st menehould, the king recognized at, while escaping from france. staël, baroness de, at the opening of the states; and the queen's last days. states-general, need for a meeting of the; opening of the, by louis xvi., may th, ; uproar in. statue of louis xiv., by the duc de la feuillade. stedingk, count de. stormont, lord. strasburg, reception at. strausse, m. successes of the english in america. suffrein, bailli de, fights with sir e. hughes. sultan of mysore. supper-parties, court. sutherland, lady, supplies clothes for the dauphin. sweden, gustavus iii., king of, at the french court; assassination of the king of. swedish nobles received at the french court swiss guard, under count d'hervilly; murder of the. taboureau des reaux. talleyrand, bishop of autun. tarouka's, duka of, wager. taxes imposed on the accession of a king and queen renounced. tea, introduction of, into france temple, the teresa, maria. see _maria teresa_ tertre, duport de. teschen, peace of; princess of, visits her sister, the queen, in . thanksgiving, public, at the cathedral of notre dame. "the handsome," a name given to the count axel de fersen. theatre, tumult at the. theatres, the dauphin and dauphiness visiting the parisian. theatricals, private. tison, madam, and the queen. titles of honor, abolition of. tocqueville's, m. alexis de, opinion of the feudal system in france. toulan, m., and marie antoinette. toulouse, loménie de brienne, archbishop of. tourzel, marchioness de; the queens writes, intrusting her children to the care of; assumes the name of madame de korff. trial of cardinal de rohan and others for forgery; of the king, december th, . trianon, little, pavilion of the, given to the queen; the queen at the; parties at the; festivities at the; the queen improving the. tricolor flag adopted in paris. tronchet, m. tuileries, shabbiness of the, and removal of the court to the. turgot, a.r.j.; dismissal from office. turgy, m. usages, french and austrian. valenciennes, a frontier town. valory, m. varennes, the king is arrested at, in his flight from paris. varicourt, m. de vaudreuil, count de. vaudreuil, marquis de. vauguyon, duc de la. vergennes, count de. vergniaud, m. vermond, abbé de. versailles, marie antoinette and louis married at, may th, ; less frequented; winter of . veto, debates on the; "monsieur" and "madame," nicknames to the king and queen. victoire, princess. vienna, marie antoinette, leaving, april th, . _ville de paris_, ship. villette, marquis de. vincennes, castle at, attacked by the mob. violence of the parliament. viscount matthieu de montmorency. volatile character of the queen. voltaire's remark about the maritime superiority of england; return to france, and his death. walpole's, horace, observations on the beauty of the queen. war of the grains; the seven years'; the american; between france and england; declared against austria. water-parties on the seine. west indies, french successes in the. winter of , severity of; of - , much distress in france in the. the end [frontispiece: marie antoinette] marie antoinette and the downfall of royalty by imbert de saint-amand _translated by_ elizabeth gilbert martin _with portrait_ new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons. {v} contents. chapter page i. paris at the beginning of . . . . . . . . . ii. count de ferson's last journey to paris . . . . iii. the death of the emperor leopold . . . . . . . . iv. the death of gustavus iii . . . . . . . . . . . v. the beginnings of madame roland . . . . . . . . vi. madame roland's entrance on the scene . . . . . vii. marie antoinette and madame roland . . . . . . . viii. madame roland at the ministry of the interior . ix. dumouriez, minister of foreign affairs . . . . . x. the council of ministers . . . . . . . . . . . . xi. the fÊte of the swiss of chateauvieux . . . . . xii. the declaration of war . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii. the disbanding of the constitutional guard . . . xiv. the sufferings of louis xvi . . . . . . . . . . xv. roland's dismissal from office . . . . . . . . . xvi. a three days' ministry . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii. the prologue to june twentieth . . . . . . . . . xviii. the morning of june twentieth . . . . . . . . . {vi} xix. the invasion of the tuileries . . . . . . . . . xx. marie antoinette on june twentieth . . . . . . . xxi. the morrow of june twentieth . . . . . . . . . . xxii. lafayette in paris . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii. the lamourette kiss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiv. the fÊte of the federation in . . . . . . . xxv. the last days at the tuileries . . . . . . . . . xxvi. the prologue to the tenth of august . . . . . . xxvii. the night of august ninth to tenth . . . . . . . xxviii. the morning of august tenth . . . . . . . . . . xxix. the box of the logograph . . . . . . . . . . . . xxx. the combat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxxi. the results of the combat . . . . . . . . . . . xxxii. the royal family in the convent of the feuillants xxxiii. the temple . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxxiv. the princess de lamballe's murder . . . . . . . xxxv. the september massacres . . . . . . . . . . . . xxxvi. madame roland during the massacres . . . . . . . xxxvii. the proclamation of the republic . . . . . . . . index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . { } marie antoinette and the downfall of royalty. i. paris at the beginning of . paris in is no longer what it was in . in , the old french society was still brilliant. the past endured beside the present. neither names nor escutcheons, neither liveries nor places at court, had been suppressed. the aristocracy and the revolution lived face to face. in , the scene has changed. the paris of the nobility is no longer in paris, but at coblentz. the faubourg saint-germain is like a desert. since june, , armorial bearings have been taken down. the blazons of ancient houses have been broken and thrown into the gutters. no more display, no more liveries, no more carriages with coats-of-arms on their panels. titles and manorial names are done away with. the duke de brissac is called m. cossé; the duke de caraman, m. riquet; the duke d'aiguillon, m. vignerot. the _almanach royal_ of mentions not a single court appointment. { } in , it was still an exceptional thing for the nobility to emigrate. in , it is the rule. those among the nobles who have had the courage to remain at paris in the midst of the furnace, so as to make a rampart for the king of their bodies, seem half ashamed of their generous conduct. the illusions of worldliness have been dispelled. nearly every salon was open in . in , they are nearly all closed; those of the magistrates and the great capitalists as well as those of the aristocracy. etiquette is still observed at the tuileries, but there is no question of fêtes; no balls, no concerts, none of that elegance and animation which once made the court a rendezvous of pleasures. in , illusions, dreams, a naïve expectation of the age of gold, were to be found everywhere. in , eclogues and pastoral poetry are beginning to go out of fashion. the diapason of hatred is pitched higher. already there is powder and a smell of blood in the air. a general instinct forebodes that france and europe are on the verge of a terrible duel. on both sides passions have touched their culminating point. distrust and uneasiness are universal. every day the despotism of the clubs becomes more threatening. the jacobins do not reign yet, but they govern. deputies who, if left to their own impulses, would vote on the conservative side, pronounce for the revolution solely through fear of the demagogues. in , the religious sentiment still retained power among the { } masses. in , irreligion and atheism have wrought their havoc. in , the most ardent revolutionists, marat, danton, robespierre, were all royalists. at the beginning of , the republic begins to show its face beneath the monarchical mask. the tuileries, menaced by the neighboring lanes of the carrousel and the palais royal, resembles a besieged fortress. the revolution daily augments its trenches and parallels around the sanctuary of the monarchy. its barracks are the faubourgs; its soldiers, red-bonneted pikemen. louis xvi. in his palace is like a general-in-chief in a stronghold, who should have voluntarily dampened his powder, spiked his cannon, and torn his flags. he no longer inspires his troops with confidence. a capitulation seems imminent. the unfortunate monarch still hopes vaguely for assistance from abroad, for the arrival of some liberating army. vain hope! he is blockaded in his castle, and the moment is at hand when he will be compelled to play the buffoon in a red bonnet. glance at the palace and see how closely it is hemmed in by the earthworks of the revolution. the abode of luxury and display, intended for fêtes rather than for war, philibert delorme's _chef-d'oeuvre_ has in its architecture none of those means of defence by which the military and feudal sovereignties of old times fortified their dwellings. on the side of the courtyards a multitude of little { } streets contain a hostile population ready to swell every riot. near the pavilion of marsan is the palais royal, that headquarters of insurrection, with its cafés, its gambling-dens, its houses of ill-fame, its wooden galleries which are known as the camp of the tartars. it is the duke of orleans who has democratized the palais royal. in spite of the sarcasms of the aristocracy and the lawsuits of neighboring proprietors, he has destroyed the fine gardens bounded by the rue de richelieu, the rue des petit-champs, and the rue des bons-enfants. in the place it occupied he has caused the rue de valois, the rue de beaujolais, and the rue de montpensier to be opened, all of them inhabited by a revolutionary population. the remaining space he has surrounded on three sides with constructions pierced by galleries, where he has built the shops that form the finest bazaar in europe. the fourth side of these new constructions was originally intended to form part of the prince's palace, and to be composed of an open colonnade supporting suites of apartments. but this side has not been erected. in place of it the duke of orleans has run up some temporary wooden sheds, containing three rows of shops separated by two large passage-ways, the ground of which has not even been made level. the privileges pertaining to the orleans family prevent the police from entering the enclosure of the palais royal. hence it becomes the rendezvous of all conspirators. the taking of the bastille was { } plotted there, and there the th of june and the th of august will yet be organized. a little further off is the national assembly. its sessions are held in the riding-school built when the little louis xv. was to be taught horsemanship. it adjoins the terrace of the feuillants. one of its courtyards which looks towards the front of the edifice, is at the upper end of the rue de dauphin. the other extremity occupies the site where the rue castiglione will be opened later on. there, close beside the tuileries, sits the national assembly, the rival and victorious power that will overcome the monarchy. the assembly terrorizes the tuileries. the jacobin club terrorizes the assembly. close beside the hall of the manège, on the site to be occupied afterward by the market of saint-honoré, the revolutionary club holds its tumultuous sessions in the former convent founded in by the jacobin, or dominican, friars. the club meets three times a week, at seven in the evening. the hall is a long rectangle with a vaulted roof. four rows of stalls occupy the longer sides, while the two ends serve as public galleries. nearly in the middle of the hall, the speaker's platform and the president's writing-table stand opposite each other. hither come all ambitious revolutionists who desire to talk, to agitate, to make themselves conspicuous. here robespierre lords it, not being a deputy in consequence of the law forbidding members of the { } constituent assembly to belong to the legislative body. those who love disorder come here to seek emotions. some find lucrative employment, applause being paid for, and the different parties having each its _claque_ in the galleries. since april, , the jacobin club has affiliations in two thousand french towns and villages. at its orders and in its pay is an army of agents whose business it is to make stump speeches, to sing in the streets, to make propositions in cafés, to applaud or to hiss in the galleries of the national assembly. these hirelings usually receive about five francs a day, but as the number of the chevaliers of the revolutionary lustrum increases, the pay diminishes, until it is finally reduced to forty sous. deserters and soldiers dismissed from their regiments for misconduct are admitted by preference. for some days past, the club of moderate revolutionists, friends of lafayette, who might have closed the old clubs after the sanguinary repression of the riot in the champ-de-mars, and who contented themselves with opening a new one, have been meeting in the convent of the feuillants, rue saint-honoré. but this new club has not been a great success; moderation is not the order of the day; the jacobins have regained their empire, and on december , , seals are placed on the door of the club of the feuillants. at the other extremity of paris there is a club still more inflammatory than that of the jacobins: { } that of the cordeliers. "the jacobins," said barbaroux, "have no common aim, although they act in concert. the cordeliers are bent on blood, gold, and offices." speaking as a rule, the cordeliers belong to the jacobin club, while hardly a single jacobin is a cordelier. the cordeliers are the advance-guard of the revolution. they are, as camille desmoulins has said, jacobins of the jacobins. the chiefs are danton, marat, hébert, chaumette. they take their names from those religious democrats, the minorite friars of saint francis, who wear a girdle of rope over their coarse gray habit. they meet in the place of the school of medicine, in a monastery whose church was built in the reign of saint louis, in , with the fine paid as indemnity for a murder. in , it became the resort of the most famous leaguers. chateaubriand says: "there are places which seem to be the laboratory of seditions." how well this expression of the author of the _mémoires d'outre-tombe_ describes the club-room of the cordeliers! the pictures, the sculptured or painted images, the veils and curtains of the convent, have been torn down. the basilica displays nothing but its bare bones to the eyes of the spectator. at the apse, where wind and rain enter through the unglazed rose-window, joiners' work-benches serve as a desk for the president and as places on which to deposit the red caps. do you see the fallen beams, the wooden benches, the dismantled stalls, the relics of saints pushed or rolled against the walls { } to serve as benches for "dirty, dusty, drunken, sweaty spectators in torn jackets, pikes on their shoulders, or with their bare arms crossed"? do you hear the orators who "call each other beggars, pickpockets, robbers, assassins, to the discordant noise of hisses and those proper to their different groups of devils? they find the material of their metaphors in murder, they borrow them from the filthiest of sewers and dungheaps, and from places set apart for the prostitution of men and women. gestures render their figures of speech more comprehensible; with the cynicism of dogs, they call everything by its own name, in an impious and obscene parade of oaths and curses. to destroy and to produce, death and generation, nothing else can be disentangled from the savage jargon which deafens one's ear." and what is it that interrupts the speakers? "the little black owls of the cloister without monks and the steeple without bells, making themselves merry in the broken windows in expectation of their prey. at first they are called to order by the tinkling of an ineffectual bell; but as their cries do not cease, they are shot at to make them keep silence. they fall, palpitating, bleeding, and ominous, into the midst of the pandemonium." so, then, clubs take the place of convents. since the constituent assembly had decreed the abolition of monastic vows by its vote of february , , many persons, rudely detached from their usual way of life and its duties, had abandoned their vocation. { } the nun became a working-woman; the shaved capuchin read his journal in suburban taverns; and grinning crowds visited the profaned and open convents "as, in grenada, travellers pass through the abandoned halls of the alhambra, or as they pause, at tivoli, under the columns of the sibyl's temple." the jacobin club and the club of the cordeliers will destroy the monarchy. in the memoirs of lafayette it is remarked that "it is hard to understand how the jacobin minority and a handful of pretended marseillais made themselves masters of paris when nearly all the forty thousand citizens composing the national guard desired the constitution; but the clubs had succeeded in scattering the true patriots and in creating a dread of vigorous measures. experience had not yet taught what this feebleness and disorganization must needs cost." the dark side of the picture is plainly far more evident than it was in . but how vivid it is still! those who hunger after sensations are in their element. when has there been more noise, more tumult, more movement, more unexpected or more varied scenes? listen once more to chateaubriand who, on his return from america, passed through paris at this epoch: "when i read the _histoire des troubles publics ches divers peuples_ before the revolution, i could not conceive how it was possible to live in those times. i was surprised that montaigne wrote so cheerfully in a castle which he could not walk around without risk of being abducted by bands { } of leaguers or protestants. the revolution has enabled me to comprehend this possibility of existence. with us men, critical moments produce an increase of life. in a society which is dissolving and forming itself anew, the strife between the two tendencies, the collision of the past and the future, the medley of ancient and modern manners, form a transitory combination which does not admit a moment of ennui. passions and characters, freed from restraint, display themselves with an energy they do not possess in well-regulated cities. the infraction of laws, the emancipation from duties, usages, and the rules of decorum, even perils themselves, increase the interest of this disorder." yes, people complain, grow angry, suffer, but they are not bored. how many incidents, episodes, emotions, there are in this strange tragi-comedy! everywhere there is something to be seen; in the assembly, the clubs, the public places, the promenades, streets, cafés, and theatres. brawls and discussions are heard on every side. if by chance a salon is still open, disputes go on there as they would at a club. what quarrels take place in the cafés! men stand on chairs and tables to spout. and what dissensions in the theatres! the actors meddle with politics as well as the spectators. in the greenroom of the _comédie-française_ there is a right side, whose chief is the royalist naudet, and a left side led by the republican talma. neither actor goes out except well armed. there are pistols { } underneath their togas. the kings of tragedy, threatened by their political adversaries, have real poniards wherewith to defend themselves. _les horaces, brutus, la mort de césar, barnevelt, guillaume tell, charles ix._, are plays containing in each tirade allusions which inflame the boxes and the pit. the theatre is a tilting-ground. if the royalists are there in force, they cause the orchestra to play their favorite airs: _charmante gabrielle, vive henri quatre! o! richard, o! mon roi!_ the revolutionists protest, and sing their own chosen melody, the _Ça ira_. sometimes they come to blows, swords are drawn, and, the play over, elegant women are dragged through the gutters. there is a general outbreak of insults and violence. the journals play the chief part in this universal madness. sometimes the press is eloquent, but it is oftener ribald or atrocious. to borrow an expression from montaigne, "it lowers itself even to the worthless esteem of extreme inferiority." the beautiful french tongue, once so correct and pure, is no longer recognizable. vulgar words fall thick as hail. to the language of the academy has succeeded the jargon of the markets. what a swarm! what a swirl! how noisy, how restless, is this revolutionary paris! what excited crowds fill the clubs, the assembly, the palais royal, the gambling-houses, and the tumultuous faubourgs! riotous gatherings, popular deputations, detachments of cavalry, companies of { } foot-soldiers; gentlemen in french coats, powdered hair, swords at their sides, hats under their arms, silk stockings and low shoes; democrats close-cropped and unpowdered, with english frock coats and american cravats; ragged _sans-culottes_ in red caps, weave in and out in ceaseless motion. do you know what was the chief distraction of this crowd in april, ? the debut of that new and fashionable machine, the guillotine. it was used for the first time on the th, for a criminal guilty of rape. sensitive people congratulated each other on the mitigated torment, which they were pleased to consider a humanitarian improvement. the excellent philanthropist, doctor guillotin, was lauded to the skies. his machine was named guillotine in his honor, just as the stage-coaches established by turgot had been called turgotines. what enthusiasm, what infatuation, for this guillotine, already so famous and destined to be so much more so! the editors of the _moniteur_ declare in a lyric outburst that it is worthy of the approaching century. the truth is that it accelerates and makes less difficult the executioner's task. in the end the crowd would become disgusted with massacres. the delays of the gibbet would weary their patience. the _sans-culottes_, who doubtless have a presentiment of all that is going to happen, welcome the guillotine, then, with acclamations. at the _ambigu_ theatre a ballet-pantomime, called _les quatre fils aymon_, is given, and all paris runs to { } see the heads of all four fall at once, in the midst of loud applause, under the blade of the good doctor's machine. people amuse themselves with their future instrument of torture as if it were a toy. in a girondin salon they play at guillotine with a moveable screen that is lifted and let fall again. at elegant dinners a little guillotine is brought in with the dessert and takes the place of a sweet dish. a pretty woman places a doll representing some political adversary under the knife; it is decapitated in the neatest possible style, and out of it runs something red that smells good, a liqueur perfumed with ambergris, into which every lady hastens to dip her lace handkerchief. french gaiety would make a vaudeville out of the day of judgment. poor society, which passes so quick from gay to grave, from lively to severe, and which, like the figaro of beaumarchais, laughs at everything so that it may not weep! { } ii. count de fersen's last journey to paris. it has been supposed until lately that after the day when he bade farewell to the royal family at the beginning of the varennes journey, count de fersen never again saw marie antoinette. a new publication of very great importance proves that this is an error, and that the swedish nobleman came to paris for the last time in , and had several interviews with the king and queen. this publication is entitled: _extraits des papiers du grand maréchal de suède, comte jean axel de fersen_, and is published by his great-nephew, baron de kinckowstrom, a swedish colonel. there is something romantic in this episode of the mysterious journey made by marie antoinette's loyal chevalier, which merits to leave a trace in history. fersen was one of those men whose sentiments are all the more profound because they know how to veil them under an apparently imperturbable calm. a soul of fire under an exterior of ice, as the baroness de korff describes him, courageous to temerity, devoted to heroism, he had conceived for marie antoinette one of those disinterested and ardent { } friendships which lie midway between love and religion. almost as much a frenchman as he was a swede, he did not forget that he had fought in america under the standard of the most christian king, and had been colonel of a regiment in the service of france. having been the courtier of the happy and brilliant queen, he remained the courtier of the queen overcome by anguish. he had enkindled in the soul of his sovereign, gustavus iii., the same chivalrous sentiment which animated his own, and was impatiently awaiting the time when he could hasten to the aid of louis xvi. and marie antoinette under the swedish flag. his dearest ambition was to draw his sword in the queen's defence. from the varennes journey up to the day of marie antoinette's execution, he had but one thought: to rescue the woman for whom he would willingly have shed the last drop of his blood. this fixed idea has left its trace on every line of his journal. the sad and melancholy countenance of fersen, the courtier of misfortune, the friend of unhappy days, is assuredly one of the celebrated types in the drama of versailles and the tuileries. this man, who would have made no mark in history but for the martyr queen, is certain, thanks to her, not to be forgotten by posterity. marie antoinette was to return him in glory what he gave her in devotion. on her return to the tuileries after the disastrous journey to varennes, the queen wrote to { } fersen, june , : "be at ease about us; we are living," and fersen replied: "i am well, and live only to serve you." june , she wrote him another letter in which she said: "do not write to me; it would endanger us; and, above all, do not return here under any pretext; all would be lost if you should make your appearance. they never lose sight of us by night or day; which is a matter of indifference to me. be tranquil; nothing will happen to me. the assembly desires to treat us with gentleness. adieu. i shall not be able to write to you again." marie antoinette was in error when she supposed she would not write again. she was in error, likewise, when she imagined that fersen, in spite of all dangers and difficulties, would not find means to see her again. their correspondence was not interrupted. after the acceptance of the constitution, marie antoinette wrote to him: "can you understand my position and the part i am continually obliged to play? sometimes i do not understand myself, and am obliged to consider whether it is really i who am speaking; but what is to be done? it is all necessary, and be sure our position would be still worse than it is if i had not at once assumed this attitude; we at least gain time by it, and that is all that is required. i keep up better than could be expected, seeing that i go out so little and endure constantly such immense fatigue of mind. what with the persons whom i must see, my { } writing, and the time i spend with my children, i have not a moment to myself. the last occupation, which is not the least, gives me my sole happiness. when i am very sad, i take my little boy in my arms, embrace him with my whole heart, and for a moment am consoled." fersen, touched and pitying, was constantly thinking of that fatal palace of the tuileries where the queen was so much to be compassionated. an invincible attraction drew him thither. there, he thought, was the post of devotion and of honor. november , he wrote: "tell me whether there is any possibility of going to see you entirely alone, without a servant, in case i receive the order to do so from the king (gustavus iii.); he has already spoken to me of his desire to bring this about." of all the sovereigns who interested themselves in the fate of louis xvi. and marie antoinette, gustavus was the most active, brave, and resolute; he was also the only one in whom marie antoinette placed absolute confidence. she expected less from her own brother, the emperor leopold, and it was to stockholm above all that she turned her eyes. gustavus ordered fersen to go secretly to paris, and on december , , he sent him a memoir and certain letters, commissioning him to deliver them to louis xvi. and marie antoinette. he recommended, as forcibly as he could, a new attempt at flight, but with precautions suggested by the lesson of varennes. he thought the members of the royal { } family should depart separately and in disguise, and that, once outside of his kingdom, louis xvi. should call for the intervention of a congress. the following passage occurs in the letter of the swedish king to marie antoinette: "i beg your majesty to consider seriously that violent disorders can only be cured by violent remedies, and that if moderation is a virtue in the course of ordinary life, it often becomes a vice when there is question of public matters. the king of france can re-establish his dominion only by resuming his former rights; every other remedy is illusory; anything except this would merely open the way to endless discussions which would augment the confusion instead of ending it. the king's rights were torn from him by the sword; it is by the sword that they must be reconquered. but i refrain; i should remember that i am addressing a princess who, in the most terrible moments of her life, has shown the most intrepid courage." fersen obtained permission from louis xvi. to accomplish the mission confided to him by gustavus iii. he left stockholm under an assumed name and with the passport of a swedish courier, and reached paris without accident, february , . he was so adroit and prudent that no one suspected his presence. on the very evening of his arrival he wrote in his journal: "went to the queen by my usual road; very few national guards; did not see the king." fersen, therefore, only reappeared at the tuileries in the darkness, like a fugitive or { } an outlaw. he found the queen pale with grief and with hair whitened by sorrow and emotion. it was a solemn moment. the storm was raging within france and beyond it. terrible omens, snares, and dangers lay on every side. one might have said that the tuileries were about to be swallowed up in a gulf of fire and blood. the next day fersen saw the king. he wrote in his journal: "tuesday, . saw the king at six in the evening. he will not go and can not, on account of the extreme vigilance. in fact, he scruples at it, having so often promised to remain, for he is an honest man.... he sees that force is the only resource; but, being weak, he thinks it impossible to resume all his authority.... unless he were constantly encouraged, i am not sure he would not be tempted to negotiate with the rebels. he said to me afterwards: 'that's all very well! we are by ourselves and we can talk; but nobody ever found himself in my position. i know i missed the right moment; it was the th of july; we ought to have gone then, and i wanted to, but how could i when monsieur himself begged me to stay, and marshal de broglie, who was in command, said to me: "yes, we can go to metz. but what shall we do when we get there?" i lost the opportunity and never found it again. i have been abandoned by everybody.'" louis xvi. desired fersen to warn the powers that they must not be surprised at anything he might be forced to do; that he was { } obliged, that it was the effect of constraint. "they must put me out of the question," he added, "and let me do what i can." fersen had a long talk with marie antoinette the same day. she entered into full details about the present and especially about the past. she explained why the flight to varennes, in which fersen had taken such a prominent part, and which had succeeded so well so long as he directed it, had ended in failure. the queen described the anguish of the arrest and the return. to the project of a new effort to escape, she replied by pointing out the implacable surveillance of which she was the object, and the effervescence of popular passions, which this time would overleap all restraint if the fugitives were taken. it would be better for the royal family to suffer together than to expose themselves to die separately. it would be better to die like princes, who abdicate majesty only with life, than as vagabonds, under a vulgar disguise. "the queen," adds fersen, "told me that she saw alexander lameth and duport; that they always tell her that there is no remedy but foreign troops; failing that, all is lost, that this cannot last, that they have gone farther than they wished to. in spite of all this, she thinks them malicious, does not trust them, but uses them as best she can. all the ministers are traitors who betray the king." fersen had a final interview with louis xvi. and marie antoinette on february , . by february , { } he had returned to brussels. he was profoundly moved on quitting the tuileries, but, dismal and lugubrious as his forebodings may have been, how much more sombre was the reality to prove! what a terrible fate was reserved for the chief actors in this drama! yet a few days, and the chivalrous gustavus was to be assassinated. the hour of execution was approaching for louis xvi. and marie antoinette. fersen, likewise, was to have a most tragic end. from the moment when he bade his last adieu to the unhappy queen, his life was but one long torment. his disposition, already inclined to melancholy, became incurably sad. his loyal and devoted soul could not accustom itself to the thought of the calamities weighing so cruelly upon that good and beautiful sovereign of whom he said in : "the queen is the prettiest and most amiable princess that i know." on october , , he will still be endeavoring, with the aid of baron de breteuil, to bring to completion a thousandth plot to extricate the august captive from her fate. he will learn the fatal tidings on the th. "i can think of nothing but my loss," he will write in his journal. "it is frightful to have no positive details. it is horrible that she should have been alone in her last moments, with no one to speak to, or to receive her last wishes. no; without vengeance, my heart will never be content." covered with honors under the reign of gustavus iv., senator, chancellor of the academy of { } upsal, member of the seraphim order, grand marshal of the kingdom of sweden, there will remain in the depths of his heart a wound which nothing can heal. an inveterate fatality will pursue him as it had done the unfortunate sovereign of whom he had been the chevalier. he will perish in a riot at stockholm, june , , at the time of the obsequies of the prince royal. struck down by fists and walking-sticks, his hair pulled out, his clothes torn to rags, he will be dragged about half-naked, rolled underfoot, assassinated by a maddened populace. before rendering his last sigh, he will succeed in rising to his knees, and, joining his hands, he will utter these words from the stoning of saint stephen: "o my god, who callest me to thee, i implore thee for my tormentors, whom i pardon." if not the same words, they are at least the same thoughts as those of marie antoinette on the platform of the scaffold. { } iii. the death of the emperor leopold. one after another, marie antoinette lost her last chances of safety; blows as unforeseen as terrible beat down the combinations on which she had built her hopes. within a fortnight she was to see the two sovereigns disappear from whom she had expected succor: her brother, the emperor leopold, and gustavus iii., the king of sweden. leopold had not been equal to all the illusions which his sister had cherished with regard to him, but, nevertheless, he showed great interest in french affairs, and a lively desire to be useful to louis xvi. pacific by disposition, he had temporized at first, and adopted a conciliatory policy. he desired a reconciliation with the new principles, and, moreover, he was not blind to the inexperience and levity of the _émigrés_. but the obligation, to which he was bound by treaties, to defend the rights of princes holding property in alsace, his fear of the propaganda of sedition, the aggressive language of the national assembly and the parisian press, had ended by determining him to take a more resolute attitude, and it was at the moment when he was { } seriously intending to come to his sister's aid that he was carried off by sudden death. though she did not desire a war between austria and france, the queen had persisted in wishing for an armed congress, which would have been a compromise between peace and war, but which the national assembly would have regarded as an intolerable humiliation. it must not be denied, the situation was a false one. between the true sentiments of louis xvi. and his new rôle as a constitutional sovereign, there was a real incompatibility. as to the queen, she was on good terms neither with the _émigrés_ nor with the assembly. in order to get a just idea of the sentiments shown by the _émigrés_, it is necessary to read a letter written from trèves, october , , by madame de raigecourt, the friend of madame elisabeth, to another friend of the princess, the marquise de bombelles: "i see with pain that paris and coblentz are not on good terms. the emperor treats the princes like children.... the princes cannot avoid suspecting that it is the influence of the queen and her agents which thwarts their plans and causes the emperor to behave so strangely.... some trickery on the part of the tuileries is still suspected in this country. they ought to explain themselves to each other once for all. is the queen afraid lest the count d'artois should arrogate an authority in the realm which would diminish her own? let her be at ease on that score; she will { } always be the king's wife and always dominant. what is she afraid of, then? she complains that she is not sufficiently respected. but you know the good heart and the uprightness of our prince; he is incapable of the remarks attributed to him, and which have certainly been reported to the queen with the intention of estranging them entirely." madame de raigecourt ends her letter with this complaint against louis xvi.: "our wretched king lowers himself more and more every day; for he is doing too much, even if he still intends to escape.... the emigration, meanwhile, increases daily, and presently there will be more frenchmen than germans in this region." at this very time, the queen was having recourse to her brother leopold as to a saviour. she wrote to him, october , : "my only consolation is in writing to you, my dear brother; i am surrounded by so many atrocities that i need all your friendship to tranquillize my mind.... a point of primary importance is to regulate the conduct of the _émigrés_. if they re-enter france in arms, all is lost, and it will be impossible to make it believed that we are not in connivance with them. even the existence of an army of _émigrés_ on the frontier would be enough to keep up the irritation and afford ground for accusations against us; it appears to me that a congress would make the task of restraining them less difficult.... this idea of a congress pleases me greatly; it would second the efforts we are { } making to maintain confidence. in the first place, i repeat, it would put a check on the _émigrés_, and, moreover, it would make an impression here from which i hope much. i submit that to your better judgment.... adieu, my dear brother; we love you, and my daughter has particularly charged me to embrace her good uncle." while marie antoinette was thus turning towards austria for assistance, the national assembly at paris repelled with energy all thought of any intervention whatsoever on the part of foreign powers. january , , it issued a decree of impeachment against the king's brothers, the prince de conde, and calonne. the confiscation of the property of the _émigrés_ and the taxation of their revenues for the benefit of the state had been prescribed by another decree to which louis xvi. had offered no opposition. january , guadet said in the tribune, while speaking of the congress: "if it is true that by delays and discouragement they wish to bring us to accept this shameful mediation, ought the national assembly to close its eyes to such a danger? let us all swear to die here rather than--" he was not allowed to finish. the whole assembly rose to their feet, crying: "yes, yes; we swear it!" and in a burst of enthusiasm, every frenchman who would take part in a congress having for its object the modification of the constitution, was declared an infamous traitor. january , it was decreed that the king should require the { } emperor leopold to explain himself definitely before march . by a curious coincidence, this date of march was precisely that on which the emperor leopold was to die of a dreadful malady. he was in perfect health on february , when he gave audience to the turkish envoy; he was in his agony, february , and on march , he died. his usual physician asserted that he had been poisoned. the idea that a crime had been committed spread among the people. vague rumors got about concerning a woman who had caused remark at the last masked ball at court. this unknown person, under shelter of her disguise, might have presented the sovereign with poisoned bonbons. the jacobins, who might have desired to get rid of the armed chief of the empire, and the _émigrés_, who might have reproached him as too luke-warm in his opposition to the principles of the french revolution, were alternately suspected. the last hypothesis was hardly probable, nor does anything prove that the jacobins had any hand in the possibly natural death of the emperor leopold. but minds were so overexcited at the time that the parties mutually accused each other, on all occasions, of the most execrable crimes. for that matter, there were jacobins who, out of mere bravado, would willingly have gloried in crimes of which they were not guilty, provided that these crimes had been committed against kings. what is certain is, that marie antoinette believed { } in poison. "the death of the emperor leopold," says madame campan, "occurred on march , . the queen was out when the news arrived at the tuileries. on her return, i gave her the letter announcing it. she cried out that the emperor had been poisoned; that she had remarked and preserved a gazette in which, in an article on the session of the jacobin club at the time when leopold had declared for the coalition, it was said, in speaking of him, that a bit of piecrust could settle that affair. from that moment the queen had regarded this phrase as an inadvertence of the propagandists." on the very day when marie antoinette's brother died, louis xvi.'s minister of foreign affairs, de lessart, had enraged the national assembly by reading them extracts from his diplomatic correspondence, which they found not sufficiently firm. they were indignant at a despatch in which prince de kaunitz said: "the latest events give us hopes; it appears that the majority of the french nation, impressed with the evils they have prepared, are returning to more moderate principles, and incline to render to the throne the dignity and authority which are the essence of monarchical government." when de lessart came down from the tribune, the whispering changed into cries of rage and threats against the minister and the court, which, it was said, was planning a counter-revolution at the tuileries, and dictating to the cabinet of vienna the language by which it hoped to intimidate france. { } at the evening session of the same day, rouyer, a deputy, proposed to impeach the minister of foreign affairs. "is it possible," cried he, "that a perfidious minister should come here to make a parade of his work and lay the responsibility of it on a foreign power? will the time never arrive when ministers shall cease to betray us? were my head to be the price of the denunciation i am making, i would none the less go on with it." at the session of march , guadet said: "it is time to know whether the ministers wish to make louis xvi. king of the french, or the king of coblentz." on the th the storm broke. the day before, narbonne had received his dismission. brissot accused de lessart of having compromised the safety of france, withheld from the assembly the documents establishing the alliance between the emperor and the king of prussia, discredited the assignats, depreciated the credit, lowered the rate of exchange, and encouraged interior disorder. vergniaud followed him, exclaiming: "from the tribune where i am speaking may be seen the palace where perverse counsellors lead astray and deceive the king given to you by the constitution; where they forge chains for the nation, and arrange the manoeuvres which are to deliver us up to austria, after having caused us to pass through the horrors of civil war. terror and dismay have often issued from that famous palace. let them re-enter it to-day in the name of the law, let them penetrate all hearts, and { } teach all who dwell there, that our constitution accords inviolability to the king alone. let them know that the law will overtake all the guilty without exception, and that there will not be a single head convicted of crime which can escape its sword." the decree of impeachment against the ministers was voted by a very large majority. de lessart was advised to take flight, but he refused. "i owe it to my country," said he, "i owe it to my king and to myself to make my innocence and the regularity of my conduct plain before the tribunal of the high court, and i have decided to give myself up at orleans." he was conducted by gendarmes to that city, where he was imprisoned. louis xvi. dared not do anything to save his favorite minister. on march , pétion, the mayor of paris, came to the bar of the assembly, and read, in the name of the commune, an address in which it was said: "when the atmosphere surrounding us is heavy with noisome vapors, nature can relieve herself only by a thunder-storm. so, too, society can purge itself from the abuses which disturb it only by a formidable explosion.... it is true, then, that responsibility is not an idle word; that all men, whatever may be their stations, are equal before the law; that the sword of justice is poised over all heads without distinction." was not this language like a prognostic of the st of january and the th of october? encompassed by a thousand snares, hated by each of the extreme parties, by the { } _émigrés_ as well as by the jacobins, marie antoinette no longer beheld anything but aspects of sorrow. abroad, as in france, her gaze fell on dismal spectacles only. her imagination was affected. she hardly dared taste the dishes served at her table. all had conspired to betray her. she had experienced so many deceptions and so much anguish; fate had pursued her with so much bitterness, that her heart, exhausted with emotions, and overwhelmed with sadness, was weary of all things, even of hope. { } iv. the death of gustavus iii. the drama of the revolution is not french alone; it is european. it has its afterclap in every empire, in every kingdom, even to the most distant lands. it excites minds in stockholm almost as much as in paris. among the swedes there are people whose greatest desire would be to parody the october days, and to carry about on pikes the bleeding heads of their adversaries. the new ideas take fire and spread like a train of gunpowder. it is the fashion to go to extremes; a nameless frenzy and fatality seem let loose upon this epoch of agitations and catastrophes. all those who, at one time or another, have been guests at the palace of versailles, are condemned, as by a mysterious sentence, either to exile or to death. how will terminate the career of that brilliant king of sweden, who had received from versailles and from paris, from the court and from the city, such an enthusiastic reception? gustavus, the idol of the great lords, the philosophers, and the fashionable beauties, who, after being the hero of the encyclopædists, came to hold his court at { } aix-la-chapelle amid the french _émigrés_, and who, on his return to stockholm, prepared there the great crusade for authority, announcing himself as the avenger of divine right, the saviour of all thrones? the last days of his life, his presentiments, which recall those of cæsar, his superstitions, his belief in prophecies, his magic incantations, that warning which he scorns, as the duke de guise did at the castle of blois, that masked ball where the costumes, the music, the flowers, the lights, offer a painfully strange contrast to the horror of the attack; all is sinister, lugubrious, in these fantastic and fatal scenes which have already tempted more than one dramatist, more than one musician, and whose phases a shakespeare only could retrace. the crime of stockholm is linked closely to the death-struggle of french royalty. the funeral knell which tolled at this extremity of the north had echoes in paris. the swedish regicides set the example to the regicides of france. m. geffroy has remarked very justly in his work, _gustave iii. et la cour de france_, that the bloody deed which put an end to the reign and the life of gustavus is not an isolated fact: "the faults committed by this prince would not have sufficed to arm his assassins. the true source whence ankarstroem and his accomplices drew their first inspiration was that vertigo caused during the last years of the century by the annihilation of all religious and even all philosophical faith.... no moment of { } modern history has presented an intellectual and moral anarchy comparable to that which accompanied the revolutionary period in europe." the eighteenth century was punished for incredulity by superstition. having refused to believe the most holy truths, it lent credence to the most fantastic chimeras. for priests it substituted sorcerers; for christian ceremonies, the rites of freemasonry. the time was coming when, because it had rejected the sacred heart of jesus, it was going to bow before the sacred heart of marat. the adepts of mesmer and of de puysegur, the seekers after the philosopher's stone, the nicolaites of berlin, the illuminati of bavaria, enlarged the boundaries of human credulity, and the men who succumbed in the most naïve and foolish manner to these wretched weaknesses of mind, were precisely the haughtiest philosophers, those who had prided themselves the most on their distinction as free-thinkers. such a one was gustavus iii. this voltairean prince, who had held the christian verities so cheap, was superstitious even to puerility. he did not believe in the gospels, but he believed in books of magic. in a corner of his palace he had arranged a cupboard with a censer and a pair of candlesticks, before which he performed cabalistic operations in nothing but his shirt. throughout his entire reign he consulted a fortune-teller named madame arfwedsson, who read the future for him in coffee-grounds. around his neck { } he wore a gold box containing a sachet in which there was a powder that, according to his belief, would drive away evil spirits. all this apparatus of incantation and sorcery was one of the causes of gustavus's fall. it multiplied the snares around the unfortunate monarch, and served to mask his enemies. prophecies announced his approaching end, and conspirators took care to fulfil the prophecies. the duke of sudermania, the king's brother, without being an accomplice in the project of crime, encouraged underhand practices. sectarians approached gustavus to reproach him for his luxury, his prodigalities, his entertainments, or addressed him anonymous warnings which, in biblical language, declared him accursed and rejected by the lord. their insolence knew no bounds. madame arfwedsson had counselled the king to beware if he should meet a man dressed in red. count de ribbing, one of the future conspirators, having heard of this, ordered a red costume out of bravado, and presented himself in it before his sovereign, whom such an apparition caused to reflect if not to tremble. gustavus, like cæsar, was to see his ides of march. it had been predicted to him that the month of march would be fatal to him. this month approached, and the monarch diverted himself by fêtes and boisterous entertainments in order to banish the presentiments which never ceased to assail { } him. he said to himself that all this phantasmagoria would probably soon vanish; that the funereal images would of themselves depart; and that the spectres would disappear at the sound of arms. the monarchical crusade of which he proposed to be the leader grew upon him as the best means by which to escape the incessant obsessions haunting his spirit. in vain was he reminded that sweden was in need of money, and that a war of intervention in the affairs of france was not popular. his resolution remained unshaken. he counted the days and hours which still separated him from the moment of action: his sole idea was to chastise the jacobins and avenge the majesty of thrones. returned to stockholm from aix-la-chapelle, at the beginning of august, , the impetuous monarch began to be very active in his warlike preparations. the marquis de bouillé, who had been obliged to quit france at the time of the unsuccessful journey to varennes, had entered his service and was to counsel him and fight at his side under the swedish flag. at the same time gustavus officially renewed his promises of aid to the king of france. louis xvi. replied:-- "monsieur my brother and cousin: i have just received the lines with which you have honored me on the occasion of your return. it is always a great consolation to have such proofs of a friendly sentiment as are given me by this letter. the concern, sire, which you take in all that relates to { } my interest touches me more and more, and i recognize in each word the august soul of a king whom the world admires as much for his magnanimous heart as for his wisdom." meanwhile the conspirators, animated either by personal rancor or the passions common to nobles hostile to their king, were secretly preparing for an attack. the five leaders were captain ankarstroem, count de ribbing, count de horn, count de lilienhorn, major of the blue guards, and baron pechlin, an old man of seventy-two, who had been distinguished in the civil wars, and was the soul of the plot. the conspirators had doubts before committing the crime. during the diet, which met at gefle, january , , they refrained at the very moment when they were about to strike. gustavus was in his castle of haga, about a league from stockholm, without guards or attendants. three of the conspirators approached the castle at five in the evening. they were armed with carbines, and, having placed themselves in ambush near the king's apartment on the ground-floor, were awaiting an opportunity to kill their sovereign. gustavus coming in from a long walk, went in his dressing-gown to sit in the library, the windows of which opened like doors into the garden. he fell asleep in his armchair. whether they were alarmed by the sound of footsteps, or whether the contrast between the slumber of the unsuspicious king and the death poising above his head awakened { } some remorse, the assassins once more abandoned their meditated crime. weary of the attempts they had been planning for six months, and which never came to anything, the conspirators might possibly have given them up altogether if a circumstance which they considered providential had not come to rekindle their regicidal zeal. the last masked ball of the season was to be given in the opera-house on the night of march - , and it was known that gustavus would be present. to strike the monarch in the midst of the festival, in order to chastise him for his love of pleasure, was an idea which charmed the assassins. moreover, the mask alone could embolden them; they thought that if the august victim were enveloped in a domino they need no longer dread that royal prestige which had more than once caused them to recoil. gustavus was counselled to be on his guard. the young count louis de bouillé, who was then at stockholm, and who had been informed by a letter from germany that the king was about to be assassinated, begged him to profit by the warnings reaching him from every quarter. gustavus replied that he would rather go blindly to meet his fate than torment himself with the numberless precautions which such suspicions would demand. "if i listened," added he, "to all the advice i receive, i could not even drink a glass of water; besides, i am far from believing in the execution of such a plot. { } my subjects, although very brave in war, are extremely timid in politics. the successes i expect to gain in france, the trophies of which i shall bring back to stockholm, will speedily augment my power by the confidence and general respect which will be their result." meantime the fatal hour was approaching. the masked ball of march was about to open. before going there, gustavus took supper with a few of the persons belonging to his household. while he was at table he received a note, written in french and unsigned, in which he was entreated not to enter the playhouse, where he was about to be stricken to death. the author of the note urgently recommended the king not to make his appearance at the ball, and, if he persisted in going, to suspect the crowd which would press around him, because this gathering was to be the prelude and signal of the blow aimed at him. the really bizarre thing about this was that the man who wrote these lines was himself one of the conspirators, count de lilienhorn. "it is impossible to tell," says the marquis de bouillé in his memoirs, "whether his conscience wished to acquit itself in this manner towards the king, to whom he owed everything, without forfeiting his word to his party, or whether, knowing the fearless character of this prince, he did not offer his anonymous advice as a bait to his courage. it certainly produced the latter effect." gustavus made no { } reflections on reading this note, and went fearlessly to the ball. the orchestra is playing wildly. the dances are animated. the hall, adorned with flowers, sparkles under the glow of the chandeliers. gustavus appears for a moment in his box. it is only then that he shows to baron d'essen, his first equerry, the anonymous note he had received while at supper. that faithful servant begs him not to go down into the hall. gustavus disregards the prudent counsel. he says that hereafter he will wear a coat of mail, but that, for this time, he is perfectly determined to be reckless about danger. the king and his equerry go into the saloon in front of the royal box, where each puts on a domino. then they enter the hall by way of the stage. there are men essentially courageous, who love danger for its own sake. gustavus is one of them. hence he takes pleasure in braving all his assassins. as he is crossing the greenroom with baron d'essen on his arm, "let us see," says he, "whether they will really dare to kill me." yes, they will dare it. the moment that the king enters he is recognized in spite of his mask and his domino. he walks slowly around the hall, and then goes into the pit, where he strolls about during several minutes. he is about to retrace his steps, when he finds himself surrounded, as had been predicted, by a group of maskers who get between him and the officers of his suite. several black dominos approach. they are the assassins. one of them, { } count de horn, lays a hand on his shoulder: "good day, fine masker!" he says. this judas salute, this ironical welcome given by the murderers to their victim, is the signal for the attack. on the instant, ankarstroem fires on the king with a pistol loaded with old iron. gustavus, struck in the left hip, cries, "i am wounded!" the pistol, which had been wrapped in wool, made only a muffled report, and the smoke spreading throughout the room, the crowd does not think of a murder, but a fire. cries of "fire! fire!" augment the confusion. baron d'essen, all covered with his master's blood, helps him to gain a little box called the oeil-de-boeuf, and from there a salon, where he is laid upon a sofa. baron d'armfelt orders the doors of the theatre to be closed, and every one to unmask. a man, brazening it out, lifts his mask before the officer of police, and says to him with assurance, "as for me, sir, i hope that you will not suspect me." it is ankarstroem, the assassin. he goes out quietly. but, after the crime was committed, his weapons, a pistol and a knife like that of ravaillac, had fallen on the floor. a gunsmith of stockholm will recognize the pistol and declare that he had sold it a few days before to a former officer of the guards, captain ankarstroem. it is the token which will cause the arrest of the assassin, and his punishment by the penalty of parricides,--decapitation and the cutting off of his right hand. { } the king showed admirable calm and resignation during the thirteen days he had still to live. he asked with anxiety if the murderer had been arrested, and being answered that his name was not yet known: "ah! god grant," said he, "that he may not be discovered!" as soon as the first bandages were put on, the wounded man was taken to his apartments at the castle. there he received his courtiers and the foreign ministers. when he saw the duke d'escars, who represented the brothers of louis xvi. at stockholm: "this is a blow," said he, "which is going to rejoice your parisian jacobins; but write to the princes that if i recover from it, it will change neither my sentiments nor my zeal for their just cause." in the midst of his sufferings he preserved a dignity above all praise. neither recriminations nor murmurs issued from his lips. he summoned to his death-bed both his friends and those who had been among the number of his enemies, but would have been horrified to have been accomplices in a crime. when the old count de brahé, leader of the nobles of the opposition, presented himself, gustavus said, as he pressed him in his arms: "i bless my wound, since it has brought back an old friend who had withdrawn from me. embrace me, my dear count, and let all be forgotten between us." the fate of his son, who was about to ascend the throne at the age of thirteen, was the chief preoccupation of the king. "let them put me on a litter," cried he; "i will go to the public square and speak to { } the people." and he said to baron d'armfelt: "go, and like another antony, show the bloody vestments of cæsar." it was also to d'armfelt that he said as he was signing with his dying hand his commission as governor of stockholm: "give me your knightly word that you will serve my son as faithfully as you have served me." he made his confession to his grand-almoner: "i fear," he said to him, "that i have no great merit before god, but at least i am sure that i have never done harm to any one intentionally." he meant to receive the sacraments according to the lutheran form, and to have the queen brought to him, as he had not seen her since his illness. but while seeking sleep in order to tranquillize his mind before this emotion, he found the slumber of death, march , , at eleven in the morning. he was forty-six years old. thus terminated the brilliant and stormy career of the prince on whom the marquis de bouillé has pronounced the following judgment: "his manners and his politeness rendered him the most amiable and attractive man in his country, although the swedes are naturally intelligent. he had a vivid imagination, a mind enlightened and adorned by a taste for letters, a masculine and persuasive eloquence, and an easy elocution even when speaking french; useful and agreeable acquirements, a prodigious memory, polite and affable manners, accompanied by a certain oddity which did not displease. his strong and ardent soul was enkindled with an inordinate love of glory; but a { } chivalrous spirit and loyalty dominated there. his sensitive heart rendered him clement, when he ought, perhaps, to have been severe; he was even susceptible of friendship, and this prince has had and has preserved friends whom i have known, and who were worthy to be such. he had a firm and decided character, and, above all, that resolution so necessary to statesmen, without which wit, prudence, talents, experience, are not only useless, but often injurious." according to the marquis de bouillé, gustavus should have been the king of france, and louis xvi. king of sweden. "as the sovereign of france, gustavus would have been, beyond all doubt, one of its greatest kings. he would have preserved that beautiful realm from a revolution; he would have governed with glory and with splendor.... louis xvi., on the other hand, placed on the throne of sweden, would have obtained the respect and esteem of that simple people by his moral and religious virtues, his economy, his spirit of justice, and his good and benevolent sentiments. he would have contributed to the happiness of the swedes, who would have wept above his tomb; whereas both these monarchs perished at the hands of their subjects. but the designs of providence are impenetrable, and we ought, in respect and silence, to obey its unalterable decrees." the jacobins of paris, who affected to despise the projects of gustavus iii., showed how much they had feared him by the mad joy they displayed on { } learning of his death. they lavished praises on "brutus ankarstroem." although it had been committed by the nobles, there was a certain reminiscence of the french revolution about the assault. in their secret meetings the conspirators had agreed to carry around on pikes the heads of gustavus's principal friends, "in the french style," as was said in those days. count de lilienhorn, brought up, nourished, and drawn from poverty and obscurity by gustavus, and overwhelmed to the last moment by the benefits of the generous monarch, explained his monstrous ingratitude and the part he had taken in the attack, by saying he had been led astray by the idea of commanding the national guards of stockholm after the revolution, and playing the same part as lafayette. the girondin ministry attained to power in france a few days after gustavus had been struck down in sweden. there was no connecting link between the two facts; but at paris, as at stockholm, the cause of kings sustained a terrible repulse. the tragic death of their faithful friend must have caused louis xvi. and marie antoinette some painful forebodings concerning their own fate. the murder of gustavus was the first of a series of great catastrophes. the pistol of the swedish regicide heralded the blade of the parisian guillotine. the th of march was the prelude of the st of january. { } v. the beginnings of madame roland. the moment is at hand when a woman of the middle class, born in humble circumstances, is about to make her appearance on the scene of politics; a woman who, after living in obscurity during thirty-eight years, was to become famous in a few days, and attract the attention of all france first and afterwards that of europe entire. no figure is more curious to study than hers, and it is not surprising that of late years it has tempted men of great merit, such as mm. daubant and faugère, whose publications have shed great light on the egeria of the girondins. at every epoch of history there are certain women who become as it were living symbols, and sum up in their own persons the passions, prejudices, and illusions of their time. they reflect at once its vices and its virtues, its qualities and its defects. such was madame roland. all the distinctive characteristics of the close of the eighteenth century are resumed in her: ardent enthusiasm, generous ideals, aspiration towards progress, passion for liberty, heroic courage in view of persecution, captivity, and death; an absence of religious faith, an implacable vanity, a { } thirst for emotions, plagiarism of antiquity, declamatory language and sentiments, and childish imitation of greece and rome. nothing is more interesting than to analyze the conceptions of this mind, count the pulsations of this heart, and surprise the inmost secrets of a woman whose psychological importance is as considerable as her place in history. intellectually as well as morally, madame roland is the daughter of jean-jacques rousseau; socially she is the personification of that third estate which, having been nothing, wished at first to be something and afterwards to be all; politically, she is by turns the heroine and the victim of the revolution, which, under pretext of liberty, engendered tyranny, which used the guillotine and perished by the guillotine, and which after dreaming of light expired in mire and blood. how was it that this little _bourgeoise_, the daughter of philipon the engraver, a man midway between an artisan and an artist, whose very origin seemed to remove her so far from any political rôle, attained to high renown? what influences formed this woman whose qualities were masculine? whence was drawn the inspiration of this siren, destined to be taken in her own snares and die the victim of her own incantations? a rapid glance at the earliest years of marie-jeanne philipon, the future madame roland, is enough to explain her passions and her hopes, her errors and her talents, her rages and her enthusiasms. she was born in paris, march , , of an intelligent but frivolous father, and a simple, devoted, { } honestly commonplace mother. from infancy she felt herself superior to those by whom she was surrounded. thence sprang an unmeasured pride and a continual hunger to produce an impression. the infant prodigy preluded the female politician. speaking of herself in her memoirs, she becomes ecstatic over the child who "read serious works, explained very well the circles of the celestial globe, used crayons and the burin, found at eight years that she was the best dancer in an assembly of young persons older than herself," and who, nevertheless, "was often summoned to the kitchen to make an omelette, clean the vegetables, or skim the pot." she admires her own willingness to descend to domestic cares: "i was never out of my element," she says; "i could make soup as skilfully as philopoemen could chop wood; but no one, observing me, could imagine that this was suitable employment." still speaking of herself, she celebrates "the little person who on sundays went to church or out walking in a spick-and-span costume whose appearance was fully sustained by her demeanor and her language." she calls attention to the contrast by which, on week-days, the same child went out alone, in a little cloth frock, to buy parsley and salad at a short distance from home. "it must be owned," she adds, "that i did not like this very well; but i did not show it, and i had the art of doing my errands in such a way as to find some pleasure in it. i united such great politeness to a certain dignity, that the fruit-seller or other person { } of the sort, took pleasure in serving me first, and even those who came before me thought this proper." so the little philipon wanted to take the chief place in the fruiterer's shop, just as, later on, she desired it on the political stage or the ministry of the interior. this enemy of privileges will admit them only for herself. in everything she made pretentions: pretentions to elegance, beauty, distinction, talent, knowledge, eloquence, genius, and, when she wanted to be simple, to simplicity. in her style as in her conversation, in her public as in her private life, what she sought before all things was effect. it was absolutely essential that people should talk about her, that she should be playing a part, or standing on a pedestal. assuredly, if she had a fault, it was not excess of modesty. she regarded herself as the flower of her sex, a superior woman, made to be loved, flattered, and adored. she speaks of her charms with the precision of a doctor and the enthusiasm of a poet. not one of her perfections escapes her. it is through a magnifying-glass and before a mirror that she studies and admires herself. she discovers that a society in which a woman so remarkable and so attractive is not thoroughly well known, must be badly organized. middle-class by birth, and aristocratic by instinct, she represents what one might then have called the new social strata. a secret voice told her that the day was to come when she would make herself feared by the powerful of the earth, those giants with feet of clay who, at the beginning of her { } career, were still looked at kneeling. banished by fate from the theatre where the human tragi-comedy is played, she said to herself: "i too will have a part one of these days." in the earliest stage of her existence there was in her a confused medley of uneasiness and ambition, of spite and anger. she had a horror of the slightly disdainful protection of people of quality. she conceived an aversion for persons like that demoiselle d'hannaches, "big, awkward, dry, and yellow," infatuated with her nobility, annoying everybody with her titles, and yet, in spite of her ignorance, her stiff manners, her old-fashioned dress and her follies, well received everywhere on account of her birth. slowly, but steadily, the future amazon of the revolution prepared herself for the combat. the books which she read and re-read incessantly were the arsenal whence she drew her weapons. one of those presentiments which do not deceive, promised her a stormy but illustrious destiny. more roman than french, more pagan than christian, she longed for glory like that of the heroines of plutarch, her favorite author. in the humble dwelling of her father, situated at the corner of the pont-neuf and the quai des orfévres, she caught a glimpse of horizons as wide as her thoughts. "from the upper part of our house," she says, "a great expanse offered itself to my dreamy and romantic imagination. how often from my north window have i contemplated with emotion the deserts of the sky, its superb azure { } vault splendidly outlined from the bluish dawn far behind the pont du change, to the sunset gilded with a faint purplish lustre behind the trees of the champs elysées and the houses of chaillot." irritated with the obscurity to which she was condemned by fate, there was but one resource which could have consoled her for the social inequalities which bruised her vanity and her pride. that resource would have been religion. nothing but an ideal of humility could have appeased the interior revolts of this soul of fire. to such a woman, what is lacking is heaven. earth, no matter what happens, can give her nothing but deceptions. the only moment of her life when she felt herself really happy was that when she enjoyed the supreme good, peace of heart. of all parts of her memoirs, the most pure and touching are those she devotes to her recollections of the convent. one might think that the author of _rolla_ had remembered them when he described in such penetrating terms the mystic poetry of the cloister, and the regrets often engendered by the loss of faith in the minds and hearts of people who have become unbelievers. the little philipon, being in her twelfth year, asked to be sent to a convent, in order to prepare better for her first communion. she was placed with the ladies of the congregation, rue neuve-saint-Étienne, in the faubourg saint-marcel, near sainte-pélagie, her future prison: "how i pressed my dear mamma in my arms at the moment of parting { } from her for the first time! i was stifled, overwhelmed; but i obeyed the voice of god, and crossed the threshold of the cloister, offering him with tears the greatest sacrifice that i could make. the first night i spent at the convent was agitated: i was no longer under the paternal roof. i felt that i was far from that good mother who was surely thinking of me with tenderness. there was a feeble light in the room where i had been put to bed, with four other children of my own age; i rose quietly and went to the window. the moonlight permitted me to see the garden upon which it looked. the most profound silence reigned; i listened to it, so to say, with a sort of respect; great trees cast their gigantic shadows here and there, and promised a safe refuge for tranquil meditation. i lifted my eyes to the pure and serene sky, and thought i felt the presence of the divinity, who smiled at my sacrifice and already offered me its recompense in the peace of a celestial abode. delicious tears flowed slowly down my cheeks; i reiterated my vows with a holy transport, and i enjoyed the slumber of the elect." as if in these silent cloisters, which she crossed slowly so as to enjoy their solitude more fully, she had a presentiment of the storms in her destiny and her heart, she sometimes stopped beside a tomb on which was engraven the eulogy of a holy maiden. "she is happy!" she said to herself with a sigh. while she was in prison she remembered with emotion a novice's taking the veil: "i experience yet the { } thrill caused by her faintly tremulous voice when she chanted melodiously the customary versicle: '_elegi_: here i have chosen my abode, and i will not depart from it forever.' i have not forgotten the notes of this little air; i can repeat them as exactly as if i had heard them yesterday." unhappily, religious ideas were soon to undergo a change in the mind of the future madame roland. returning to the paternal dwelling, she was badly brought up there; her mother let her read everything, even _candide_. voltaire, helvétius, diderot, had no secrets for this young girl. extreme disorder and confusion in mind and heart were the result. when she had the misfortune to lose her mother at the age of twenty-one, the book in which she sought consolation was the _nouvelle héloise_. jean-jacques became her god. "it seems," she says, "as if he were my natural aliment and the interpreter of the sentiment i had already, and which he alone knew how to explain to me.... to have the whole of jean-jacques," she says again, "to be able to consult him incessantly, to enlighten and elevate one's self with him at all times of life, is a felicity which can only be tasted by adoring him as i did." such reading robbed her of faith. it made her a free-thinker and a bluestocking. it inspired her with an unhealthy ambition, sullied her imagination, and troubled the peace of her heart. it deprived her of that moral delicacy, lacking which, even virtue itself loses its charms. she was no longer anything but a young { } girl, well-conducted but not pure, honest but shameless. was not a day coming when, a prisoner and on the point of getting into the fatal cart, she would throw off the terrible anxieties of her situation in order to imitate the impurities of the _confessions_ of jean-jacques, and retrace indecent details with complacency? do not seek in her that flower of innocence which is the young girl's grace. the charming puritan does not commit great faults, but she has astonishing licenses of thought and speech. for her, louvet's _faublas_ is "one of those charming romances known to persons of taste, in which the graces of imagination ally themselves to the tone of philosophy." is not this woman, who begins her life like a saint and ends it as a pupil of voltaire and jean-jacques rousseau, the symbol of that troubled eighteenth century which opened in fidelity to religious faith and closed in the depths of the abyss of incredulity? the ravages caused by bad reading in the soul of this young girl explain the catastrophes of the entire century. from the time when she replaced the gospels by the _contrat social_ and the _imitation of jesus christ_ by the _nouvelle héloise_, there was no longer anything simple or natural remaining in the young philosopher. all her thoughts and actions became declamatory. there was something theatrical in her attitudes and gestures, and even in the sound of her voice. her speech was rhythmical, cadenced, marked { } by a special accent. even her private letters often resemble the amplifications of rhetoric rather than the effusions of friendship. one might say that their author had a presentiment that they would be printed. she wrote to mademoiselle sophie cannet, january , : "in any case, burn nothing. though my letters were one day to be read by all the world, i would not hide the only monuments of my weakness, and my sentiments." monuments of weakness--is not the expression worthy of the bombast of the time? not finding love, mademoiselle philipon married philosophically. her union bears a striking imitation to that of héloise with m. de volmar. "looking her destiny peacefully and tenderly in the face, greatly moved but not infatuated," she united herself to a man whom she esteemed but did not love. this was roland de la platière, who was descended from an ancient and very honorable middle class family. though not rich, he was at least comfortably well off. "well educated, honest, simple in his tastes and manners, he fulfilled his duties as inspector of manufactures in a notable way. the marriage was celebrated on february , . roland was forty-six years old, while his wife was not yet twenty-six. thin, bald, careless in his dress, the husband was not at all an ideal person. it had taken him five years to declare his passion, and this hesitation, as his wife was to write thirteen years later, "left not a vestige of illusion in his sentiments." "i have often felt," { } says she, "that there was no similarity between us. if we lived in retirement, i spent many painful hours; if we mingled in society, i was loved by persons among whom i perceived there were some who might affect me too much; i plunged into labor with my husband.... it was a long time before i gained courage to contradict him." m. roland was sent to amiens, where his wife presented him with a daughter, whom she nursed, and afterwards brought up with the utmost tenderness and devotion. in , he was summoned to lyons, where he found himself once more in his native region. thenceforward he spent two of the winter months in lyons, and the remainder of the year on his paternal domain, the close of platière, two leagues from villefranche, surrounded by woods and vineyards, and opposite the mountains of beaujolais. while her husband went to take possession of his new post, madame roland, not yet a republican, remained a few weeks in paris in order to obtain, if possible, the patent of nobility so ardently desired by the family. her solicitations proved unsuccessful, and the married pair, despairing of becoming nobles, consoled themselves by a frank avowal of democracy. up to the time of the revolution, madame roland's life glided peacefully away without any remarkable incidents. in the close of platière, which she calls her dovecot, she appears as a good housekeeper who looks after everything, from the cellar to the garret; { } who plays the doctor among the poor villagers; who is delighted to find in nature a savor of frank and free rusticity. the life she leads is not merely honest, but edifying. she is very careful at this period to hide her philosophy. she writes to bosc, one of her friends, february , : "my brother-in-law, whose disposition is extremely gentle and sensitive, is also very religious; i leave him the satisfaction of thinking that the dogmas are as evident to me as they appear to him, and my exterior actions are such as become the mother of a family out in the country, who is bound to edify everybody. as i was very devout in my early youth, i know my prayers as well as my philosophy, and i prefer to make use of my first erudition." she wrote again to bosc, october , : "i have hardly touched a pen for a month, and i think i am acquiring some of the inclinations of the beast whose milk refreshes me; i am extremely _asinine_, and i busy myself with all the petty cares of the _hoggish_ country life. i make preserved pears that are delicious; we dry grapes and plums; we wash and make up linen; we have white wine for breakfast, and we lie down on the grass to rest; we follow the vintagers; we repose in the woods and fields." before looking at the female politician, let us glance once more at the woman in private life, the charitable, devoted, honorable mother of a family, such as she paints herself in a letter of november , : "from the corner of my fire, at eleven { } o'clock, after a quiet night and the various morning cares, my husband at his desk, my little girl knitting, and i chatting with one and superintending the other's work, enjoying the happiness of being snugly in the bosom of my dear little family, writing to a friend, while the snow is falling on so many wretches weighed down by poverty and sorrow, i am touched with compassion for their fate; i turn back sweetly to my own, and at this moment i count as nothing the annoyances of relations or circumstances which seem occasionally to mar its felicity." alas, why did not madame roland stay in her modest country-house to dry her grapes and plums, to superintend her washing, mend her linen, and spread out in her garret the fruits for winter use? were not obscurity, repose, peace of heart, better for her than that fictitious glory which was to pass so quickly and end upon the scaffold? one might say that before quitting nature, that great consoler which calms and does not betray, in order to plunge herself into the odious world of politics, which spoils and embitters the most beautiful souls, she experiences a certain vague regret for the sweet and tranquil joys which her folly was about to cause her to renounce forever. "the weather is delightful," wrote madame roland, may , ; "the country has changed almost beyond recognition in only six days; the vines and walnuts were as black as they are in winter, but a stroke of the magic wand does not alter the aspect of { } things more quickly than the heat of a few fine days has done; everything turns green and leafs out; a soft verdure is visible where there was nothing but the dull and faded tint of torpor and inaction. i could easily forget public affairs and men's controversies here; content to arrange the manor, to see my fowls brood, and take care of my rabbits, i would care nothing more about the revolutions of empires. but, as soon as i am in the city, the poverty of the people and the insolence of the rich rouse my hatred of injustice and oppression: i have no longer any soul or desire except for the triumph of great truths and the success of our regeneration." the die is cast. the daughter of philipon the engraver is about to become a political woman. the hour is come when this great actress, who has long known her part, is at last going on the stage. she has a presentiment of the risk she is running in assuming a task which is beyond her sex. but, like soldiers who love danger for danger's sake, and prefer the emotions of the battle-field to garrison life, she will joyfully quit her province and throw herself into the seething furnace of paris. even though she is to meet persecution and death at the end of her new career, she will not recoil. a short but agitated life will seem better to her than a long and fortunate existence without violent emotions. a clear sky pleases her no longer. she is homesick for storms and lightning flashes. { } vi. madame roland's entrance on the scene. the hour of the revolution had struck, and, ambitious, unbelieving, full of disdain for the leading classes, full of confidence in her own superiority, active, eloquent, impassioned, uniting the language of an orator to the seductions of a charming woman, madame roland was ripe for the revolution. her epoch suited her, and she suited her epoch. this pagan who, according to her own expression, roamed mentally in greece, attended the olympic games, and despised herself for being french; this fanatical admirer of antiquity who, at eight years of age, carried plutarch to church with her instead of a missal, who styled roland _the virtuous_ as the athenians called aristides the _just_, who will die like her heroes, socrates and phocion; this student who, at another period, would have been rated as an under-bred woman of the middle class, a more or less ridiculous bluestocking, suddenly found herself, in consequence of a general panic and circumstances as strange as they were unforeseen, the very ideal of the society in which she lived. for several months she was to be its fashionable type, its favorite heroine. { } but the revolution was a saturn who devoured his children, male and female, and the egeria of the girondins expiated bitterly the intoxication caused by her brief popularity. in , at the age of twenty-three, she had written: "gay and jesting speeches fall from this mouth which sobs at night upon its pillow; a laugh dwells on my lips, while my tears, shut up within my heart, at length make on it, in spite of its hardness, the effect produced by water on a stone: falling drop by drop, they insensibly wear it away." in , when she was thirty-eight, she wrote: "the phenomena of nature, which make the vulgar grow pale, and which are imposing even to the philosophical eye, offer nothing to a sensitive person preoccupied with great concerns, but scenes inferior to those of which her own heart is the theatre." the flame consuming the eloquent and ardent disciple of rousseau was in need of fuel, and, finding this in politics, she threw herself upon it with a sort of ravenous fury, just as she had once abandoned herself to study. at twenty-two she had written to one of her young friends: "you scold me for studying too hard. bear in mind, then, that unless i did so, love might perhaps excite my imagination to frenzy. it is a necessary distraction. i am not trying to become a learned woman; i study because i need to study, as i do to eat." it was thus that madame roland plunged into politics. all her unappeased instincts and repressed forces found their outlet in that direction. { } woman being formed by nature to be dominated, nothing is more agreeable to her than to invert the parts, and in her turn to domineer. to exert influence in public affairs, to designate or support the candidates for great offices of state, to organize or direct a ministry, to make themselves listened to by serious men, to inspire opinions or systems, is to ambitious women a kind of revenge for their sex. those who have acquired a habit of exercising this sort of power cannot relinquish it without extreme reluctance. if they have once persuaded themselves of their superiority to men, nothing can ever root the conviction from their minds. to be protected humiliates them; what they long for most of all is to be acknowledged as protectresses. self-deluded, they attribute to their passion for the public welfare what is, especially in their case, the need of petty glory, the thirst for emotions, or the amusement of pride and vanity. the revolutionary bluestocking, madame roland, was from the very start delighted to see that her works were printed, and that they produced as much effect as if they had been written by some great statesman. these first successes seemed to her to justify the excellent opinion she had always entertained of herself. she got into a habit of playing the oracle. no sooner had her lips touched the cup containing this poisonous but intoxicating beverage than she would have no other. that alone could refresh, even while it killed her. { } politics has the immense defect of exasperating, troubling, and disfiguring souls. madame roland was born good, sensible, and generous. politics made her at times wicked, vindictive, and cruel. july , , she wrote this odious letter: "you are nothing but children; your enthusiasm is a fire of straw, and if the national assembly does not order the trial of two illustrious heads, or some generous decius does not strike them down, you are all ... lost" (madame roland employed a more trivial expression). "if this letter does not reach you, may the cowards who read it redden to learn that it is from a woman, and tremble in reflecting that she can create a hundred enthusiasts from whom will proceed a million others." roland had been employed by the agricultural society of lyons to draw up its reports for the states-general. madame roland wrote much more of them than her husband did. she sent article on article to a journal founded by champagneux to forward the revolutionary propaganda. sixty thousand copies were printed of one of them in which she described the festival of the federation at lyons. imagine the joy felt by the _femme-auteur_, the pupil of jean-jacques, the model of george sand! soon afterwards, the municipality deputed roland to the constituent assembly to advocate the interests of the city, which was involved to the extent of forty millions, and which asked to have this debt assumed by the state. roland and his wife arrived in paris, february , . { } the married pair installed themselves on the third floor of the hotel britannique, in rue guénégaud. there a sort of political reunion was formed, of which brissot was the first link. four times a week a few friends, and certain deputies and journalists, met around this still unknown woman, whose wit, charm, and beauty were not long in making a sensation. it was at this period that she made buzot's acquaintance. the day of her first interview with the young and brilliant deputy was an epoch in her sentimental life. thenceforward, two passions, love and ambition, the one as fierce and devouring as the other, were to occupy her ardent soul. comparing the young orator, whom she perhaps transformed in her imagination into the president of a more or less athenian republic, with the austere and prosaic companion of her existence, she perceived that, according to her own expression, there was no equality between her and her husband, and that "the ascendency of a domineering character, joined to twenty years' seniority, rendered one of these superiorities too great"--that of age. she was herself six years older than buzot. even though her love for him may have remained platonic, she gave him all her heart and soul. for the majority of women, still beautiful, who mingle in public affairs, love is the principal thing; politics but the accessory, the pretext. they imagine they are attaching themselves to ideas, and it is to men. in this respect the heroines of the revolution resemble those of the fronde. the stateswoman in { } madame roland plays second to the lover of buzot. in her mind the republic and the handsome republican blend into one. believing herself a patriot when she is above all a woman in love, she carries the emotions, the infatuations, the ardors and exaggerations of her private life into her public one. with her, angers and enthusiasms rise to paroxysm. she is extreme in all things. she detests louis xvi. as much as she loves buzot. after the flight to varennes, she wrote: "to replace the king on the throne is a folly, an absurdity, if it is not a horror; to declare him demented is to make obligatory the appointment of a regent. to impeach louis xvi. would be, beyond all contradiction, the greatest and most righteous step, but you are incapable of taking it. well then, put him not exactly under interdict, but suspend him." here begins the influence of madame roland. the suspension of the royal authority is one of her ideas. "so long as peace lasted," she says, "i adhered to the peaceful rôle and to that kind of influence which i thought fitting to my sex; when war was declared by the king's departure, it appeared to me that every one should devote himself unreservedly. i joined the fraternal societies, being persuaded that zeal and good intentions might be very useful in critical moments. i was unable to stay at home any longer, and i went to the houses of worthy people of my acquaintance that we might excite each other to great measures." one knows what the { } revolution meant by that expression: great measures. madame roland became furious. she wanted a freedom of the press without check or limit. she was angry because marat's newspapers were destroyed by the satellites of lafayette. "it is a cruel thing to think of," she exclaims, "but it becomes every day more evident that peace means retrogression, and that we can only be regenerated by blood." her hatred includes both louis xvi. and marie antoinette. june , , she writes: "it appears to me that the king ought to be sequestered and his wife impeached." and on july : "the king has sunk to the lowest depths of degradation; his trick has exposed him completely, and he inspires nothing but contempt. his name, his portrait, and his arms have been effaced everywhere. notaries have been obliged to take down the escutcheons marked with a flower-de-luce which served to designate their houses. he is called nothing but louis the false, or the great hog. caricatures of every sort represent him under emblems which, though not the most odious, are the most suitable to nourish and augment popular disdain. the people tend of their own accord to all that can express this sentiment, and it is impossible that they should ever again be willing to see seated on the throne a being they despise so completely." things did not go fast enough to suit madame roland's furious hatred. the popular gathering in the champ-de-mars, whose aim was to bring about { } the deposition of the king, was forcibly dispersed on july . with six exceptions, all the deputies who had belonged either to the jacobin club or that of the cordeliers, left them on account of their demand that louis xvi. should be brought to trial. the time for great measures, to use madame roland's expression, had not yet arrived. the ardent democrat laments it. "i cannot describe our situation to you," she writes at this moment of the revolutionary recoil; "i feel environed by a silent horror; my heart grows steadfast in a mournful and solemn silence, ready to sacrifice all rather than cease to defend principles, but not knowing the moment when they can triumph, and forming no resolution but that of giving a great example." the mission which had kept roland in paris for seven months being ended, the discouraged pair returned to their province in september. after stopping a few days in lyons, in order to found a popular society affiliated to the jacobins of the capital, they went to spend the remainder of the autumn at their country place, the close of platière. but calm and silence no longer suited madame roland. repose exasperated her. she missed the struggle and the emotions of revolutionary paris, of which she had said: "one lives ten years here in twenty-four hours; events and affections blend with and succeed each other with singular rapidity; no such great events ever occupied minds." the pleasure of seeing her daughter again was not { } enough to compensate her for the chagrin of having parted from buzot. just as she was despairing at the thought of sinking back into all the nullity of the province, as she expresses it, the news came that the inspectors of agriculture had been suppressed. roland, no longer an official, deliberated with his wife as to their next step. his own inclination was to settle permanently in the country and devote himself to agricultural labors which would surely and safely augment his fortune. but his wife was by no means of the same mind. she must see her dear buzot again at any cost. she flattered the self-love of her unsuspecting spouse, and persuaded him that paris was the sole theatre worthy of the virtuous roland. roland allowed himself to be convinced. his wife, no longer mistress of herself, was drawn into the parisian abyss as by an irresistible force. and yet was it not she who had proposed to herself this ideal, so easily to have been realized? "i have never imagined anything more desirable than a life divided between domestic cares and those of agriculture, spent on a healthy and fertile farm, with a little family where the example of its heads and common labor maintain attachment, peace, and freedom." was it not she who had uttered this profoundly true thought: "i see neither pleasure nor happiness except in the reunion of that which charms the heart as well as the senses, and costs no regrets"? in the most beautiful days of her youth had she not written: "there was a time when i was never content { } except when i had a book or a pen in my hand; at present i am as well satisfied when i have made a shirt for my father or added up an account of expenses as if i had read something profound. i do not care at all to be learned; i want to be good and happy; that is my chief business. what is necessary but good, honest common sense?" is it not she, too, who will write at the beginning of her memoirs: "i have observed that in all classes, ambition is generally fatal; for the few happy ones whom it exalts, it makes a multitude of victims." why did she not more frequently remind herself of the sentiment so just and well expressed in a letter dated in : "women are not made to share in all the occupations of men: they are altogether bound to domestic cares and virtues, and they cannot turn away from them without destroying their happiness." but, alas! passion does not reason. farewell common sense, wisdom, and experience, when ambition and love have taken possession of a woman's heart. returning to paris, december , , the rolands established themselves in the rue de la harpe, and plunged head-long into politics. the wife redoubled her activity, eloquence, and passion. the husband, instead of attending quietly to the management of his retiring pension, was named a member of the jacobin corresponding committee at the beginning of , a revolutionary centre of which brissot was the leader. at this period, we are informed by madame roland, the intimidated court imagined that the nomination of a { } minister chosen from among the patriots of the assembly would cause it to regain a little popularity. brissot proposed roland, who, on march , , accepted the portfolio of the interior. madame, behold yourself, then, the wife of a minister, and in fact more of a minister than your husband. your ambitious projects, which have been treated as chimerical, are now realized. you have a cortège like marie antoinette. men seek the favor of a smile, a word, from you. they court, they solicit, they fear you. the monarchy, which you detest, is at last obliged to reckon with you and your friends. your beauty, your talent, and your eloquence are boasted of. your name is in every mouth. you are powerful, you are celebrated. well! you will find out for yourself what bitterness there is at the bottom of this cup of pride which has tempted your lips so long. you will learn at your own expense that renown does not produce happiness, and that, for a woman, twilight is better than the full glare of day. yes, you will long for the obscurity which weighed upon you. you will long for the house of your father, the engraver, on the quai des orfèvres. you will dream of the sunsets which affected you, and of the monotonous but peaceful succession of your days. you, the deist, the female philosopher, will recall with regret the cloisters where in your adolescence you tasted the peace of the elect. in the time of your supreme trial buzot's miniature will not console you; it is not his image you should cover with your { } kisses. no; that miniature is not the viaticum for eternity. what you will need is the crucifix, and you respect the crucifix no longer. and yet your imagination will evoke the mystic cloister, with its altars decked with flowers, its painted windows, its penetrating and ineffable poesy. and in thought, also, you will see the country once more, the harvest time, the month of the vintage, the poor who come to the door asking for bread and who go away with blessings on their lips and gratitude in their hearts. why have you quitted these honest people? what have you come to do in the midst of these ferocious jacobins, who flatter you to-day and will assassinate you to-morrow? do you fancy that marie antoinette is the only woman who will be insulted, calumniated, and betrayed? why do you seat at your hospitable table this livid-faced robespierre, who to-day, perhaps, will address you a madrigal, and to-morrow send you to the scaffold? you will pay very dear for these false and artificial joys, these gusts of commonplace vanity, this pride of a parvenu, and the pleasure of presiding for a few evenings at the dinners given to the minister of the interior in calonne's dining-room. the legislative assembly, the jacobin club, the journals and the ministry, the souvenirs of plutarch and the parodies of jean-jacques, the noisy crowd of flatterers who are the courtiers of demagogues as they would have been the courtiers of kings, these adulators who are going to change into executioners,--all are vanity! poor { } woman, whose power will be so ephemeral, why do you make yourself a persecutor? you will so soon be persecuted. why labor so relentlessly to shake the foundations of a throne that will bury you beneath its ruins? { } vii. marie antoinette and madame roland. two women find themselves confronted across the chessboard and about to move the pieces in a terrible game in which each stakes her head, and each is foredoomed to lose. one is the woman who represents the old régime--the daughter of the german cæsars, the queen of france and navarre; the other stands for the new régime, the parisian middle classes--the daughter of the engraver of the quai des orfèvres. they are nearly the same age. madame roland was born march , ; and marie antoinette, november , . both are beautiful, and both are conscious of their charm. each exercises a sort of domination over all who approach her. in , when roland enters the ministry, marie antoinette is no longer thinking of coquetry, luxury, or dress. the heroine of the gallery of the mirrors, the crowned shepherdess of the trianon, the queen of elegance, pleasure, and fashion is not recognizable in her. the time for splendors is over, like the time for pastorals. no more festivals, no more distractions, no more theatres. incessant anxieties and unremitting labor; writing throughout the day and reading, { } meditating, and praying throughout the night, are now the unfortunate sovereign's whole existence. she hardly sleeps. her eyes are reddened by tears. a single night, that of the arrest on the journey to varennes, had sufficed to whiten her hair. she wears mourning for her brother, the emperor leopold, and for her ally, the king of sweden, gustavus iii., and one might say that she is also wearing it for the french monarchy. all trace of frivolity has disappeared. the severe and majestic countenance of the woman who suffers so cruelly as queen, spouse, and mother, is sanctified by the double poetry of religion and sorrow. madame roland, on the other hand, is more coquettish than she has ever been. the actress who has at last found her theatre and is very proud to play her part, wishes to allure, desires to reign. she delights in presiding at these political dinners where all the guests are men, and of which her grace and eloquence constitute the charm. she has just completed her thirty-eighth year. her husband is nearly fifty-eight; buzot is only thirty-two. possibly she is still more preoccupied with love than with ambition. to use one of her own expressions, "her heart swells with the desire to please," to please buzot above all; she takes pains to celebrate her own beauty, which, in spite of showing symptoms of decline, has the brilliance of sunset. in her memoirs she describes her "large and superbly modelled bust, her light, quick step, her frank and open glance, at once keen and { } soft, which sometimes amazes, but which caresses still more, and always quickens." she writes: "my mouth is rather large; there are a thousand prettier, but none that has a softer and more seductive smile." in prison, when she is nearly forty, she states that if she has lost some of her attractions, yet she needs no help from art to make her look five or six years younger. "even those who see me every day," she adds, "require to be told my age, in order to believe me more than thirty-two or thirty-three." madame roland had at first written thirty-three or thirty-four. but after reflection, finding herself too modest, she made an erasure and retrenched another year. she adds that she made very little use of her charms; avowing at the same time, and with the most absolute frankness, that if she could reconcile her duty with her inclination to utilize them more fully, she would not be sorry. both marie antoinette and madame roland were political women. but the one became so in her own despite, in the hope of saving the life of her husband and the heritage of her son; the other, through ambition and the desire to play a part for which her origin had not destined her. in the one, everything is at once noble and simple, natural and majestic; in the other there is always something affected and theatrical; one scents the _parvenue_ who will never be a _grande dame_, even in the ministry of the interior or at the house of calonne. all is unstudied in marie antoinette; madame roland, on the contrary, is an artist in coquetry. { } bizarre caprice of fate which makes political rivals and adversaries treating with each other on equal terms of these two women, of whom one was so much above the other by rank and birth. the tuileries and the house of the minister of the interior are like two hostile citadels at a stone's throw from each other. on both sides there is watchfulness and fear. an impassable abyss, hollowed out by the vanity of the commoner still more than by the pride of the queen, forever separates these two courageous women who, had they united instead of antagonizing each other, might have saved both their country and themselves. it is necessary to go back a few years in order to comprehend the motive of madame roland's hatred for marie antoinette. it was inspired in the vain commoner by envy, the worst and vilest of all counsellors. madame roland's special characteristic was the passion for making an effect. now the effect produced by marie antoinette under the old régime was immense; that produced by the future egeria of the girondin group was almost null. a simple mortal, regarding olympus from below, she said to herself with vexation, that in spite of her talents and her charms there was no place for her among the gods and goddesses. versailles was like a superior world from which it maddened her to be excluded. she was twenty years old when, in , she visited it with her mother, her uncle, the abbé bimont, and an aged gentlewoman, mademoiselle d'hannaches. they all lodged at the palace. one of marie antoinette's { } women, who was acquainted with the abbé, and who was not then on duty, lent them her apartment. the only object of the excursion was to give the young girl a near view of the court. in recalling this souvenir in her memoirs, madame roland displays her aversion for the old society. she is annoyed even with the companion of her visit, because she was, according to the expression then in use, a person of quality. "mademoiselle d'hannaches," she says, "went boldly wherever she chose, ready to fling her name in the face of any one who tried to stop her, thinking they ought to be able to read on her grotesque visage her six hundred years of established nobility. the fine figure of a pedantic little cleric like the abbé bimont, and the imbecile pride of the ugly d'hannaches were not out of keeping in those scenes; but the unpainted face of my worthy mamma, and the modesty of my dress, announced that we were commoners; if my eyes or my youth provoked remark, it was almost patronizing, and caused me nearly as much displeasure as madame de boismorel's compliments." it was this madame de boismorel who, although she found the little philipon very pleasing, had said to the grandmother of the future madame roland: "take care that she does not become a learned woman; it would be a great pity." the splendors of versailles did not dazzle the daughter of the engraver of the quai des orfèvres. the apartment she occupied was at the top of the { } palace, in the same corridor as that of the archbishop of paris, and so near it that it was necessary for the prelate to take precautions lest she should overhear him talk. "two poorly furnished rooms," she says, "in the upper end of one of which space had been contrived for a valet's bed, was the habitation which a duke and peer of france esteemed himself honored in possessing, in order to be closer at hand to cringe every morning at the levée of their majesties: and yet he was the rigorist beaumont.... the ordinary and the ceremonial table-service of the entire family, eating separately or all together, the masses, the promenades, the gaming, the presentations, had us for spectators during a week." what impression was made on her by this excursion to the royal palace? she herself will tell us nineteen years later, in her prison. "i was not insensible," she says, "to the effect of so much pomp and ceremony, but i was indignant that its object should be to exalt certain individuals already too powerful and of very slight personal importance: i liked much better to look at the statues in the gardens than at the persons in the palace; and when my mother asked if i was satisfied with my visit, 'yes,' i replied, 'provided it will soon be over; if i stay here many days longer, i shall detest the people so much that i shall be unable to hide my hatred.' 'what harm are they doing you, then?' 'making me feel injustice, and constantly behold absurdity.'" how this impression is emphasized in the really { } prophetic letter written by the future heroine of the revolution to her friend, mademoiselle sophie cannet, october , : "to return to versailles. i cannot tell you how greatly all i have examined has made me value my own situation, and thank heaven that i was born in an obscure condition. you think, perhaps, that this sentiment is based on the slight esteem i attach to the worth of opinion, and my sense of the reality of the penalties attached to greatness. not at all. it is based on the knowledge i have of my own character, which would be very detrimental both to me and to the state if i were placed at a little distance from the throne; because i would be keenly shocked by the extreme inequality which sets so many thousands of men below a single individual of the same species!" what a prediction! the most unforeseen events were one day to bring this young plebeian near that royalty formerly so far above her. the engraver's daughter will be the wife of a minister of state. and then what will happen? according to her own expression, her rôle will be very detrimental to herself and to the state. in the same letter she had written: "a beneficent king seems to me an almost adorable being; but if, before coming into the world, the choice of a government had been given me, my character would have made me decide for a republic." she will end by hating the beneficent king, and probably no one will contribute more than she towards establishing the republican régime in france. { } supposing that, instead of being merely an insignificant commoner, madame roland had been born in the ranks of aristocracy, had enjoyed the right of sitting down in the presence of their majesties at versailles, and had shone at the familiar entertainments of the trianon, she would doubtless have shared the sentiments and ideas of the women of the old régime, and, like the princess de lamballe or the duchess de polignac, have shed tears of compassion over the queen's misfortunes. fate, in placing her in a subordinate position, made her an enemy and a rebel. she anathematized the society in which her rank bore no relation to her lofty intelligence and her need of domination. when, from the upper window of her father's house on the quai des orfèvres, beside the pont-neuf, she saw the brilliant retinue of marie antoinette pass by on their way to notre dame to return thanks to god for some happy event, she grew angry at all this pomp and glitter, so much in contrast with her own obscure condition. what crimes have been engendered by the sentiment of envy! the furies of the guillotine were above all things envious. they were delighted to see in the fatal cart the woman whom they had formerly beheld in gala carriages resplendent with gold. madame roland certainly ought not to have carried her hatred to such a pitch; but had she not demanded in , when speaking of louis xvi. and the queen, that "two illustrious heads" should be brought to trial? who knows? if, in , she had obtained the { } patent of nobility for her husband which at that period she solicited so ardently, she might have become sincerely royalist! but having remained, despite herself, in the citizen class, she retained and personified, to her latest hour, its rancor, pettiness, and wrath. what figure could she have made at versailles, or even at the tuileries? in the midst of great lords and noble ladies the haughty commoner would have been out of place; she would have stifled. it was chiefly on that account that she attached herself to the new ideas. she told herself that so long as royalty lasted, she would always be of small importance; while, if the republic were established, she might aspire to anything. though her husband was one of the king's ministers, she became daily more adverse to the monarchy, and roland, following her counsels, was like a pilot whose whole intent is to make the vessel founder, even though he were to perish with its crew. it is a sad thing to say, but even their community in suffering did not disarm madame roland's hate for marie antoinette. it was in prison, on the eve of ascending the scaffold herself, that she wrote concerning louis xvi. and the queen: "he was led away by a giddy creature who united the presumption of youth and grandeur to austrian insolence, the intoxication of the senses, and the heedlessness of levity, and was herself seduced by all the vices of an asiatic court, for which she had been too well prepared by the example of her mother." ah! why { } were not these cruel lines effaced by the tears madame roland shed in floods over the pages she was writing, and of which the traces still remain on the manuscript of her memoirs? why did she not sympathize in the grief of marie antoinette, separated from her children, when in speaking of her daughter eudora, she wrote: "good god! i am a prisoner, and she is living far from me! i dare not even send for her to receive my embraces; hatred pursues even the children of those whom tyranny persecutes, and mine, with her eleven years, her virginal figure, and her beautiful fair hair, could hardly appear in the streets without creatures suborned or deluded by falsehood pointing her out as the offspring of a conspirator. cruel wretches! how well they know how to tear a mother's heart!" why were these two women political adversaries? both sensitive, both artistic, with inexhaustible sources of poetry and tenderness at heart, they were born for gentle emotions and not for horrible catastrophes. who, at their dawning, could have predicted for them such an appalling night? like marie antoinette, madame roland loved nature and the arts. she felt the profound and penetrating charm of the fields. she drew, she played on the harp, guitar, and violin, and she sang. "no one knows," she wrote a few moments before her death, "what an alleviation music is in solitude and anguish, nor from how many temptations it can save one in prosperity." she had sung the same romances { } as the queen. the same poets had inspired and affected each. does not this most feminine passage in madame roland's memoirs recall the character of the mistress of the little trianon? "i always remember the singular effect produced on me by a bunch of violets at christmas; when i received them i was in that condition of soul often induced by a season favorable to serious thought. my imagination slumbered, i reflected coldly, and i hardly felt at all; suddenly the color of these violets and their delicate perfume struck my senses; it was an awakening to life.... a rosy tinge suffused the horizon of the day." would not this cry of madame roland in her captivity suit marie antoinette as well? "ah! when shall i breathe pure air and those soft exhalations so agreeable to my heart?" and might not the daughter of the great maria theresa have cried, like the daughter of philipon the engraver? "adieu! my child, my husband, my friends. adieu! sun whose brilliant rays brought serenity to my soul, as if they were recalling it to the skies. adieu! ye solitary fields which have so often moved me." what must not these two keenly sensitive women have had to suffer at the epoch when france became a hell? they have each believed in the amelioration of the human species and the return of the golden age to earth, and what will their awakening be, after such alluring dreams? men will be as unjust, as wicked, as cruel to the republican as to the queen. { } she, too, will be drenched with calumnies and outrages. they will insult her also in the most cowardly and ferocious manner. under the very windows of her dungeon she will hear the hawkers crying: "great visit of père duchesne to citizeness roland, in the abbey prison, for the purpose of pumping her." the ignoble journalist will call her "old sack of the counter-revolution." he will say to her with his habitual oaths: "weep for your crimes, old fright, before you expiate them on the scaffold!" the wife of louis xvi. and the wife of roland will die within twenty-three days of each other: one on october , the other on november , . they will start from the same prison of the conciergerie, to be led to the same place louis xv., to have their heads cut off by the blade of the same guillotine. the commoner who had been so jealous of the queen, can no longer complain. if the lives of the two women have been different, they will at least have the same death; and the doer of the noble deeds of the régime of equality, the headsman, will make no distinction between the two victims, between the veritable sovereign, the queen of france and navarre, and the sovereign of a day, whom père duchesne, as insolent to one as to the other, will no longer speak of except under the sobriquet of queen coco. { } viii. madame roland at the ministry of the interior. roland took the portfolio of the interior, march , , and installed himself and his wife in the ministerial residence, then occupying the site afterwards built on by the _théâtre italien_. this very beautiful and luxurious mansion had formerly been the controller's office, and both calonne and necker had lived in it. madame roland found no small pleasure in queening it under the gilded canopies of the old régime. it was not at all disagreeable to her to give dinners in the sumptuous banqueting hall erected by the elegant calonne, nor did the austere admirer of the ancients set the black broth of sparta before her guests. once arrived at power, was this great enemy of nobility and prescription simple, and easy of approach? not in the least. there is often more arrogance displayed by parvenus of both sexes than by those who are aristocrats by birth. madame roland was extremely proud of her new dignity, and at once resolved, as she tells us in her memoirs, neither to make nor receive visits. her attitude and { } manners while at the ministry were those of an asiatic sovereign. she secluded herself, permitting only a small number of privileged courtiers to enter her presence. under the old régime, the wives of ministers and ambassadors, dukes and peers, had never felicitated themselves on "cultivating their private tastes" to the detriment of the proprieties and obligations of good breeding. but the revolution had changed all that. french politeness was now mere old-fashioned rubbish. at the ministry of the interior, the etiquette whose "severity" is vaunted by madame roland was more rigorous than that of the court of versailles, and it was easier to see the wife of the king than the wife of the minister. with what hauteur the latter expresses herself concerning "the self-seeking crowds who throng about those who hold great places"! assuredly, the queen had never spoken of her subjects in this tone of disdainful patronage. [illustration: madame roland] madame roland, who "was tired of fools," incommoded herself for nobody. the agreeable side of power was all she wanted. suppressing the receptions which annoyed her, she gave none but men's dinners, where she perorated and paraded, and where, being the only woman present, she had no rivals to fear. self-sufficiency and insufficiency are, for the most part, what fall to the share of parvenus. what would have been said in the old days of a noble dame who did the honors of a ministry so strangely, who never invited another woman to { } dinner, and admitted no one to her presence but a little clique of flatterers? everybody would have accused such a lady as lacking in good breeding. but to madame roland all that she did was right in her own eyes. how could a woman so superior be expected to submit to the tyranny of polite usages? was not the first of all despotisms the very one to be shaken off? and ought not a person so proud of the originality of her genius feel bound before all things, as she said herself, "to preserve her own mode of being"? madame roland did at the ministry just what she did from her cradle to her grave: she posed. "to listen to madame roland," said count beugnot in his witty and curious memoirs, "you would have thought she had imbibed the passion for liberty from reading the great writers of antiquity.... cato the elder was her hero, and it was probably out of respect for this hero that she showed a lack of courtesy towards her husband. she was unwilling to see that there was as much difference between roland's wife and the roman minister as there was between the brutus of the revolutionary tribunal and him of the capitol. self-love was the means by which this woman had been elevated to the point where we have seen her; she was incessantly actuated by it, and does not dissimulate the fact." it was she, and not her husband, who was minister of the interior. if the aristocrats treated roland as a minister _sans-culottes_, it might have been added that the { } breeches which he lacked were worn by his spouse. out of all the rooms composing a vast apartment, she had chosen for her own daily use the smallest that could be converted into a study, and kept her books and writing-table in it. it was from this boudoir, half literary, half political, that she conducted the ministry according to her own whims. "it often happened," says she, "that friends or colleagues desiring to speak confidentially with the minister, instead of going to his own room, where he was surrounded by his clerks and the public, came to mine and begged me to have him called thither. thus i found myself in the stream of affairs without either intrigue or idle curiosity. roland took pleasure in talking these subjects over with me afterwards with that confidence which has always reigned between us, and which has brought our knowledge and our opinions into community." on this head, m. dauban makes the very just remark: "a community in which there is no equilibrium of forces, becomes a sort of omnipotence for the strongest." the omnipotence in this case was not on the side of the beard, but of madame roland. the wife wrote, thought, and acted for her husband. it was she who drew up his circulars and reports to the national assembly. "my husband," she tells us, "had nothing to lose in passing through my hands. roland, without me, would have been none the less a good administrator; with me, he has made more sensation, because i imparted to my writings { } that mixture of force and sweetness, that authority of reason and charm of sentiment, which perhaps belongs only to a sensitive woman, endowed with sound understanding." and the "virtuous" roland took pride in the magnificent phrases which he naïvely believed to be the expression of his own genius, when his wife had saved him not merely the trouble of writing, but even of thinking. "he often ended," she says, "by persuading himself that he had really been in a good vein when he had written such or such a passage which proceeded from my pen." madame roland had at her orders a man of letters, salaried by the ministry of the interior, who was the official defender of the minister and his policy. "it had been felt," she tells us, "that it was needful to counteract the influence of the court, the aristocracy, the civil list and their journals, by popular instructions to which great publicity should be given. a journal posted up in public places seemed to be the proper thing, and a wise and enlightened man had to be found for its editor." this wise and enlightened man was louvet, the author of the _amours de faublas_. he was the writer whom madame roland esteemed most capable of instructing and of moralizing the masses. "men of letters and persons of taste," she says, "know his charming romances, in which the graces of imagination are allied to lightness of style, a philosophical tone, and the salt of criticism. he has proved that his skilful hand could alternately shake the bells of folly, hold the burin of history, and { } launch the thunderbolts of eloquence. courageous as a lion, simple as a child, a sensible man, a good citizen, a vigorous writer, he could make catiline tremble from the tribune, dine with the graces, and sup with bachaumont." madame roland admired the author of _faublas_, now become the editor-in-chief of the _sentinelle_; but among her intimates there was a man whom she admired much more. this was buzot. with what complacency she draws in her memoirs the portrait of this man "of an elevated character, a haughty spirit, and a vehement courage, sensitive, ardent, melancholy; an impassioned lover of nature, nourishing his imagination with all the charms she has to offer, and his soul with the principles of the most touching philosophy; he seems formed to enjoy and to procure domestic happiness; he could forget the universe in the sweetness of private virtues practised with a heart worthy of his own." needless to say that in madame roland's thought, this heart worthy of the heart of buzot was her own. "he is susceptible," says she, "of the tenderest affections" (always for madame roland), "capable of sublime flights and the most generous resolutions." into what ecstasies she falls over the noble face and elegant figure of this handsome man, in whose costume "reigns that care, cleanliness, and decency which manifest the spirit of order, taste, the sentiment of decorum, and the respect of an honest man for the public and himself"! how she contrasts with { } men who think patriotism consists in "swearing, drinking, and dressing like porters, in order to fraternize with their equals," this attractive, this irresistible buzot, who "professes the morality of socrates and the politeness of scipio"! clearly, the veritable idol of the egeria of the girondins is not the republic, but buzot. he is so elegant, so distinguished! his mind and his person have so many charms! poor roland! you think that your better half is solely occupied with your ministry. alas! this learned woman has other thoughts in her head. your position as a minister has not augmented your prestige in the region of sentiment. though you lord it in the hotel calonne, yet, in spite of the throng of petitioners and flatterers who surround you, you will never be a lovelace, and your romantic spouse will not allow herself to be affected by your appearance, like that of a quaker in sunday clothes. you thought you were doing wonders in presenting yourself at the council of ministers with lanky, unpowdered locks, a round hat, and shoes minus buckles. this peasant costume, which so greatly scandalized the master of ceremonies, doubtless made the best impression at the jacobin club, but your wife prefers the careful dress of her too dear buzot. madame roland, who had just completed her thirty-eighth year, was still very charming. lémontey thus paints her portrait as she appeared at this epoch: "her eyes and hair were remarkably { } beautiful; her delicate complexion had a freshness and color which made her look singularly young. at the beginning of her husband's ministry she had lost nothing of her air of youth and simplicity; her husband resembled a quaker whose daughter she might have been, and her child hovered round her with hair floating to her waist; one might have thought them natives of pennsylvania transported to the drawing-room of m. de calonne." count beugnot, who was the companion of her captivity in the conciergerie, is severe on the female politician, but he admires the pretty woman. "her figure was graceful," he says, "and her hands perfectly modelled. her glance was expressive, and even in repose her face had something noble and subtly attractive in it. one surmised her wit without needing to hear her speak, but no woman whom i have ever listened to, spoke with more purity and elegance. she must have owed her faculty of giving to french a rhythm and cadence veritably new, to her familiar knowledge of italian. the harmony of her voice was still further heightened by graceful and appropriate gestures and the expression of her eyes, which grew animated in conversation. i daily experienced new charm in listening to her, less on account of what she said than because of the magic of her delivery." if madame roland, a prisoner, crushed by misfortune, on the very threshold of the scaffold, after so many sleepless nights and so many tears, had { } preserved such attractions, what a charm must she not have exercised at the ministry of the interior, when hope and pride illumined her beautiful face, and when, after appearing to her electrified adorers as the muse of the new régime, the magician, the circe of the revolution, she touched so profoundly their minds and hearts! she who knew so well how to love and how to hate, who felt so keenly, who had so much energy, so much vigor, what fascination must she not have exerted with her glance of fire, her long black tresses, her more than ornate eloquence, her inspired, lyric, enthusiastic bearing, and that consummate art which, according to the remark of fontanes, made one believe that in her everything was the work of nature! { } ix. dumouriez, minister of foreign affairs. madam roland had wished to reign alone. she saw an influential rival in dumouriez, and at once conceived for him an instinctive repugnance and suspicion. she met him first on march , , at the time when, as minister of foreign affairs, he came to salute roland, just named minister of the interior, as his colleague. as soon as he departed: "there," said she to her husband, "is a man with a crafty mind and a false glance, against whom it is probably more necessary to be on one's guard than any other person; he expressed great satisfaction at the patriotic choice he was deputed to announce; but i should not be at all surprised if he were to have you dismissed some day." she thought she recognized in dumouriez at first sight, "a witty roué, an insolent chevalier who makes sport of everything except his own interests and glory." later on she drew the following portrait of him: "among all his colleagues, he had most of what is called wit, and less than any of morality. diligent and brave, a good general, a skilful courtier, writing well and expressing himself with ease, capable of { } great enterprises, all he lacked was character enough to balance his mind, or a cooler brain to carry out the plans he had conceived. agreeable to his friends, and ready to betray them, gallant to women, but not at all suited to succeed with those among them who are susceptible to affectionate relations, he was made for the ministerial intrigues of a corrupt court." the nomination of dumouriez as minister of foreign affairs is one of the most curious and unforeseen events of this strange epoch. few men have had a career so adventurous and agitated as his. a complex and mobile nature, where the intriguer and the great man were blended into one, he never commanded esteem, but at certain moments he secured admiration. napoleon i. seems to have been too severe when he said of him that he was "only a miserable intriguer." the man who opened the series of great french victories, and who saved his country from invasion by his admirable defence of the defiles of argonne, merited more than this disdainful mention. it is none the less certain, however, that one scents, as it were, an air of beaumarchais in the memoirs of dumouriez, and that there is more than one link of character and existence between the author of the _mariage de figaro_ and the victor of jemmapes. both were men without principles, but full of resource, wit, and fascination. both were lovable in spite of their great defects, because of their humanity and kindness. both belonged at the same time to the { } old régime and the revolution. before arriving at celebrity, each had a stormy youth, tormented by the love of pleasure, the need of money, and a sort of perpetual restlessness: they flattered every power of the time, sought fortune by the most circuitous ways, were diplomatic couriers, and secret agents; before coming out into open daylight, they made trial of their marvellous address in obscurity, and signalized themselves among those men of action and initiative whom governments, which make use of them in occult ways, first launch, then compromise, disavow, and sometimes imprison. born at cambrai, january , , dumouriez belonged to a family of the upper middle class. entering the army early, he distinguished himself by his high spirits and courage. as a cornet of the penthièvre cavalry, he served in the german campaigns from to , and was invalided in . he spent twenty-four years at the wars and brought back nothing but twenty-two wounds, the rank of captain, a decoration, and some debts. seeking then a new career, he entered, thanks to his connection with favier, the secret diplomacy of louis xv., and was sent to corsica, italy, and portugal. he returned to the army in , and made a brilliant record in the corsican campaign, obtaining successively the grades of adjutant-major general, adjutant-quartermaster, and colonel of cavalry. it was he who seized the castle of corte, paoli's last asylum. in , he again became a secret agent. louis { } xv. wished to befriend poland in its death-struggle, but without betraying his hand. dumouriez was sent to the polish confederates. he was reputed to be merely acting on his own impulses. he organized troops and fought successfully against souvaroff, the future adversary of the french republic, but could not save poland--that asiatic nation of europe, as he called it. he came back to paris in , and the government, complying with the demands of russia, shut him up for a year in the bastille, where he had leisure to meditate on the ingratitude of courts. this captivity strengthened his taste for study, and, far from allaying his ambition, gave it renewed force. louis xvi. put him in command at cherbourg, and it was he who conceived the plan of making that town a station for the french marine. he was fifty years old when the revolution of broke out. at once he saw in it an opportunity for success and glory. full of confidence in his own superiority, he merely awaited the hour when events should second his ambition. he said to himself that the emigration, by making a void in the upper ranks of the army, was going to leave him free scope, and that he would be commander-in-chief of the french troops under the new régime. to attain this end he decided to serve the king, the assembly, and the factions; to assume all parts and all masks, and to be in turn, and simultaneously if need were, the courtier of louis xvi. and the favorite of the jacobins. as has been very well said by m. frédéric masson { } in an excellent book, as novel as it is interesting, _le département des affaires étrangères sous la revolution_, dumouriez had been accustomed to make his way everywhere, to eat at all tables, and listen at all doors. one of the agents of count d'artois brought him into relations with mirabeau. he was protected by the minister montmorin. he drew up plans of campaign for narbonne. he used the intimate "thou" to laporte, the king's confidant and intendant of the civil list. he made use of women also. separated from his lawful wife, he lived in marital relations with a sister of rivarol, the baroness de beauvert, a charming person who had much intercourse with aristocratic society, who speculated in arms, and who was pensioned by the duke of orleans, as appears from a letter of latouche de tréville, the prince's chancellor, dated april , . dumouriez, who had expensive tastes, sought at the same time for gold and honors. either by means of the court or the revolution, he desired to gain a great fortune and much glory, to become a statesman, a minister, commander-in-chief, and realize his great military plan, the conquest of the natural frontiers of france. he said to himself: he who wills the end wills the means, and managed as adroitly with parties as with soldiers. at niort, where he was in command at the beginning of the revolution, he made himself remarkable by his enthusiasm for the new ideas, and became president of the club and honorary citizen of the town. he contracted an intimacy with gensonné, { } whom the assembly had sent into the departments of the west to observe their spirit. in january, , the emigration of general officers had become so considerable that he rose by seniority to the rank of lieutenant-general. thereafter, he believed his hour had come, and threw himself boldly into the political arena. the gironde and the jacobins were the two powers then in vogue; he flattered both the jacobins and the gironde. brissot was the corypheus of the diplomatic committee and the chief of the war party. he became the familiar of brissot. already, in , he had prepared a memoir on the subject of the ministry of foreign affairs which he dedicated and read to the jacobins. in it he announced (singular prediction for the future minister of a king!) that before fifty years had passed, europe would be republican. he demanded an immediate and radical change in the diplomatic personnel. "it is of small importance," said he in the same memoir, "that our representatives would lack experience. in the first place, our interests are greatly simplified; moreover, our former representatives were young men belonging to the court who had had no political education. in a word, it is the majesty of the nation which gives our negotiations weight. the minister," he added, "should be a man of approved patriotism, above all suspicion, like the wife of cæsar. absolute integrity, great knowledge of men, great firmness, a broad and upright mind, should complete his character." dumouriez perhaps imagined that all these qualities { } of an ideal minister were reunited in his person. however that may be, he accepted, without any mistrust of his own abilities, the portfolio of foreign affairs, confided to him march , , on account of his relations with the gironde and his popularity with the jacobins. he had a high opinion of himself, and, even after his cruel disappointments, he was to write in his memoirs, in : "dumouriez sometimes laughs sardonically in his retreat over the judgments passed upon him. when he arrived at the ministry, the courtiers said and published that he was only a soldier of fortune, incapable of conducting political affairs, in which he would make nothing but blunders. when he commanded an army, they told the prussians and the german emperor's troops that he was a mere writer, who had never made war and understood nothing about it. since he retired with reputation from public employments, they have published that up to the date of the revolution he had been an intriguing adventurer, a ministerial spy, an office-sweeper. would to god, they had employed the adventures of their youth in similar espionages! they would not have begun the revolution like factionists, they would have conducted it with wisdom, they would have preserved the esteem of the nation, they would not have been the prime authors of the king's death, either by betraying or abandoning him." the new minister of foreign affairs began to play his rôle of leader of french diplomacy in a { } singular fashion. repairing to the jacobin club, he described himself as their liegeman, assumed the red bonnet in their presence, and, with it on his head, announced that as soon as war should be declared, he would throw away his pen in order to resume his sword. let us add that he was simultaneously trying to conciliate the good graces of louis xvi. and to persuade him that if he leaned upon the jacobins, it was solely in the hope of serving the king and consolidating the throne. at the same time he appointed as director of foreign affairs that bonne-carrère whose portrait has been traced in this wise by brissot: "falling with all his vices and perverse habits into the midst of a revolution whereby the people had recovered sovereignty, he merely changed his idol without changing his idolatry. he caressed the people instead of caressing the great, made the hall of the jacobins his oeil-de-boeuf, played valet to the successful parties one after another, the lameths and the mirabeaus, and succeeded in raising himself from the secretaryship of the jacobins to the embassy of liège, by the aid of that very montmorin who detested the jacobins, and could but advance a man who betrayed them." dumouriez then, following the example of mirabeau, was about to play a double game; to be revolutionary with the revolution and a courtier with the court. as to madame roland, he never placed himself at her feet. the despotism of this female minister, the pretentious of this demagogic bluestocking, { } her affectation of puritan rigor, her mania for directing everything, shocked the good sense of a man who believed that woman is made to please, not to reign. it was repugnant to this soldier to take his orders from the egeria of the girondins. on the other hand, dumouriez was displeasing to madame roland. she found him too dissolute and not sentimental enough. she could not pardon his having madame de beauvert for mistress and bonne-carrère for confidant. she admitted neither his free-and-easy tone, his gallic humor, nor his natural gaiety, so unlike the declamatory tone and pretentious jargon of the disciples of jean-jacques rousseau. moreover, she found him too much of a royalist, too accustomed to the old régime. the ministry, apparently so homogeneous, was soon to be divided against itself. { } x. the council of ministers. louis xvi. had been persuaded that the only means of regaining public confidence would be to name a ministry chosen by the gironde and accepted by the jacobins. the six ministers--dumouriez of foreign affairs, roland of the interior, de grave of war, claviére of finances, duranton of justice, lacoste of marine--formed what was called the girondin ministry; the reactionists named it the _sans-culottes_ ministry. the revolutionists rejoiced in its advent, while the royalists sought to cover it with ridicule. on the day when the council met for the first time at the tuileries (in the great royal cabinet on the first floor, afterwards called the salon of louis xiv.), roland created a scandal by his plebeian dress. the simplicity of his costume, his round hat, his shoes fastened with ribbons instead of buckles, caused, as his wife disdainfully remarks, "astonishment to all the valets, those creatures who, existing only for the sake of etiquette, thought the safety of the empire depended on its preservation." the master of ceremonies, approaching dumouriez with an { } uneasy frown, glanced at roland, and said in an undertone, "eh! sir, no buckles on his shoes!" "ah! sir, all is lost!" replied dumouriez so coolly that it raised a laugh. louis xvi., who wished, as one might say, to enlarge the borders of gentleness and resignation, displayed more than good-will towards the ministers; he showed them deference. this was the more meritorious because to him this ministry was like a reunion of the seditious, like the revolution in arms against his crown; his pretended advisers seemed much more like enemies than auxiliaries. he tried, however, to attach them to him by kindness, and made a sincere trial of his rights and duties as a constitutional sovereign. madame roland herself, bitter and violent as she is, renders him a certain justice. "louis xvi.," says she, "showed the greatest good nature towards his new ministers; this man was not precisely such as he has been painted by those who seek to degrade him." as to dumouriez, he says in his memoirs: "dumouriez had been greatly deceived concerning the character of louis xvi., who had been represented to him as a violent and wrathful man, who swore a great deal and maltreated his ministers. he must, on the contrary, do him the justice to say that during three' months when he observed him closely and in very delicate circumstances, he always found him polite, gentle, affable, and even very patient. this prince had a great timidity arising from his education and his distrust { } of himself, some difficulty in speaking, a just and dispassionate mind, upright sentiments, great knowledge of history, geography, and the arts, and an astonishing memory." madame roland also owns that he had an excellent memory and much activity; that he was never idle; that he read often, and had a distinct knowledge of all the different treaties concluded by france with neighboring powers; that he knew history well, and was the best geographer in the kingdom. "his knowledge of the names and faces of those belonging to his court," she adds, "and the anecdotes peculiar to each, extended to all persons who had come into prominence during the revolution; no subject could be mentioned to him on which he had not some opinion founded on certain facts." at first, the sessions of the ministry went off very tranquilly. the king, with an accent of candor, protested his attachment to the constitution and his desire to see it solidly established. often he left his ministers to chat among themselves without taking any part in their conversation. during such times he read his french and english journals, or wrote letters. if a decree was presented for his sanction, he deferred his decision until the next meeting, to which he came with a settled opinion, concealing it carefully, none the less, and appearing to decide only in accordance with the will of the majority. he frequently evaded irritating questions by turning the conversation to other subjects. if war were the { } topic, he spoke of travels; apropos of diplomacy, he described the manners of the country in question; to roland he spoke of his works, to dumouriez of his adventures. the minister of foreign affairs, who was a first-class story-teller, and whose freedom of speech was welcomed by the king, to use madame roland's expression, amused both his colleagues and his sovereign by his jests and anecdotes. but all this was far from agreeable to the spiteful companion of the minister of the interior. indignant at the accord which seemed to exist between louis xvi. and his counsellors, she dreamed of nothing but discussions and conflicts. all that wore the appearance of reconciliation was repugnant to her. she made her obedient spouse recount to her the smallest details of the sessions of the council, meddling with and criticising all. during the first three weeks, roland and clavière, enchanted with the king's dispositions, flattered themselves that the revolution was at an end. madame roland scoffed at their confidence. "_bon dieu_," she said to them, "every time i see you start for the council with this charming confidence, it seems to me you are ready to commit some folly."--"i assure you," replied clavière, "that the king is perfectly aware that his interests are bound up with the observance of the laws just established; he reasons too pertinently not to be convinced of this truth."--"well," added roland, "if he is not an honest man, he is the greatest rascal in the kingdom; nobody can dissimulate { } like that." madame roland rejoined that she could not believe in love for the constitution on the part of a man nourished in the prejudices and accustomed to the use of despotic power. she, who doubtless thought herself the only person capable of presiding well at the council of ministers, treated it as a "café where they amused themselves with idle gossip." "there was no record of their deliberations," says she, "nor a secretary to take them down; after sitting three or four hours, they went away without having accomplished anything but a few signatures; it was like this three times a week."--"this is pitiable!" she would exclaim impatiently when, on his return, she asked her husband what had passed. "you are all in very good humor because there have been no disputes or vexations, and you have even been treated with civility; each of you seems to be doing pretty much as he pleases in his own department. i am afraid you are being made game of."--"nevertheless, business is getting on."--"yes, and time is wasted, for in the torrent that is carrying you away, i should be much better pleased to have you employ three hours in solid meditation on great combinations than to see you spend them in useless chatter." it must needs be said that no person contributed more to the downfall of royalty than madame roland. at the moment when the good temper and gentleness of louis xvi. began to gain upon his ministers, when dumouriez was softened by the { } royal kindness, when minds experienced a relaxation, and honest people, worn out by so many political shocks, were sincerely desirous of repose, it was she who nourished discord, made the gironde irreconcilable, inspired the subversive pamphlets of louvet, embittered her husband's heart, and invented the provocations against which the conscience of the unfortunate monarch rebelled. this part, which would have been a sorry one for a man to play, seems still worse in a woman. count beugnot has said very justly: "i have seen that a woman can preserve only the faults of her sex in the midst of such a frightful catastrophe, not its virtues. the gentle, amiable, sensitive qualities grow and develop in the shelter of peaceful domestic joys; they are lost and obliterated in the heat of debates, the bitterness of parties, and the shock of passions. the soft and tender foot of woman cannot tread unharmed in paths bristling with steel and red with blood. to do so with safety she must become a man; but to me, a man-woman seems a monster. ah! let them leave to us, whom nature has granted the pitiful advantage of strength, the field of contention and the fate of war; we are adequate to this cruel destiny; but let them keep to the easier and sweeter part of pouring balm into wounds and staunching tears." roland's character was tranquil; it was his wife who made him ambitious, haughty, and inflexible. she should have pacified her husband, but instead of that she excited him. never was he malevolent and { } spiteful enough to suit her. she would not pardon him a single movement of compassion or respect towards the august unfortunates. led by her, roland no longer dared entertain a generous thought. he returned shamefaced to the ministry of the interior if he had felt a humane sentiment while at the tuileries. it is sad to find tenderness and pity in the heart of a man, dumouriez, and in the heart of a woman, madame roland, nothing but malevolence and hatred. dumouriez wanted to put out the fire; madame roland, to stir it up. dumouriez sincerely desired the king's safety; madame roland swore that he should perish. if a germ of pity woke to life in the hearts of the ministers, madame roland hastened to stifle it. her hostility towards the royal family was more than deliberate; there was something like ferocity in it. her memoirs and those of dumouriez display two very different minds. sadness dominates in his; anger in hers. even on the steps of the scaffold, madame roland will not feel her hatred lessen. dumouriez, on the contrary, will cast a glance of melancholy respect upon the unfortunate sovereign whose sorrows and whose resignation, whose gentleness and uprightness, had touched him so profoundly. { } xi. the fÊte of the swiss of chateauvieux. dumouriez, at the beginning of his ministry, was still the slave of the jacobins, his allies and protectors. his elevation to the ministry was in great part due to them, and even while despising them, he felt unable to shake off their yoke. little by little, they inspired him with horror, and before many weeks were over, his only idea was to free himself from their control. but at first he treated them like a power with which he was obliged to reckon. what proves this is his passive attitude at the time of the celebrated fête of the swiss of chateauvieux. the prologue of the bloody tragedies that were in course of preparation, this fête shows what headway the revolutionary ideas had made. the sinister days of the convention were approaching, the terror existed in germ, and already many representatives who, on a secret ballot, would have voted in accordance with right and honor, were cowardly enough to do so against their conscience when they had to answer to their names. things had travelled fast since the close of the constituent assembly. in , that assembly, as { } the faithful guardian of discipline, had congratulated the marquis de bouillé on the energy with which he repressed the military rebellion that broke out at nancy, august . the soldiers garrisoned at this town were guilty of the greatest crimes. they pillaged the military chests, arrested the officers, and fired on the troops who remained faithful. m. desilles, an officer of the king's regiment, conducted himself at the time in a heroic manner. when the insurgents were about to discharge the cannon opposite the stainville gate, he sprang towards it, and covering it with his body, cried: "it is your friends, your brothers, who are coming! the national assembly sends them. do you mean to fire on them? will you disgrace your flags?" it was useless to try to hold desilles back. he broke away from his friends and threw himself again in front of the rebels, falling under four wounds at the moment when the fight began. the constituent assembly passed a decree by which it thanked the marquis de bouillé and his troops "for having gloriously fulfilled their duty" in repressing the military insurrection of nancy. its president wrote an official letter to desilles, soon to die in consequence of his wounds: "the national assembly has learned with just admiration, mingled with profound sorrow, the danger to which your heroic devotion has exposed you; in trying to describe it, i should weaken the emotion by which the assembly was penetrated. so sublime an example of courage { } and civic virtue is above all praise. it has secured you a sweeter recompense and one more worthy of you; you will find it in your own heart, and the eternal memory of the french people." the swiss regiment of chateauvieux had taken part in the rebellion at nancy. switzerland had reserved, by treaty, its federal jurisdiction over such of its troops as had taken service under the king of france. by virtue of this special jurisdiction the soldiers of the regiment of chateauvieux, taken arms in hand, were tried before a council of war composed of swiss officers. twenty-two were condemned to death and shot. fifty were condemned to the galleys and sent to the convict prison at brest. it was in vain that louis xvi. attempted to negotiate their pardon with the swiss confederacy. it remained inflexible, and the guilty were still undergoing their penalty when the jacobins resolved to release them from prison in defiance of the treaties uniting switzerland and france. "to deliver these condemned prisoners," says dumouriez in his memoirs, "was to insult the cantons, attack their treaty rights, and judge their criminals. we had enemies enough already without seeking new ones among an allied people who were behaving wisely towards us, especially a free and republican people." but revolutionary passions do not reason. collot d'herbois, a wretched actor who had passed from the theatrical stage to that of politics, and who, not content with having bored people, wished to terrorize them also, { } made himself the champion of the galley-slaves of the regiment of chateauvieux. he was the principal impresario of the lugubrious fête which disgraced paris on april , . the programme was not arranged without some opposition. public opinion was not yet ripe for saturnalia. there were still a few honest and courageous publicists who, like andré chénier, boldly lifted their voices to stigmatize certain infamies. in the tribune of the assembly some orators were to be found who expressed their minds freely and held their own against the tempests of demagogy. there were generals and soldiers in the army for whom discipline was not an idle word; and if the fête of the swiss of chateauvieux made the future septembrists and furies of the guillotine utter shouts of joy, it drew from honest men a long cry of grief and indignation. intimidated by the menaces of the jacobins, the assembly voted the release of the swiss incarcerated in the prison of brest. but merely to deliver them was not enough: the jacobins wanted to give them an ovation. their march from brest to paris was a triumph, and collot d'herbois organized a gigantic fête in their honor. andré chénier was at this time writing weekly letters for the _journal de paris_, in which he eloquently supported the principles of order and liberty. as m. de lamartine has said, he was the tyrtæus of good sense and moderation. he was indignant at { } the threatened scandal, and, in concert with his collaborator on the _journal de paris_, roucher, the poet of _les mois_, he criticised in most energetic terms the revolutionary manifestation then organizing. at the jacobin club, on april , collot d'herbois freed his mind against him. "this is not chénier-gracchus," said the comedian; "it is another person, quite another." he spoke of andré as a "sterile prose writer," and pointed him out to popular vengeance. the two brothers were in opposing camps. while andré chénier stigmatized the fête of anarchy, his brother joseph was diligently manufacturing scraps of poetry, inscriptions, and devices which were to figure in the programme. "what!" cried andré, "must we invent extravagances capable of destroying any form of government, recompense rebellion against the laws, and crown foreign satellites for having shot french citizens in a riot? people say that the statues will be veiled in every place through which this procession is to pass. oh! if this odious orgy takes place, it will be well to veil the whole city; but it is not the images of despots that should be wrapt in funeral crape, but the faces of honest men. how is it that you do not blush when a turbulent handful, who seem numerous because they are united and make a noise, oblige you to do their will, telling you that it is your own, and amusing your childish curiosity meanwhile with unworthy spectacles? in a city which respected itself such a fête would meet nothing but solitude and silence." the controversy { } waxed furious. the walls were covered with posters for and against the fête. roucher thus flagellated collot d'herbois: "this character out of a comic novel, who skipped from polichinello's booth to the platform of the jacobins, has sprung at me as if he were going to strike me with the oar the swiss brought back from the galleys!" pétion, then mayor of paris, far from opposing the fête, approved and encouraged it. "i think it my duty," he wrote, april , , "to explain myself briefly concerning the fête which is being arranged to celebrate the arrival of the soldiers of chateauvieux. minds are heated, passions are in ferment, and citizens hold different opinions; everything seems to betoken disorder. it is sought to change a day of rejoicing into a day of mourning.... what is it all about? some soldiers, leaders with the french guards, who have broken our chains and afterwards been overloaded with them, are about to enter within our walls; some citizens propose to meet and offer them a fraternal welcome; these citizens are obeying a natural impulse and using a right which belongs to all. the magistrates see nothing but what is simple and innocent in all this; they see certain citizens abandoning themselves to joy and mirth; every one is at liberty to participate or not to participate in the fête. public spirit rises and assumes a new degree of energy amidst civic amusements." the municipality ordered this letter of pétion's to be printed, posted on the walls, and { } sent to the forty-eight sectional committees and the sixty battalions of the national guard. not all the members of the national assembly shared the optimism of the mayor of paris. the preparations for the fête, which was announced for april , occasioned, on the th, a session as affecting as it was stormy. the whole debate should be read in the _moniteur_. the question was put whether the swiss of chateauvieux, then waiting outside the doors, should be introduced and admitted to the honors of the session. m. de gouvion, who had been major-general of the national guard under lafayette, gravely ascended the tribune. "gentlemen," said he, "i had a brother, a good patriot, who, through the favorable opinion of your fellow-citizens, had been successively a commander of the national guard and a member from the department. always ready to sacrifice himself for the revolution and the law, it was in the name of the revolution and the law that he was required to march to nancy with the brave national guards. there he fell, pierced by fifty bayonets in the hands of those who.... i ask if i am condemned to look on tranquilly while the assassins of my brother enter here?" a voice rising from the midst of the assembly cried: "very well, sir, go out!" the galleries applauded. gouvion attempted to continue. the murmurs redoubled. several persons in the galleries cried: "down! down!" the assembly, revolutionary though it was, felt { } indignant at the scandal, and called the galleries to order. the president reiterated the injunction to keep silence. gouvion began anew: "i treat with all the contempt he merits, and with ... i would say the word if i did not respect the assembly--the coward who has been base enough to outrage a brother's grief." the question was then put whether the swiss of chateauvieux should be admitted to the honors of the session. out of votes, were in the affirmative, and in the negative. consequently, the president announced that the soldiers of chateauvieux, who had asked to present themselves to the assembly, should be admitted to the honors of the session. gouvion went out by one door, indignant, and swearing that he would never re-enter an assembly which received his brother's assassins as conquerors. by another door, collot d'herbois made his entry with his protêgês, the ex-galley slaves. the party of the left and the spectators in the galleries burst into transports of joy, and gave three rounds of applause. the soldiers entered the hall to the beating of drums and cries of "long live the nation!" they were followed by a large procession of men and women carrying pikes and banners. collot d'herbois, the showman of the swiss, pronounced an emphatic address in praise of the pretended martyrs of liberty, which the assembly ordered to be printed. one goachon, speaking for the faubourg saint-antoine, and holding a pike ornamented with a { } red liberty cap, exclaimed: "the citizens of the faubourg saint-antoine, the victors of the bastille, the men of july , have charged me to warn you that they are going to make ten thousand more pikes after the model which you see." the fête took place on sunday, april . it was the triumph of anarchy, the glorification of indiscipline and revolt. on that day the galley slaves were treated like heroes. the emblems adopted were a colossal galley, ornamented with flowers, and the convicts' head gear, that hideous red bonnet in which dumouriez had already played the buffoon, and which was presently to be set on the august head of louis xvi. the soldier galley slaves, whose chains were kissed with transports by a swarm of harlots, came forward wearing civic crowns. what a difference between the constituent assembly and the legislative assembly! under the one, a grand expiatory ceremony on the champ-de-mars had honored the soldiers slain at nancy, and the national guards had worn mourning for these martyrs of duty. under the other, it was not the victims who were lauded, but their assassins. a goddess of liberty in a phrygian cap was borne in a state chariot. the procession halted at the bastille, the hôtel de ville, and the champ-de-mars. the mayor and municipality of paris were present in their official capacity. the _Ça ira_ was sung in a frenzy of enthusiasm. soldiers and public women embraced each other. it was david who had { } designed the costumes, planned the chariot, and organized the whole performance,--david, the revolutionary artist who was destined by a change of fortune to paint the portrait of a pope and the coronation of an emperor. in , andré chénier and david, then friends, and saluting together the dawn of the revolution, had celebrated with lyre and pencil the "_serment du jeu de paumé_"[ ] consecrating an ode to the painter's magnificent tableau, the poet exclaimed:-- resume thy golden robe, bind on thy chaplet rich, divine and youthful poesy! to david's lips, king of the skilful brush, bear the ambrosial cup. how he repented his enthusiasm now! what ill-will he bore the artist who placed his art, that sacred gift, at the service of anarchical passions! with what irony the same pen passed from dithyramb to satire! arts worthy of our eyes, pomp and magnificence worthy of our liberty, worthy of the vile tyrants who are devouring france, worthy of the atrocious dementia of that stupid david whom in other days i sang! on the very day of the fête the young poet had the courage to publish in the _journal de paris_ an avenging satire, which branded the shoulders of the ex-galley slaves as with a new hot iron. the sweet { } and pathetic elegiast, the catullus, the tibullus of france, added a bronze chord to his lyre:-- hail, divine triumph! enter within our walls! bring us these warriors so famed for desilles' blood, and for the obsequies of many frenchmen massacred... one day alone could win so much renown, and this fair day will shine upon us soon! when thou shalt lead jourdan to our army, and lafayette to the scaffold! jourdan was the slaughterer, the headsman, the torturer of the glacier of avignon, who, coming under the provisions of the amnesty, had arrived to take part in the triumph of the swiss of chateauvieux. the acclamations were lugubrious. the lanterns and torches shed a funereal glare. nothing is more doleful than enthusiasm for ignominy. the applause accorded to disgrace and crime sounds like sinister derision. outraged public conscience extinguishes the fires of apotheoses such as these. madame elisabeth, in a letter of april , speaks with a sort of pity of this odious but ridiculous fête: "the people have been to see dame liberty waggling about on her triumphal car, but they shrugged their shoulders. three or four hundred _sans-culottes_ followed, crying 'long live the nation! long live liberty! long live the _sans-culottes_! to the devil with lafayette!' all this was noisy but sad. the national guards took no part in it; on the contrary, they were indignant, and pétion, they say, is ashamed of his conduct. { } the next day a pike surmounted by a red bonnet was carried noiselessly through the garden, and did not remain there long." the princess de lamballe, who was living at the tuileries in the pavilion of flora, could see the pike thus carried by a passer. it may, perhaps, have been that belonging to one of the septembrists,--that on which her own head was to be placed. the _moniteur_, however, grew ecstatic over the fête. "there are plenty of others," it said, "who will describe the march of the triumphal cortège, the groups composing it, the car of liberty, conducted by fame, drawn by twenty superb horses, preceded by ravishing music which was sometimes listened to in religious silence and sometimes interrupted by wild, irregular dances whose very disorder was rendered more piquant by the fraternal union reigning in all hearts.... the people were there in all their might, and did not abuse it. there was not a weapon to repress excesses, and not an excess to be repressed." it concluded thus: "we say to the administration: give such festivals as these often. repeat this one every year on april ; let the feast of liberty be our spring festival; and let other civic solemnities signalize the return of the other seasons. in former days the people had none but those of their masters, and all that was accomplished by them was their depravity and abasement. give them some that shall be their own, and that will elevate their souls, develop their sensibilities, and fortify their courage. they { } will create, or, better, they have already created, a new people. popular festivals are the best education for the people." optimists, how will your illusions terminate? you who see nothing but an idyl in all this, can not you perceive that such ceremonies are the prelude to massacres, and that an odor of blood mingles with their perfumes? all who took part on either side of the heated controversy which preceded the ovation to the swiss of chateauvieux, will be pursued by fate. gouvion, who had sworn never again to set foot within the precincts of the assembly where the murderers of his brother triumphed, kept his word. on the very day of that shameful session he asked to be sent to the army of the north, and three months later was to be carried off by a cannon-ball. still more melancholy was to be the fate of pétion, who showed such complaisance toward the swiss on this occasion. he, once so popular that in he was asked to allow the ninth child, which a citizeness had just presented to her country, "to be baptized in his name, revered almost as much as that of the divinity"; he of whom some one said at that time, "for the same reason which would have made jesus a suitable mayor of jerusalem, pétion is a suitable mayor of paris; there is too striking a resemblance between them to be overlooked," was sadly to exclaim some months later: "i am one of the most notable examples of popular inconsistency.... for a long time i have said to myself and to my { } friends: the people will hate me still more than they have loved me. i can no longer either enter or depart from the place where we hold our sessions without being exposed to the grossest insults and the most seditious threats. how often have i not heard them say as i was passing: 'scoundrel! we will have your head!'" proscribed with the girondins, may , , he fled at first to normandy, and afterwards into the gironde, wandering from town to town, from field to field, and hiding for several months thirty feet under ground, in a sort of well; the poor people who showed him hospitality paid for it with their heads. ah! how disenchanted he must have been with that revolutionary policy of which he had been the enthusiastic promoter! how sad was the farewell to life signed by him and buzot: "now that it has been demonstrated that liberty is hopelessly lost; that the principles of morality and justice are trodden under foot; that there is nothing to choose between two despotisms,--that of the brigands who are tearing the vitals of france and that of foreign powers; that the nation has lost all its energy; that it lies at the feet of the tyrants by whom it is oppressed; that we can render no further service to our country; that, far from being able to give happiness to the beings we hold most dear, we shall bring down hatred, vengeance, and misfortune upon them, so long as we live,--we have resolved to quit life and be no longer witnesses of the slavery which is about to desolate our unhappy country." { } after ending with this cry of grief and indignation: "we devote the vile scoundrels who have destroyed liberty and plunged france into an abyss of evils to the scorn and indignation of all time," the two proscripts were found dead in a wheat-field about a league from saint-emilion. their bodies were half devoured by wolves. and how will andré chénier end? on the day of the swiss fête, the city where such a scandal took place seemed to him insupportable. for several days he sought refuge in the country where he could breathe a purer air beneath the blossoming trees. but contemplation of nature did not soothe him. running to meet danger, he returned and threw himself into the furnace, more ardent and indignant than before. with manly enthusiasm he exclaimed: "it is above all when the sacrifices which must be made to truth, liberty, and country are dangerous and difficult, that they are accompanied by inexpressible delights. it is in the midst of spying accusations, outrages, and proscriptions, it is in dungeons and on scaffolds, that virtue, probity, and constancy taste the pleasures of a proud and pure conscience." andré had a presentiment of his fate. he was to die on the same day and the same scaffold as his friend roucher, a few hours earlier than the moment when robespierre's condemnation would have saved them. it is thus that he was to pay with his life for his opposition to the fête of the swiss of chateauvieux, and collot d'herbois was avenged. { } but after the turn of the victims came that of the headsmen. the unlucky comedian who, pursuing even his comrades with his hatred, asked that "the head of the _comédie française_ should be guillotined and the rest transported," the impresario of the fête of the swiss galley slaves, the organizer of the lyons massacres, collot d'herbois, cursed by friends and enemies, was transported to guiana and died there in , just as he had lived, in an access of burning fever. [ ] the oath taken by the deputies of the third estate in the tennis-court of versailles, in . { } xii. the declaration of war. the wave of anarchy constantly rose higher, but the optimists, sheltering themselves, like pétion, in a beatific calm, obstinately closed their eyes and would not see it. abroad and at home there was such a series of shocks and agitations, of struggles and emotions, perils and troubles; things hurried on so fast, and the scenes of the drama were so varied and so violent, that what happened to-day was forgotten by the morrow. the noise of the fête of the swiss of chateauvieux had hardly ceased when the shouts of the multitude were heard saluting louis xvi., who had just declared war on austria. in reality, the king did not desire war, but the bellicose current had become irresistible. the court of vienna had shown itself intractable. it forbade the princes who owned possessions in lorraine and alsace to receive the indemnities offered by france in exchange for their feudal rights, and threatened to have the diet of ratisbonne annul any private treaties they might conclude concerning them. the electors of trèves, cologne, and mayence undisguisedly favored the levying of troops by the emigrant { } princes, and even paid subsidies toward their support. they refused to recognize the official ambassadors of louis xvi., while recognizing the plenipotentiaries of these princes. there was talk of holding a congress at aix-la-chapelle for the purpose of intimidating the national assembly. the successor of the emperor leopold, francis ii., who, before his election to the empire, had assumed the title of king of hungary and bohemia, displayed extremely martial sentiments. austria, which had sent forty thousand men to the low countries and twenty thousand to the rhine, had just signed a treaty of alliance with prussia, "to put an end to the troubles in france." dumouriez urgently demanded the court of vienna to explain itself. it finally sent the french ambassador, marquis de noailles, a dry, curt, and formal note, naming the only conditions on which peace could be preserved. these were: the re-establishment of the french monarchy on the bases of the royal declaration of june , , and, consequently, the restoration of the nobility and clergy as orders; the restitution of church property; the return of alsace to the german princes, with all their sovereign and feudal rights; and, finally, the surrender of avignon and the county of venaisson to the holy see. "in truth," says dumouriez in his memoirs, "if the viennese minister had slept through the entire thirty-three months that had elapsed since the royal séance, and had dictated this note on awaking { } without knowledge of what had happened, he could not have proposed conditions more incongruous with the progress of the revolution.... the new social compact was founded on the abolition of the orders and the equality of all citizens. the financial system, which alone could prevent bankruptcy, was founded on the creation of assignats. the assignats were hypothecated on the property of the clergy, now become the property of the nation, and the greater part of which had been already sold. the nation, therefore, could not accept these conditions except by violating its constitution, destroying property, ruining its purchasers, annulling its assignats, and declaring bankruptcy. could so humiliating an obedience be expected from a great nation, proud of having conquered its liberty? and that for the sake of placing itself once more under the yoke of nobles who, having abandoned their king himself, now threatened to re-enter their country with sword and flame and every scourge of vengeance?" the entire national assembly reasoned in the same way as dumouriez. a cry for war arose on all sides. the girondins saw in it the indispensable consecration of the revolution. the feuillants hoped that besides proving creditable to the government, it would accomplish the additional end of drawing away from paris and other great cities a multitude of turbulent men who, for lack of anything else to do, were disturbing public order. certain reactionists, stifling the sentiment of patriotism in their hearts, { } were equally anxious for war, in the secret hope that it would prove disastrous for the french army, and result in the re-establishment of the old régime. on the other hand, there were good citizens, inclined to optimism and judging others by themselves, who thought that when confronted with an enemy, all intestine dissensions would vanish as by enchantment, and that the new constitution, hallowed by victory and glory, would ensure the country a most brilliant destiny. ministers were unanimous, and enthusiasm universal. even if he had so desired, louis xvi. could no longer resist it. on april , , he went to the assembly. the hall was filled with a crowd which comprehended the importance and solemnity of the act about to be accomplished. according to dumouriez, the king was very majestic: "i come," he said, "in accordance with the terms of the constitution, formally to propose war against the king of hungary and bohemia." he afterwards paid the greatest attention to the report of the minister of foreign affairs, and seemed, by the motions of his head and hands, to approve it in every respect. he returned to the tuileries amidst general acclamations. war was unanimously decided on, and dumouriez went to the diplomatic committee in order to draw up the declaration. at ten in the evening the decree was brought in and carried to the king, who sanctioned it at once. thus commenced that gigantic war which france was to wage against all europe, and which ended, { } twenty-three years later, in the disaster of waterloo. how many battles, what suffering, and what a prodigious shedding of blood! and to attain what end? simply the point of departure; that is to say, in the political order, to constitutional monarchy, and in territory, to the boundaries of . what! to have filled europe with noise and renown; to have carried the standards of france from east to west, from north to south; to have camped victoriously in brussels, milan, venice, rome, naples, cairo, berlin, madrid, vienna, moscow; to have enlarged the borders of valor, heroism, and self-sacrifice in order to arrive, after so many efforts, just at the spot where the strife began? ah! how short-sighted is human wisdom, how deceitful the previsions of mortal man, how sterile the agitations of republics and monarchs! "assuredly!" says dumouriez, "if the emperor and the king of prussia could have foreseen that france was able to withstand all europe, they would not have meddled with her domestic quarrels; they would have treated the _émigrés_ not with confidence, but compassion; they would have responded frankly and without trickery to the minister's negotiation; the revolution would have been accomplished without cruelties; europe would have remained at peace, and france would be happy." what sadness underlies all history, and what disproportion there is between man's sacrifices and their results! the revolution was achieved. all necessary liberties had been conquered. privileges { } existed no longer. animated by excellent intentions, louis xvi. would have been the best of constitutional sovereigns, had his subjects possessed wisdom. why this long misunderstanding between him and his people? why, on one side, the insensate attitude of the _émigrés_, whose task seemed to be to justify the revolutionists; and why, on the other, those savage passions which seemed trying to justify the wrathful recriminations of coblentz? why that untimely intervention of austria which irritated french national sentiment and gave a political pretext to inexcusable violence, cruelty, and crime? inextricable confusion of false situations! multitudes asked themselves in what direction right and duty lay. a large contingent of the french nobility heartily desired the success of foreign armies. at coblentz a gathering of twenty-two thousand gentlemen hastened to the side of the seven bourbon princes: the comte de provence, the comte d'artois, the duc de berry, the duc d'angoulême, the prince de conde, the duc de bourbon, and the duc d'enghien. as m. de lamartine has said: "infidelity to the country called itself fidelity to the king. desertion called itself honor. fealty to the throne was the religion of the french nobility. to them the sovereignty of the people seemed an insolent dogma against which it was necessary to draw the sword under penalty of sharing the crime. there was real devotion in the act by which these men, young and { } old, abandoned their rank in the army, and the ties of country and family, and rushed into a foreign land to defend the white flag as common soldiers.... their country symbolized duty for the patriots; to the _émigrés_, duty meant the throne. one of these parties deceived itself concerning its duty, but both of them believed they were performing it." as to the unfortunate louis xvi., he suffered cruelly. it was like death to him to declare war against his nephew, and at certain moments he felt that this austrian army against which his troops contended might yet be his last resource. he could not even flatter himself that the sacrifice he had made of his sympathies and family feelings would be repaid by the love and confidence of his people. "we have no difficulty nowadays in comprehending," says m. geffroy very justly, "what pure patriotism there was in that young army of , which represented new france. but this army, formed in independence of the old regiments, was none the less, in the eyes of the queen, a veritable army of sedition. she thought of it as composed of the victors of the bastille, those whom mirabeau styled the greatest scoundrels of paris; the very rabble who came to versailles on the th of october. she believed they could be crushed by the first attack at the frontier, and that france and paris would be rid of them." the following reflection by m. geffroy is very judicious: "marie antoinette committed a double error, but honest men who had not the same { } overpowering motives as she, have committed it likewise. i do not allude merely to those frenchmen who, after april , remained in the ranks of the emigration, and who, apparently, did not suppose themselves to be betraying the true interests of their country. but look at m. de bouillé. he even accepted a command in the foreign army under gustavus iii. and yet m. de bouillé is an honest man who knows france and loves her ardently. observe, in his memoirs, his involuntary pride in our success, and how he shrugs his shoulders at the bluster of the prussian officers." it is not yet well understood what vigor, enthusiasm, and martial ardor animated that brave national army, which, according to the foreigners, was but a band of rioters, but which was suddenly to appear on the battle-field as a people of heroes. honor took refuge in the camps. it was there that men whom the jacobin club enraged, and who had no consolation for their patriotic grief but the virile emotions of combat, went to fight and die. why did not louis xvi. call to mind that he was the commander-in-chief of the army? ah! had he been a soldier, had he been accustomed to wear a uniform, to command, and, above all, to speak to his troops, how quickly he would have come to the end of his difficulties! count de vaublanc had good reason to say: "anything can be done with frenchmen if one knows how to animate and impress them with vehement ardor; otherwise, nothing need be expected.... never did { } a prince merit better the eternal rewards promised by religion to the true christian; and yet his example should forever teach kings that their conduct must be totally different from his. lacking the courage which acts, the most virtuous king cannot achieve his own safety." why did not louis xvi. go amongst his soldiers? victory would have given him a sceptre and a crown. while he still retained his sword, why did he leave it in the scabbard? why did he not remember that it might launch thunderbolts? on the contrary, louis xvi. hesitates, fumbles, temporizes. count de vaublanc says again: "this wretched time proves thoroughly that finesse is the most detestable means of conducting great affairs. nothing but finesse was opposed to the impetuous attacks of the jacobins. all was dissimulation; conversations, writings, measures; authority acted only by crooked ways. with a thousand means of safety, people were lost because they pushed prudence to excess, and extreme prudence always degenerates into despicable means. i was in every great crisis of the revolution, and i have always seen the same faults produce the same misfortunes. it is the same thing in revolution as in war; no matter how prudent a general may be, he must take some risk. otherwise it would be impossible to gain a single battle." ah! how true and how striking is that great saying of bossuet: "when god wills to overthrow empires, all is feeble and irregular in their designs." { } undecided and fickle, louis xvi. does not even know whether to desire the success or the failure of the austrian army. he has no plan, no steadiness of purpose. the secret mission he gives to mallet du pan is a fresh proof of the irresolution of his character and his policy. what is it he asks? to have the powers declare that they are making war against an anti-social faction, and not the french nation; that they are undertaking the defence of legitimate governments and of peoples against anarchy; that they will treat only with the king; that they shall demand perfect liberty for him; that they convoke a congress to which the _émigrés_ may be admitted as complainants, and where the general scheme of claims and reclamations shall be negotiated under the auspices and the guarantee of the great courts of europe. hesitating between austria and his own kingdom, the unhappy monarch attempts to continue that equivocal system, that see-saw policy in which he has succeeded so ill, and which constrains him to dissimulation, that last resource of the feeble. sent to germany with instructions written by louis xvi., with his own hand, mallet du pan recommends the sovereigns to be cautious in advancing into france, to observe the greatest prudence in dealing with the inhabitants of the invaded provinces, and to precede their arrival by a manifesto in which they declare conciliatory and pacific intentions. it follows that official ministers of the king did not possess his confidence and were not the interpreters of his mind. a { } sort of occult and mysterious government existed, with a diplomacy, secret funds, and agents abroad and at home. such a system, lacking all grandeur and sincerity, could accomplish nothing but catastrophes. meanwhile, the war had begun under the most painful conditions. the invasion of belgium, arranged for the end of april, failed miserably. near mons, biron's troops took to flight, threatening to fire on their officers, and crying: "we are betrayed!" at lille, general theobald dillon was massacred by his own soldiers. such news caused indescribable emotion in paris. popular mistrust and irritation reached their height. the different parties hurled reproaches and accusations in each other's face. the girondins, finding the national guard too conservative, demanded pikes for the men of the faubourgs who had no guns. the _sans-culottes_ enlisted. the army of assassins was organized. the only thing left to do before giving the signal for a riot was to obtain from the king a last concession,--the disbanding of his guard. { } xiii. the disbanding of the constitutional guard. louis xvi. had still some defenders, some heroes resolved to shed the last drop of their blood for their king. hence it was necessary to remove them from his person. what means of doing so could be found? calumny. fable on fable was spread among an always credulous public, imaginary conspiracies invented, and the wretched monarch constrained to deprive himself of his last resource, in order to deliver him, weak and disarmed, into the hands of his enemies. the constitution provided a guard for louis xvi. one third of it was composed of soldiers of the line, and the remainder of national guards, chosen by the departments themselves from among their best-formed, richest, and best-bred citizens. it was commanded by one of the greatest lords of the old régime, the duke de cossé-brissac. born in , the son of a marshal of france, the duke had been governor of paris, grand steward of france, and colonel of the hundred-switzers. he had never been willing to leave the king since the beginning of the revolution. when his regiment was { } disbanded he might have fled, and louis xvi. begged him to do so; but the heart of a subject so faithful had been deaf to the entreaties of the unfortunate sovereign. "sire," he had answered, "if i fly, they will say that i am guilty, and you will be considered my accomplice: my flight would be your accusation; i would rather die." and, in fact, he did die. he had a real devotion to the former mistress of louis xv., the countess du barry, and this latest conquest is not the least important of the favorite's adventures. probably count d'allonville exaggerates when, in his memoirs, he extols in madame du barry "that decency of tone, that nobility of manners, that bearing equally removed from pride and humility, from license and from prudery, that countenance which was enough to refute all the pamphlets." nevertheless, it is certain that the society of the duke de brissac inspired the former favorite with generous sentiments. after the october days, she took the wounded body-guards into her own house, and when the queen sent to thank her for it, she replied: "these wounded young men regret nothing except not having died for a princess so worthy of all homage as your majesty.... luciennes[ ] is yours, madame; did not your benevolence give it back to me? ... the late king, by a sort of presentiment, forced me to accept a thousand precious objects { } before sending me away from his person. i already had the honor of offering you this treasure in the time of the notables; i offer it again, madame, with eagerness. you have so many expenses to provide for, and so many favors to confer. permit me, i entreat you, to render to cæsar that which belongs to cæsar." an enthusiastic royalist, a gentleman of the old nobility, chivalrous and full of courtesy, bred in notions of romantic susceptibility like those of _clélie_ and _astrée_, the duke de brissac, like a knight-errant of former times, represented at the court of louis xvi. a whole past which was crumbling to decay. if the unhappy monarch had been a man of action, he would have turned to good advantage a guard commanded by such a champion. he could have made it the nucleus of resistance by grouping the swiss regiments and the well-inclined battalions of the national guard around it. unfortunately, there was nothing warlike in louis xvi. "among the deplorable causes which ruined him," says the count de vaublanc in his memoirs, "must be counted the wretched education which kept him apart from every sort of military action. i remember that in the early days of the consulate, after a review held on the place of the tuileries by bonaparte, when talking about this to m. suard, of the french academy, i said that bonaparte walked as if he were always ready to defend himself sword in hand. 'ah, well!' responded m. suard, naïvely, { } 'we used to think differently; we wanted the king to have nothing military about him, and never to wear a uniform.'" to this anecdote, m. de vaublanc adds another. "we had in ," he says, "a forcible proof of the despondency under which a royal soul, spoiled by a detestable education, can labor. m. de narbonne, the minister of war, with great difficulty induced the king to review three excellent battalions of the paris national guard. he was on foot, in silk breeches and white silk stockings, and wearing his hair in a black bag. after the review a notary, named chandon, i think, left the ranks and said to the king: 'sire, the national guard would be greatly honored to see your majesty in its uniform.' 'sire,' said m. de narbonne, at once, 'have the goodness to promise to do so. at the head of these three battalions of heroes you could destroy the jacobins' den.' after a minute's reflection, the king replied: 'i will inquire of my council whether the constitution permits me to wear the uniform of the national guard.'" louis xvi. allowed the last resources accorded by fortune to slip away, and elements which in other hands would have produced notable results, remained sterile in his. the constitutional guard, which according to regulation should have numbered eighteen hundred men, really amounted, says dumouriez, to six thousand fit for duty. the royalist element predominated in it. but a certain number of "false { } brethren" had found their way into the ranks, who managed by the aid of bribery to spy upon their officers, and made reports to the committee of public safety. undoubtedly the king's guards did not approve of all that was going on. but how could devoted royalists and men accustomed to discipline be expected to approve the fête of the swiss of chateauvieux, for example? how could they help being indignant when, while on duty at the tuileries, they heard the populace insult the royal family under the very windows of the palace? when they returned to their barracks at the military school, they expressed this indignation too forcibly, and their words, hawked about in all quarters by ill-will, were represented as the preliminary symptoms of a reactionary plot. a guard commanded by a duke de brissac was intolerable to the jacobins. their sole idea was to drive it from the tuileries, where its presence appeared to insure order,--a thing they held in utmost horror. a th of june would not have been possible with a constitutional guard, and ever since may, the th of june had been in course of preparation. its organizers had their plan completely laid already. an adroit rumor was started of a so-called plot, some saint-bartholomew or other, which they pretended was on foot against the patriots, and of which the École militaire was the centre. the white flag, which was to be the signal for the assassins to assemble, was said to be hidden there. pétion, the mayor of paris, { } under pretext of preventing troubles, sent municipal officers to make a search. they could not lay their hands on the white flag which was the pretended object of their visit, but they did find monarchical hymns and ballads, and counter-revolutionary writings. an unlucky incident still further increased suspicion. the famous countess de la motte had just published in london some new particulars concerning the affair of the necklace. in order to avert scandal, the queen had caused laporte, intendant of the civil list, to buy up the whole edition, and he had burned every copy of it at the manufactory of sèvres. that very evening the committee of surveillance were in possession of the fact that laporte had gone to sèvres with three unknown persons, and that thirty bales of paper had been put into the fire in his presence. there was at this time a great deal of talk concerning a pretended austrian committee, in which a complete plan of restoration by foreign aid was being elaborated. it was claimed that the papers burned at the manufactory were the archives of this committee, with which popular imagination was extremely busy. denunciations fell in showers. laporte and several others were summoned before the committee of surveillance. pétion declared that the people were surrounded by conspiracies. bazire demanded the disbanding of the king's guard, which, according to him, was made up of servants of the _émigrés_, and refractory priests. it was claimed { } that the soldiers, to whom the duke de brissac had given sabres with hilts representing a cock surmounted by a royal crown, used insulting language concerning the assembly and the nation in their barracks. they were said to rejoice in the reverses which the french troops had just sustained on the northern frontier, and it was added that they meant to march twenty leagues under a white flag to meet the austrians. the masses, always so easily deceived, were convinced that the conspiracy was on the brink of discovery. the national assembly took up the question, and a stormy debate on it occupied the evening session of may . "what will become of the individual liberty of citizens," cried m. daverhouté, "if the dominant party, merely by alleging suspicions, can decree the impeachment of all who displease it, and if the different parties, coming successively into power, overthrow, by means of this unchecked right of impeachment, both ministers and all functionaries by the torrent of their intrigues? in that case you would see proscriptions like those of marius and sylla." in fact, this was what the near future was about to show. vergniaud responded by evoking a souvenir of the prætorian guards of caligula and nero. at the close of his speech the assembly passed the following decree:-- "article . the existing hired guard of the king is disbanded, and will be replaced immediately in conformity with the laws. { } "art. . until the formation of the new guard, the national guard of paris will be on duty near the king's person, in the same manner as before the establishment of the king's guard." a discussion ensued on the subject of brissac's impeachment. the struggle between the two opposing parties was of unheard-of vivacity. one of the most courageous members of the right, m. calvet, gave free vent to his indignation. "the informer," said he, "is a scoundrel who makes a thrust with a poniard and hides himself; he was unknown at rome until the times of sejanus and tiberius; times, gentlemen, of which you remind me often." "to the abbey! to the abbey!" retorted the left, with fury. said guadet: "i demand that m. calvet should be sent to the abbey for three days, for having dared to say that the representatives of the french people remind him of the roman tiberius and sejanus." the motion was adopted, and the assembly decided that m. calvet should pass three days in prison. m. de jaucourt threatened to cudgel chabot, and the ex-friar, ascending the tribune, said: "i think it was very cowardly on the part of a colonel to offer to cane a capuchin." the assembly, having passed an order of the day concerning this incident, decreed that "there was reason for an accusation against m. cossé, styled brissac, and that his papers should be sealed up at once." the king and queen, awakened in the middle of the night by these tidings, besought brissac to make { } his escape, and provided him with the means. the duke refused, and instead of trying to assure his safety, sat down to write a long letter to madame du barry. at first louis xvi. wished to veto this decree, as was his duty, but his ministers dissuaded him. they reminded him of the october days, and the weak monarch, alarmed on account of his family, if not on his own, sacrificed his constitutional guard and also the brave servitor who commanded it. speaking to m. d'aubier, one of the ordinary gentlemen of the king's bedchamber, the queen said: "i tremble lest the king's guard should think the honor of the corps compromised by their disarmament."--"doubtless, madame, that corps would have preferred to die at the feet of your majesties."--"yes," replied the queen, "but the few partisans who still adhere to the king in the assembly counsel him to sanction the decree disbanding them, and to disregard their advice is to run the risk of losing them." while the queen was yet speaking, a man approached under pretence of asking alms. "you see," said she to m. d'aubier, "there is no place and no time when i am free from spies." the constitutional guard were sent as prisoners to the École militaire between a double file of national guards, and forced to surrender their weapons. by a sort of fatality louis xvi. was led to disarm himself, to spike his cannons, tear down his flags, and dismantle his fortresses. by dint of approaching too near the fatal declivity of concessions, { } he ended by losing even his dignity as man and king. he was paralyzed, annihilated by the assembly, which treated him like a hostage, a conquered man, and which struck down, one after another, the last defenders of the monarchy and of public order. the fate of the constitutional guard might well discourage honest men who only sought to devote themselves. how was it possible to remain faithful to a chief who was false to himself, who was more like a victim than a king? finding themselves unsupported by the tuileries, the royalists began to look across the frontier, and many men who would have flocked around an energetic monarch, fled from a feeble king and sorrowfully went to swell the ranks of the emigration. in spite of the advice of dumouriez, louis xvi. would not make use of his right to form another guard. he preferred to put himself in the hands of the national guard, who were his jailors rather than his servants. as to the duke de brissac, even the formality of an interrogatory was dispensed with, and he was sent before the superior court of orleans. when he bade adieu to louis xvi., the king said to him: "you are going to prison; i should be much more afflicted if you were not leaving me there myself." what was to be the fate of the loyal and devoted servant, thus sacrificed to his master's inexcusable weakness? he left the dungeons of orleans only to be transferred to versailles by the marseillais, and there, on september , , was assaulted by a { } furious throng surrounding the carriages containing the prisoners. the brave old man struggled long against the assassins, but, after losing two fingers and receiving several other wounds, he was killed by a sabre-thrust which broke his jaw, and his head was set on one of the spikes of the palace gate. [ ] the magnificent mansion built for madame du barry by louis xv., and restored to her after her banishment to meaux by marie antoinette. { } xiv. the sufferings of louis xvi. dissatisfied with men and things, dissatisfied with others and himself, the mind and heart of louis xvi. were the prey of moral tortures which left him no repose. he began to be ashamed of his concessions, and to repent of having accepted pusillanimous advice. why had he not succeeded in being a king? why had he garrisoned paris insufficiently ever since the outbreak of the revolution? why had he suffered the bastille to be taken, encouraged the emigration, and disbanded his bodyguards? why had he not opposed the first persecutions aimed at the church? why had he pretended to approve acts and ideas which horrified him? why, by resorting to deplorable equivocations which cast a shadow over his policy and his character, had he reduced his most devoted followers to doubt and despair? such thoughts as these assailed him like so many stings of conscience. the sentiments of monarchy and of military honor awoke in him once more, and he sounded with bitterness the whole depth of the abyss into which his irresolution had plunged him. in seeing what he was, he recalled sorrowfully { } what he had been, and comprehended by cruel experience what feebleness could make of a most christian king and eldest son of the church, an heir of louis xiv. he thought of the many brave men, victims of his political errors, who on his account had suffered exile and ruin; of the faithful royalists menaced, because of him, with prison and death. he thought of the incessantly repeated crimes, the massacres of the glacière, the impunity of the brigands of "headsman" jourdan, of brissac's incarceration. this is what it is, he said within himself, to have suffered religion to be persecuted and to have believed that, were the altar once overthrown, the throne might rest secure. he reproached himself bitterly for having sanctioned the civil organization of the clergy at the close of , and thus drawn upon himself the censure of the sovereign pontiff. he wanted to be done with concessions, but he understood perfectly that it was too late now to resist, and that he was irrevocably lost in consequence of events undesired and unforeseen. what was to be done? how could he sail against the stream? where find a point of vantage? ought he to take violent measures? if the unhappy king had been alone, perhaps he might have tried to do so. but he feared to endanger his wife and children by thus acting. as if to push the wretched monarch to extremities, the national assembly passed two decrees which struck him to the heart. according to the first of { } these, voted may , any ecclesiastic having refused the oath to the civil constitution of the clergy, could be transported at the simple request of twenty citizens of the canton in which he resided. according to the second, voted june , a camp of twenty thousand federates, recruited from every canton of the realm, were to be assembled before paris, in order, as was said in one of the preambles, "to take every hope from the enemies of the common weal who are scheming in the interior." they had counted too much on the king's patience. he could not resolve to sanction the two decrees, and banish the ecclesiastics whose behavior he honored. dumouriez afflicted him still further, when, in entreating him to yield, he asked why he had sanctioned, at the close of , the decree obliging the clergy to take oath to the civil constitution of the clergy. "sire," said he, "you sanctioned the decree for the priests' oath, and it is to that your veto must be applied. if i had been one of your counsellors at the time, i would, at the risk of my life, have advised you to refuse your sanction. now my opinion is that having, as i dare to say, committed the fault of approving this decree, which has produced enormous evils, your veto, if you apply it to the second decree, which may arrest the deluge of blood ready to flow, will burden your conscience with all the crimes to which the people are tending." never had a sovereign's conscience been a prey to similar perplexities. louis xvi. seemed crushed beneath an irresistible { } fatality. the tuileries, haunted night and day by the spectre of charles i., assumed a dismal air. at this period a sort of stupor characterized the countenance, the gait, and even the silence of the future victim of january . he no longer spoke; one might say he no longer thought. he seemed prostrated, petrified. a rumor got about that he had become almost imbecile through care and trouble, so much so that he did not recognize his son, but on seeing him approach, had asked: "what child is that?" it was added that while out walking he caught sight of the steeple of saint denis from the top of the hill, and cried out: "that is where i shall be on my birthday." he had been so calumniated, so misunderstood, so outraged, that not merely his crown but his existence had become an intolerable burden to him. his throne and his life alike disgusted him. he was no longer a king, but only the ghost of one. madame campan thus describes him: "at this period the king fell into a discouragement amounting to physical prostration. for ten days together he never uttered a word, even in the bosom of his family, except when the game of backgammon, which he played with madame elisabeth after dinner, obliged him to pronounce some indispensable words. the queen drew him out of this condition, so fatal at a critical time when every minute may necessitate action, by throwing herself at his feet and addressing him sometimes in words intended only to frighten him, { } and at others expressing her affection for him. she demanded, also, what he owed to his family, and went so far as to say that if they must perish, it ought to be with honor, and without waiting to be strangled one after another on the floor of their apartment." while louis xvi. assisted unmoved, not merely like charles v. at his own obsequies, but at those of royalty, the blood of maria theresa was boiling in the veins of marie antoinette. the scenes she had witnessed sometimes extorted sobs and cries of anguish from her. her pride revolted at seeing the royal mantle, crown, and sceptre dragged through the mire. she wanted to struggle to the last, to hope against all hope, to cling to the last chances of safety like a shipwrecked sailor to the fragments of his ship. who could say? she might find defenders where she least expected them. it was for this reason that she wished to meet dumouriez, as she had met mirabeau and barnave. dumouriez has preserved the details of this interview in his memoirs. how times had changed! secrecy was almost necessary if one sought the honor of speaking with the queen of france. even to salute her was to expose one's self to the suspicion of belonging to the pretended austrian committee which was the perpetual object of popular invective. when louis xvi. told dumouriez that the queen desired a private interview with him, the minister was not at all well pleased. he thought it a useless step which might be misinterpreted by all parties. however, { } he must needs obey. he had received an order to go down to the queen an hour before the meeting of the council. that it might be the sooner over, he took the precaution of going half an hour late to this perilous rendezvous. he had been presented to marie antoinette on the day of his nomination as minister. she had then addressed him several words, asking him to serve the king well, and he had replied with a respectful phrase. since then he had not seen her. when he entered her room, he found the queen alone, very much flushed, and pacing to and fro in an agitation which promised a lively interview. she approached him with an air of majestic irritation: "sir!" she exclaimed, "you are all-powerful at this moment, but it is by the favor of the people, who soon break their idols. your existence depends upon your conduct." dumouriez insisted on the necessity of scrupulously respecting the constitution, which marie antoinette was unwilling to do. "it will not last," she said, raising her voice; "take care of yourself!"--"madame," replied the minister, "i am past fifty; i have encountered many perils during my life, and in entering the ministry, i thoroughly understood that responsibility was not the greatest of my dangers."--"nothing was wanting but to calumniate me," cried the queen, tears flowing from her eyes; "you seem to think me capable of having you assassinated." agitated as greatly as the sovereign, "god preserve me," said dumouriez, "from offering you so { } grievous an offence! your majesty's character is great and noble. you have given proofs of it which i admire and which have attached me to you." marie antoinette grew calmer. "believe me, madame," went on the minister; "i have no interest in deceiving you, and i abhor anarchy and crime as much as you do.... this is not, as you seem to think, a popular and transitory movement. it is the almost unanimous insurrection of a great nation against inveterate abuses. the conflagration is stirred up by great parties, and there are scoundrels and fools in all of them. i behold nothing in the revolution but the king and the nation as a whole; all that tends to separate them leads to their mutual ruin; i am doing all i can to reunite them, and it is your part to aid me. if i am an obstacle to your designs, say so, and i will at once offer my resignation to the king, and go into a corner to bewail the fate of my country and your own." the interview ended amicably. the queen and the minister talked over the different factions. dumouriez spoke to marie antoinette of the faults and crimes of each; he tried to convince her that she was misled by those who surrounded her, and the queen appeared to be convinced. when he was obliged to call her attention to the clock, as the hour for the council had arrived, she dismissed him most affably. if we may credit madame campan, who has also given an account of this interview, the impression marie antoinette received from it was scarcely a { } good one. "one day," says madame campan, "i found the queen extremely troubled. she said she no longer knew where she stood; whether the jacobin chiefs were making overtures to her through dumouriez, or dumouriez, abandoning the jacobins, was acting on his own account; that she had given him an audience; that, when alone with her, he had fallen at her feet and said that although he had pulled the red bonnet down to his ears, yet he was not and could not be a jacobin; that the revolution had been allowed to fall into the hands of a rabble of disorganizers who, seeking only for pillage, were capable of everything, and could furnish the assembly with a formidable army, ready to undermine the support of a throne already too much shaken. while speaking with extreme warmth, he had seized the queen's hand, and, kissing it with transport, cried, 'permit yourself to be saved!' the queen said to me that the protestations of a traitor could not be believed, and that his entire conduct was so well known that undoubtedly the wisest thing would be not to trust him." meantime, the danger constantly increased. even the gates of the tuileries were no longer fastened. hawkers of vile pamphlets and sanguinary satires on the queen cried their infamous wares under the very windows of the palace; and the national assembly, sitting close beside, and hearing them--the national assembly, terrorized by jacobins and pikemen--dared not even censure such baseness. on june , { } a deputy named ribes, till then unknown, cited from the tribune the titles of the following articles in fréron's journal, _l'orateur du peuple_: "the crowned porcupine, a constitutional animal who behaves unconstitutionally."--"crimes of m. capet since the revolution."--"decree to be passed forbidding the queen to sleep with the king."--"the royal tigress, separated from her worthy spouse, to serve as a hostage." "rouse up!" cried the indignant deputy. "there is still time. join with me in proclaiming war on traitors and justice for the seditious, and the country is safe!" ribes preached in the desert. the assembly shrugged their shoulders and treated him as a fool. june , another deputy, m. delsaux, said from the tribune: "last evening, at half-past seven, passing through the tuileries, i saw an orator standing on a chair and speaking with great vehemence. mixing with the crowd, i heard him read a libel strongly inciting to the king's assassination. this libel is called, 'the fall of the idol of the french,' and these sentences occur in it: 'this monster employs his power and his treasures to hinder our regeneration. a new charles ix., he wishes to bring desolation and death to france. go, cruel wretch; thy crimes shall have an end. damiens was less guilty. he was punished by most horrible tortures for having desired to deliver france from a monster. and thou, whose offences are twenty-five million times greater, art left unpunished! but tremble, tyrant; there is a scævola amongst us.'" { } the assembly listened, but took no measures. no further restraint was placed either on moral or material disorder. anarchy showed a nameless epileptic ferocity. never had the press been more furious or licentious. it was a torrent of mud and gall and blood. the limits of invective and insult were driven further back. "you see that i am annoyed," said the queen to dumouriez in louis xvi.'s presence; "i dare not go to the window looking into the garden. last evening, needing a breath of air, i showed myself at the window facing the courtyard. a gunner belonging to the guard apostrophized me in an insulting way, and added: 'what pleasure it would give me to have your head on the end of my bayonet!' in that frightful garden a man standing on a chair reads out horrors against us on one side, and on the other may be seen a soldier or a priest whom they are dragging through a pond, and crushing with blows and insults. meantime, others are flying balloons or quietly strolling about. ah! what a place! what a people!" { } xv. roland's dismissal from office. in the ministry, as elsewhere, discord reigned. at first, the ministers had seemed to be of one mind. they dined at each other's houses four times a week, on the days when there was a meeting of the council. friday was roland's day for receiving his colleagues at his table, where his wife presided and perorated. "these dinners," says etienne dumont, "were often remarkable for their gaiety, of which no situation can deprive frenchmen when they meet in society, and which was natural to men contented with themselves and flattered by their elevation. the future was hidden from them by the present. the cares of the ministry were forgotten. they seated themselves in their dwellings as if they were to abide there forever." this sort of political honeymoon could not last very long. things presently began to change for the worse. dumouriez tired very soon of madame roland's pretensions; she wanted to know, see, and direct everything, and he persisted in refusing to transform himself into a puppet whose strings were to be pulled by this woman and the girondins. madame roland, who { } posed as a puritan, caused remonstrances to be addressed to dumouriez on the subject of some more or less suspicious affairs, said to have been negotiated by bonne-carrère, the director at the ministry of foreign affairs, by which madame de beauvert was supposed to have gained large sums. the wife of the minister of the interior had a grudge against the favorite of the minister of foreign affairs. "she is dumouriez's mistress," said she; "she lives in his house and does the honors at his table, to the great scandal of sensible men, who are friendly to good morals and liberty. for this license on the part of a public man charged with state affairs marks too plainly his contempt for decorum; and madame de beauvert, rivarol's sister, very well and very unfavorably known, is surrounded by the tools of aristocracy, unworthy in all respects." one evening, after dinner, roland, "with the gravity belonging to his age and character," as his wife says, gave a lecture on morality to the minister of foreign affairs apropos of this matter. at first dumouriez made jesting replies, but afterwards showed temper and appeared displeased with his entertainers. thereafter he seldom visited the ministry of the interior. reflecting on this, madame roland said to her husband: "though not a good judge of intrigue, i think worldly wisdom would dictate that the hour has come for getting rid of dumouriez, if we wish to avoid being ruined by him. i know very well that you would be unwilling to lower yourself to such an { } action; and yet it is plain that dumouriez must be seeking to disembarrass himself of those whose censure has offended him. when one undertakes to preach, and does so in vain, he must either punish or expect to be molested." thenceforward, madame roland formed a distinct group within the ministry, composed of her husband, clavière, and servan, who had just replaced de grave as minister of war. while dumouriez, lacoste, and duranton (whom louis xvi. called "the good duranton") allowed themselves to be affected by the king's goodness, and sincerely wished to save him, their three colleagues, inspired by the spiteful madame roland, had but one idea: to destroy him. "roland, clavière, and servan," says dumouriez in his memoirs, "no longer observed any moderation, not merely with their colleagues, but with the king himself. at every meeting of the council they abused the mildness of this prince, in order to mortify and kill him with pin-pricks." it was servan who proposed forming a camp of twenty thousand federates around paris. he thought it would be a sort of central revolutionary army, analogous to that english parliamentary army under command of cromwell, which had brought charles i. to the scaffold. "servan, a very wicked man and most inimical to the king," says dumouriez again, "took the notion to write to the president of the assembly, without consulting his colleagues, and propose a decree for assembling an army of twenty { } thousand men around paris. this was at the time when the girondin faction was at the height of its power, having the jacobins at their command, and governing paris through pétion. they wanted to destroy the feuillants, perhaps at the sword's point, to put down the court, and probably to begin putting their republican projects into execution. thus it was this faction which brought to paris the federates who ended by causing every one of them to perish on the scaffold after making louis xvi. ascend it." dumouriez was indignant that the minister of war should have taken it on himself to propose such a decree without even mentioning it to the sovereign. the dispute on this matter was so violent that, but for the presence of the king, the meeting of the council might have come to a bloody close. louis xvi., deeply grieved by such scandals, resolved to dismiss the three ministers, who, instead of supporting him, were merely conspirators who had sworn his ruin. the anguish of the unhappy monarch had reached its height. four councils were held without his returning the decrees submitted to him for consideration. the national assembly grew impatient. the jacobins were in a rage. at last the king concluded to take up in the council the decree relative to the camp of twenty thousand federates. "i think," said dumouriez, "that the decree is dangerous to the nation, the king, the national assembly, and above all to its authors, whose chastisement it { } will turn out to be; and yet, sire, it is my opinion that you cannot refuse it. it was proposed by profound malice, debated with fury, and decreed with enthusiasm; everybody is blinded. if you veto it, it will none the less be passed." the hesitation of louis xvi. redoubled. as to the decree concerning the clergy, he declared that he would never sanction it. this was the only time that dumouriez ever saw "the character of this gentle soul somewhat changed for the worse." meanwhile, madame roland, more impatient and vindictive than ever, wrote the famous letter supposed to issue from her husband, which was to echo in the ears of royalty like a funeral knell. she says of it:-- "the letter was written at one stroke, like nearly all matters of the sort which i have done; for, to feel the necessity, the fitness of a thing, to apprehend its good effect, to desire to produce it, and to give form to the object from which this effect should result, was to me but a single operation." this letter, a veritable arraignment of the king, was much more like a club speech or a newspaper article than a letter from a minister of state to his sovereign. such sentences as these occur in it: "sire, the existing state of things in france cannot long continue; it is a crisis whose violence is attaining its highest point; it must end by an outbreak which should interest your majesty as seriously as it affects the entire kingdom.... it is no longer possible to draw back. the revolution is { } accomplished in men's minds; it will end in blood and be cemented by blood if wisdom does not avert the evils which it is still possible to prevent.... yet a little more delay, and the afflicted people will behold in their king the friend and accomplice of conspirators. just heaven! hast thou stricken with blindness the powerful of this earth, and will they never heed other counsels than those which drag them to destruction! i know that the austere language of truth is rarely welcomed near the throne; i know, also, that it is because it so rarely obtains a hearing there that revolutions become necessary; i know, above all, that i am bound to employ it to your majesty, not merely as a citizen submissive to the law, but as a minister honored with your confidence, or vested with functions which imply this." the letter also contained a defence of the two decrees, and plainly threatened louis xvi., should he veto them, with the horrors of a civil war which would develop "that sombre energy, mother of virtues and of crimes, which is always fatal to those who have evoked it!" was not madame roland here announcing the september massacres, and the heinous crimes of which she herself was speedily to become one of the most celebrated victims? at first roland sent this letter to the king, with a promise that it should always remain a secret between them. but, incited by the vanity of his wife, who was incessantly urging him on to notoriety and display, roland did not keep this promise. he read { } the letter at the next meeting of the council, june . "the king," says dumouriez, "listened to this impudent diatribe with admirable patience, and said with the greatest coolness: 'm. roland, you had already sent me your letter; it was unnecessary to read it to the council, as it was to remain a secret between ourselves.'" dumouriez was summoned to the palace the following morning, june . he found the king in his own room, accompanied by the queen. "do you think, monsieur," said marie antoinette, "that the king ought to submit any longer to the threats and insolence of roland and the knavery of servan and clavière?"--"no, madame," he replied; "i am indignant at them; i admire the king's patience, and i venture to ask him to make an entire change in his ministry. let him dismiss us on the spot, and appoint men belonging to neither party."--"that is not my intention," said louis xvi. "i wish you to remain, as well as lacoste and that good man, duranton. do me the service of ridding me of these three factious and insolent persons, for my patience is exhausted."--"it is a dangerous matter, sire, but i will do it." as a condition of remaining in the ministry, dumouriez exacted the sanction of the two decrees. there was another ministerial council the same evening. roland, servan, and clavière were more insolent and acrimonious than usual. louis xvi. closed the session with mingled dissatisfaction and dignity. at eight o'clock that evening (june ), servan, { } the minister of war, went to madame roland and said: "congratulate me! i have been turned out."--"i am much piqued," replied she, "that you should be the first to receive that honor, but i hope it will not be long before it will be decreed to my husband also." madame roland's prayer was granted. the virtuous minister of the interior received his letters of dismissal the next morning. as duranton, who delivered it at the ministry of justice, was slowly drawing it from his pocket,-- "you make us wait for our liberty," said roland; and, taking the letter, he added, "in reality that is what it is." then he went home to his wife to announce to her that he was no longer minister. madame roland, with the instinct of hatred, saw at once how to obtain revenge. "one thing remains to be done," she cried; "we must be the first to communicate the news to the assembly, sending them at the same time a copy of the letter to the king which must have caused it." this idea pleased the ex-minister highly, and he put it instantly into execution. "i was conscious," says the irascible egeria of the girondins in her memoirs, "of all the effects this might produce, and i was not deceived; my double object was attained, and both utility and glory attended the retirement of my husband. i had not been proud of his entering the ministry, but i was of his leaving it." thenceforward madame roland was to be the most indefatigable cause of the revolution, and louis xvi. was to learn by experience what the vengeance of a woman can accomplish. { } xvi. a three days' ministry. dumouriez had taken the portfolio of war. he kept it three days only. but during those three days what activity! what excitement! more than fifteen hundred signatures affixed, instructions sent to all the generals, a most tumultuous session of the national assembly, a last effort to induce louis xvi. to make further concessions, a resignation which was to be the signal for catastrophes. how the scenes of the drama multiply! how the dénouement is accelerated! the session at which dumouriez was to appear for the first time as minister of war could not fail to be singular. it took place june , , and from ten o'clock in the morning all the galleries had been crowded. the jacobins had filled them with their satellites. the girondins had prepared a dramatic surprise. the three ex-ministers were to be brought into the chamber under pretext of explaining the causes of their dismissal. it was agreed that they should be received as victims of the aristocracy and martyrs of the revolution. roland's letter--say, rather, his wife's letter--to louis xvi. was read to { } the assembly and frequently interrupted by loud bursts of applause. just as it was finished, and some one was demanding that it should be sent to all the eighty-three departments, dumouriez entered the hall. murmurs and hisses arose on all sides. the assembly voted the despatch of the letter to the departments. a deputy exclaimed: "it will be a famous document in the history of the revolution and of the ministers." the assembly went on to declare that roland was followed by the regrets of the nation. then dumouriez ascended the tribune and read a message in which m. lafayette announced the death of m. de gouvion. he had been major-general of the national guard, and, having quitted the assembly rather than be present at the triumph of the swiss of chateauvieux, had met his death bravely in the army of the north. "a cannon-ball," said the message, "has terminated a virtuous life." the assembly was affected, and voted complimentary condolences to the father of the heroic officer. afterwards, dumouriez read his report on military affairs. it was a long criticism on the legislators who had ordered a new levy of troops before providing the existing corps with their full complements; on the muster-masters, the standing committees, and the market-contractors, who were piling up abuses. dumouriez complained of everything; he reproached the factions, and insisted on the consideration due to ministers. guadet thundered out: "do you hear him? he already thinks himself so { } sure of power that he takes it on him to give us advice."--"and why not?" resumed the minister, turning toward the side of the mountain.[ ] this bold response astonished the most furious. some one said: "the document is not signed. let him sign it! let him sign it!" dumouriez called for pen and ink, signed his memoir, and went to lay it on the desk. then he slowly crossed the hall and went quietly out by the door beneath the mountain, with a haughty glance at his adversaries. his martial attitude disconcerted them. the shouts and hootings ceased, and complete silence ensued. on leaving the assembly, dumouriez was surrounded by a group of persons before the door of the feuillants, but their faces displayed no signs of anger toward him. as soon as he quitted the assembly, his enemies, no longer intimidated by his presence, redoubled their attacks. three or four deputies left the chamber, and making their way to him through the crowd, said: "they are raising the devil inside; they would like to send you to orleans." (it was there the duke de brissac was imprisoned and the superior court held its sessions.) "so much the better," replied dumouriez; "i would take the baths, drink butter-milk, and rest myself." this sally amused the crowd, and the minister as he entered the tuileries garden, said to the deputies who followed him: "it will be a mistake for my enemies to have { } my memoir printed, for it will bring all good citizens back to me. at present, being drunk and crazy, you have just extolled roland's infamous perfidy to the skies." then he went to the palace. louis xvi. complimented him on his firmness, but absolutely refused to sanction the decree against the priests. far from ameliorating, the situation continued to grow worse. pétion's emissaries stirred up the inhabitants of the faubourgs. that evening dumouriez sent a letter to the king announcing that a riot was apprehended. louis xvi. suspected that the minister was lying, and wrote to him: "do not believe, monsieur, that any one can succeed in frightening me by threats; my resolution is taken." dumouriez had based his entire scheme on the hypothesis that the decree concerning the priests would be accepted by the king. from the moment that louis xvi. rejected it, dumouriez no longer hoped to remain in the ministry. he wrote again, imploring the sovereign to give it his sanction, and announcing that, in case of his refusal, the ministers would all feel obliged to retire. the next day, june , the king received them in his chamber. "are you still," said he to dumouriez, "in the same sentiments expressed in your letter last evening?"--"yes, sire, if your majesty will not permit yourself to be moved by our fidelity and attachment."--"very well," replied louis xvi., with a gloomy air, "since your decision is made, i accept your resignation and will provide for it." dumouriez was no { } longer a minister. in his memoirs he describes himself as much affected, "not on account of quitting a dangerous post, which simply made his existence disturbed and painful, but because he saw all his trouble thrown away, and the king handed over to the fury of cruel enemies and the criminal indiscretion of false friends." at bottom, dumouriez inspired nobody with confidence. he belonged to no party, and no one knew his opinions. he had leaned on both jacobins and girondins, while at the same time he was inspiring certain hopes in the feuillants, and flattering the king, to whom he promised signs and wonders. too revolutionary for the conservatives and too conservative for the revolutionists, he had tried a see-saw policy which would no longer answer. it became indispensable to make a choice. it was impossible to please both the jacobins and the court. and yet dumouriez was a man of resources, and it is much to be regretted, on the king's account, that no better understanding could be arrived at between them. more successfully than any one else, dumouriez might have resorted to bold measures and called in at this time the intervention of the army, as he did several years later. he loved money and rank; royalty still excited a great prestige over him, and he had used the revolution as a means, not as an end. could louis xvi. have pretended patience for a few days longer, perhaps he might have extricated { } himself from difficulties which, though grave, were still not insoluble. he did not choose his hour for resistance wisely. it was either too late or too soon. the dismission of dumouriez was a blunder. at what moment did louis xvi. elect to deprive himself of his minister's aid? that very one when, attacked by the girondins, exasperated by roland's conduct, and disgusted with the progress of anarchy, the force of circumstances was about to toss dumouriez back to the side of the reactionists. the camp of twenty thousand men, if confided to safe hands, and secret service money judiciously employed, might have become the nucleus of a monarchical resistance. lafayette and his partisans were becoming conservative, and between him and dumouriez agreement was not impossible. louis xvi. was in too great a hurry. his conscience revolted at an unfortunate moment. why, if he was bent on this veto, so just, so honest, but so ill-timed, had he freely made so many concessions which thus became inexplicable? in rejecting the offers of dumouriez, the queen possibly deprived herself of her only remaining support. he who saved france in the passes of argonne might, had he gained the entire confidence of louis xvi. and marie antoinette, have saved the king and royalty. dumouriez had a final interview with louis xvi., june . the king received him in his chamber. he had resumed his kindly air, and when the ex-minister had shown him the accounts of the last { } fortnight, he complimented him on their clearness. afterwards, the following conversation took place: "then you are going to join luckner's army?"--"yes, sire, i leave this frightful city with delight; i have but one regret; you are in danger here."--"yes, that is certain."--"well, sire, you can no longer fancy that i have any personal interest to consult in talking with you; once having left your council, i shall never again approach you; it is through fidelity and the purest attachment that i dare once more entreat you, by your love for your country, your safety and that of your crown, by your august spouse and your interesting children, not to persist in the fatal resolution of vetoing the two decrees. this persistence will do no good, and you will ruin yourself by it."--"don't say any more about it; my decision is made."--"ah! sire, you said the same thing when, in this very room, and in presence of the queen, you gave me your word to sanction them."--"i was wrong, and i repent of it."--"sire, i shall never see you again; pardon my frankness; i am fifty-three, and i have some experience. it was not then that you were wrong, but now. your conscience is abused concerning this decree against the priests; you are being forced into civil war; you are helpless, and you will be overthrown, and history, though it may pity you, will reproach you with having caused all the misfortunes of france. on your account, i fear your friends still more than your enemies."--"god is my witness { } that i wish for nothing but the welfare of france."--"i do not doubt it, sire; but you will have to account to god, not solely for the purity but also for the enlightened execution of your intentions. you expect to save religion, and you destroy it. the priests will be massacred and your crown torn from you. perhaps even your wife, your children..." emotion prevented dumouriez from going on. tears stood in his eyes. he kissed the hand of louis xvi. respectfully. the king wept also, and for a moment both were silent. "sire," resumed dumouriez, "if all frenchmen knew you as well as i do, our woes would soon be ended. do you desire the welfare of france? very well! that demands the sacrifice of your scruples ... you are still master of your fate. your soul is guiltless; believe a man exempt from passion and prejudice, and who has always told you the truth."--"i expect my death," replied louis xvi. sadly, "and i forgive them for it in advance. i thank you for your sensibility. you have served me well; i esteem you, and if a happier time shall ever come, i will prove it to you." with these words the king rose sadly, and went to a window at the end of the apartment. dumouriez gathered up his papers slowly, in order to gain time to compose his features; he was unwilling to let his emotion become evident to the persons at the door as he went out. "adieu," said the king kindly, "and be happy!" as he was leaving, he met his friend laporte, intendant of the civil list. the two, who were meeting { } for the last time, went into another room and closed the door. "you advised me to resign," said laporte, "and i meant to do so, but i have changed my mind. my master is in danger, and i will share his fate."--"if i were in the personal service of the king, as you are," replied dumouriez, "i would think and act the same; i esteem your devotion, and love you the more for it; each of us is faithful in his own way; you, to louis; i, to the king of the french. may both of us felicitate him some day on his happiness!" then the two friends separated, after embracing each other with tears. the sole thought of dumouriez now was to escape from the city where he had witnessed so many intrigues and been so often deceived. he was very sorrowful at heart. ordinarily so gay, so brilliant, so full of gallic and _rabelaisian_ wit, power had made him melancholy. his ministerial life left on him an abiding impression of bitterness and repugnance. "one needs," he has said, "either a patriotism equal to any test, or else an insatiable ambition, to aspire in any way whatever after those difficult positions where one is surrounded with snares and calumnies. one learns only too soon that men are not worth the trouble one takes to govern them." june , he wrote to the assembly, asking an authorization to repair to the army of the north. "i have spent thirty-six years in military and diplomatic service, and have twenty-two wounds," said he in this letter; "i envy the fate of the virtuous gouvion, and should { } esteem myself happy if a cannon-ball could put an end to all differences concerning me." he never again returned either to the palace, the assembly, or any other place where he might encounter either ministers, deputies, or persons belonging to the court. he started for the army, june , regarding it as "the only asylum where an honest man might still be safe. at least, death presents itself there under the attractive aspect of glory." he left in the capital "consternation, suspicion, hatred, which pierced through the frivolity of the wretched parisians." with an intuition worthy of a man of genius, he foresaw the vicious circle about to be described by french history, and divined that by plunging into license men return inevitably to servitude, because "it is impossible to sustain liberty with an absurd government, founded on barbarity, terror, and the subversion of every principle necessary to the maintenance of human society." two years later, in , he wrote in his memoirs: "the serpent will recoil upon itself. his tail, which is anarchy, will re-enter his throat, which is despotism." [ ] the advanced republican party in the assembly. { } xvii. the prologue to june twentieth. on retiring from the ministry, dumouriez left his successors a burden far too heavy for their shoulders, and under which they were to succumb. the new ministers, lajard, terrier de montciel, and chambonas, were almost unknown men who had no definite, decided opinions, and offered no resistance to disorder: for that matter, they had no means of doing so. the political system then in power had left paris a helpless prey to sedition. by the new laws, the executive power could take no direct action looking to the preservation of public order in any french commune. any minister or departmental administration that should adopt a police regulation or give a commander to armed forces, would be guilty of betraying a trust. the power to prevent or repress disorder belonged exclusively to the municipal authority, which, in paris, was composed of a mayor, sixteen administrators, thirty-two municipal councillors, a council-general of ninety-six notables, an attorney-general and his two substitutes. this body of members was the redoubtable power known as the commune of paris. it was not { } composed entirely of seditious persons, and in the national guard, also, there were still battalions fervently devoted to the constitutional monarchy. but pétion was mayor of paris; manuel, the attorney-general, and danton his substitute. seditious movements were sure to find instigators and accomplices in these three men. moreover, the insurrection was regularly organized. it had its muster-rolls, its officers, sergeants, soldiers; its strategy and plans of battle. it utilized wineshops as guard-houses, the faubourgs as barracks, the red bonnet and the _carmagnole_, or revolutionary jacket, as a uniform. its agitators distributed wine, beer, and brandy gratuitously. the jacobins or the cordeliers had but to give the signal for a riot, and a riot sprang out of the ground. the mine was loaded; the only question was when to fire the train. the girondins were of one mind with the jacobins. exasperated by the dismissal of three ministers who shared their opinions, they wanted to intimidate the court by means of a popular tumult, and thus force the unhappy sovereign to sanction the two decrees, concerning the deportation of priests and the camp of twenty thousand men. the populace already manifested their restlessness by threats and strange rumors. at the jacobin club the most violent propositions were mooted. some wanted to establish a minority, on the ground of the king's mental alienation; some, to send the queen back to austria; the more moderate talked of suppressing the army, { } dismissing the staff-officers of the national guard, depriving the king of the right of veto, and electing a constituent assembly. revolutionary conventicles multiplied beyond all measure. the division of paris into forty-eight sections became an exhaustless source of confusion. the assembly of each section transformed itself into a club. meanwhile, the moderate party rested all its hopes on lafayette, who was friendly not only to liberty, but to order. he considered himself the founder of the new monarchy, of constitutional royalty; but, for that very reason, he felt that he had duties toward the king. despising the reactionists, whose hopes were more or less enlisted on behalf of the foreign armies, he also detested the jacobins who were dishonoring and compromising the new order of things. he expresses both sentiments in a letter addressed to the national assembly, and written from the intrenched camp of maubeuge, june , , the fourth year of liberty: "can you conceal from yourselves," he says in it, "that a faction, and to use plain terms, the jacobin faction, has caused all these disorders? i make the accusation boldly. organized like a separate empire, with its capital and its affiliations blindly directed by certain ambitious chiefs, this sect forms a distinct body in the midst of the french people, whose powers it usurps by subjugating its representatives and agents. in its public meetings, attachment to the laws is named aristocracy, and disobedience to them patriotism; there the { } assassins of desilles are received in triumph, and jourdan's insensate clamor finds panegyrists; there the story of the assassinations which defiled the city of metz is still greeted with infernal applause." lafayette puts himself courageously forward in his letter: "as to me, gentlemen, who espoused the american cause at the very time when the ambassadors assured me it was lost; who, from that period, devoted myself to a persistent defence of the liberty and sovereignty of peoples; who, on june , , in presenting a declaration of rights to my country, dared to say, 'for a nation to be free, all that is necessary is that it shall will to be so,' i come to-day, full of confidence in the justice of our cause, of scorn for the cowards who desert it, and of indignation against the traitors who would sully it; i come to declare that the french nation, if it be not the vilest in the universe, can and ought to resist the conspiracy of kings which has been leagued against it." at the same time, the general enthusiastically praised his soldiers: "doubtless it is not within the bosom of my brave army that sentiments of timidity are permissible. patriotism, energy, discipline, patience, mutual confidence, all civic and military virtues, i find here. here the principles of liberty and equality are cherished, the laws respected, and property held sacred; here, neither calumnies nor seditions are known." including both revolutionists and reactionists in the same accusation, lafayette makes this reflection: { } "what a remarkable conformity of language exists, gentlemen, between those seditious persons acknowledged by the aristocracy, and those who usurp the name of patriots! all are alike ready to repeal our laws, to rejoice in disorders, to rebel against the authorities granted by the people, to detest the national guard, to preach indiscipline to the army, and almost to disseminate distrust and discouragement." lafayette concludes in these words: "let the royal power be intact, for it is guaranteed by the constitution; let it be independent, for this independence is one of the forces of our liberty; let the king be revered, for he is invested with the national majesty; let him choose a ministry unhampered by the yoke of any faction; if conspirators exist, let them perish only by the sword of law; finally, let the reign of clubs, brought to nothing by you, give place to the reign of law; their disorganizing maxims to the true principles of liberty; their delirious fury to the calm courage of a nation which knows its rights and which defends them!" lafayette's letter was read to the assembly at the session of june . the noble thoughts it expresses produced at first a favorable impression, and it was greeted with much applause. for an instant the girondins were disconcerted; but, feeling themselves supported by the jacobins who lined the galleries, they soon resumed the offensive. "what does the advice of the general of the army amount to," said vergniaud, "if it is not law?" guadet maintained { } that the letter must be apocryphal. "when cromwell used such language," said he, "liberty was at an end in england, and i cannot persuade myself that the emulator of washington desires to imitate the conduct of the protector. we no longer have a constitution if a general can give us laws." the allusion to cromwell produced its effect. the letter, instead of being published and copies sent to the eighty-three departments, was merely referred to a committee. nevertheless, public opinion was aroused. a reactionary sentiment against the jacobins began to show itself. the king might have profited by it, and found his account in relying upon lafayette, the army, and the national guard. but louis xvi. was in too much haste. his resistance, like his concessions, was maladroit and inopportune. without having combined his means of defence, consulted with lafayette, or having any troops at his disposal, he vetoed the two famous decrees, june , and thus threw himself headlong into the snare. the revolution, which had lain in wait for him, would not let its prey escape. it gave lafayette no time to arrive, but, without losing a minute, organized an insurrection for the next day. the royal tree had been so violently shaken, that it needed, or so they thought, but one more shock to lay it low and root it out. on june , a request had been presented to the council-general of the commune, asking them to authorize the citizens of the faubourg saint-antoine { } to assemble in arms on june , the anniversary of the oath of the jeu de paume, and present a petition to the assembly and the king. the council had passed to the order of the day, but the petitioners declared that they would assemble notwithstanding. on the th, the directory of the department, which on all occasions had shown itself inimical to agitators, and which was presided over by the duke de la rochefoucauld, issued an order forbidding all armed gatherings, and enjoining the commandant-general and the mayor to take all necessary measures for dispersing them. this order was communicated to the national assembly by the minister of the interior at the evening session. "it is important," said a deputy, "that the assembly should know the decrees of the administrative bodies when they tend to assure public tranquillity. nobody is ignorant that at this moment the people are greatly agitated. nobody is ignorant that to-morrow threatens to be a day of violence." vergniaud replied: "i do not know whether or not to-morrow is to be a day of troubles, but i cannot understand how m. becquet, who is always so constitutional" (here there was laughter and applause), "how m. becquet, by an inversion of law and order, desires the national assembly to occupy itself with police regulations." the decree of the directory was read, nevertheless. but the assembly, far from supporting it, passed to the order of the day. the rioters had nothing to fear. { } during the same session, a deputation of citizens from marseilles had been presented at the bar of the assembly. the orator of this deputation thus expressed himself: "french liberty is in danger. the free men of the south are ready to march in its defence. the day of the people's wrath has come at last. the people, whom they have always sought to ruin or enslave, are tired of parrying blows. they want to inflict them, and to annihilate conspiracies. it is time for the people to rise. this lion, generous but enraged, is about to quit his repose, and spring upon the pack of conspirators." here the galleries applauded furiously. the orator continued: "the popular force is your force; employ it. no quarter, since you can expect none." the applause and enthusiastic cries of the galleries redoubled. somebody demanded that the speech should be sent to the eighty-three departments of france. a deputy, m. rouher, was courageous enough to exclaim: "it is not by the harangues of seditious persons that the departments should be instructed!" another deputy, m. lecointre-puyravaux, responded: "is it surprising that men born under a burning sun should have a more ardent imagination and a patriotism more energetic than ours?" the question whether the discourse should be sent to the departments was put to vote, and the president and secretaries declared that the assembly had decided against it. this did not suit the public in the galleries. they howled, they vociferated. they claimed that the result was { } doubtful. they demanded a viva voce count. this demand alarmed those deputies who never dared to look the revolution in the face. a new vote was taken, and this time, the sending of the address to the eighty-three departments was decreed. with such an assembly, why should the insurrectionists have hesitated? the rioters of the next day did not hesitate a moment. the order of the directory had somewhat intimidated them. but chabot, the deputy so celebrated for his violence at the jacobin club, hastened to reassure them. "to-morrow," said he, "you will be received with open arms by the national assembly. people count on you." the faubourg saint-antoine was in commotion. condorcet said, in speaking of the anxieties expressed by the ministers: "is it not fine to see the executive asking legislators to provide means of action! let them save themselves; that is their business!" the most christian king is treated like the divine master. pétion, mayor of paris, is to play the rôle of pontius pilate. he washes his hands of all that is to happen. he orders the battalions of national guards under arms for the following day, not in order to oppose the march of the columns of the people, but to fraternize with the petitioners, and act as escort to the insurrection. this equivocal measure, he thinks, will set him right with both the directory and the populace. to one he says: "i am watching," and to the other, "i am with you." { } the rioters count on pétion as anarchy counts on weakness. he is precisely the magistrate that suits the faubourgs when they resort to violent measures. a last conventicle was held at the house of santerre the brewer, chief of battalion of the national guard of the faubourg saint-antoine, on the night of june - . it broke up at midnight. all was ready. the leaders of the insurrection repaired each to his post. they summoned their loyal adherents, and sent them about in small detachments to assemble and mass together the working classes, as soon as they should leave their houses in the morning. santerre had declared that the national guard could offer no opposition to the rioters. "rest easy," said he to the conspirators; "pétion will be there." louis xvi. no longer feigned not to notice the danger. "who knows," said he during the night to m. de malesherbes, with a melancholy smile, "who knows if i shall see the sun set to-morrow?" { } xviii. the morning of june twentieth. it is wednesday, june , , the anniversary of the oath of the jeu de paume. the signal is given. the faubourgs assemble. it is five in the morning. santerre, on horseback, is at the place de la bastille, at the head of a popular staff. the army of rioters forms slowly. some anxiety is shown at first. the departmental decree forbidding armed gatherings had been posted, and occasioned some reflection in the timid. but santerre reassures them. he tells them that the national guard will not be ordered to oppose their march, and that they may count on pétion's complicity. when the march toward the national assembly begins, hardly more than fifteen hundred are in line. but the little band increases as it goes. the route lies through rues saint-antoine, de la verrerie, des lombards, de la ferronnerie, and saint-honoré. the procession is headed by soldiers, after whom comes a great poplar stretched upon a wagon. it is the liberty tree. according to some, it is to be planted in the courtyard of the riding school, opposite the assembly chamber; according to others, on the { } terrace of the tuileries, before the principal door of the palace. a military band plays the _Ça ira_, which is chanted in chorus by the insurrectionary troop. no obstacle impedes their march. the torrent swells incessantly. the inquisitive mingle with the bandits. some are in uniform, some in rags; there are soldiers, active and disabled, national guards, workmen, and beggars. harlots in dirty silk gowns join the contingent from studios, garrets, and robbers' dens, and gangs of ragpickers unite with butchers from the slaughter-houses. pikes, lances, spits, masons' hammers, paviors' crowbars, kitchen utensils,--their equipment is oddity itself. it is noon. the session of the assembly has just been opened. at this hour the throng, now numbering some twenty thousand persons, enters the rue saint-honoré. the directory of the department of paris demands admission to the bar on pressing business, and the municipal attorney-general, roederer, begins to speak. heeding neither the murmurs of the galleries, the disapprobation of part of the assembly, nor the clamor sure to be raised against him that evening in the jacobin and cordelier clubs, he boldly announces what is going on. he reminds them of the law, and the decrees forbidding armed gatherings which have been issued by the commune and the department. he adds that, without such prohibitions, neither the authorities nor private individuals have any security for their lives. "we demand," cried he, "to be invested with { } complete responsibility; we demand that our obligation to die for the maintenance of public tranquillity shall in nowise be diminished." vergniaud ascends the platform. he owns that, in principle, the assembly is wrong in admitting armed gatherings within its precincts, but he declares that he thinks it impossible to refuse a permission accorded to so many others to that which now presents itself. he believes, moreover, that it could not be dispersed without a resort to martial law and a renewal of the massacre of the champ-de-mars. "it would be insulting to the citizens who are now asking to pay their respects to you," said he, "to suspect them of bad intentions... the assemblage doubtless does not claim to accompany the citizens who desire to present a petition to the king. nevertheless, as a precaution, i propose that sixty members of the assembly shall be commissioned to go to the king and remain near him until this gathering shall have been dispersed." the discussion continues. m. ramond follows vergniaud. what is going to happen? what will the insurrectionary column do? glance for an instant at the topography of the assembly and its environs. the session-chamber is the hall of the riding school, which extends to the terrace of the feuillants, and occupies the site where the rue de rivoli was opened later on, almost at the corner of the future rue de castiglione. it is a building about one hundred and fifty feet long. in front of it is a long and { } narrow courtyard beginning very near the rue de dauphin. it is entered through this courtyard, which a wall, afterwards replaced by a grating, separates from the terrace of the feuillants. it may be entered at the other extremity, also, at the spot where the flight of steps facing the place vendôme was afterwards built. from the side of the courtyard it can be approached by carriages, but from the other, only by pedestrians who cross the narrow passage of the feuillants, which starts from the rue saint-honoré, opposite the place vendôme, and leads to the garden of the tuileries. this passage is bordered on the right by the convent of the capuchins; on the left is the riding school, almost at the spot where the passage opens into the tuileries garden by a door which had just been closed, and before which had been placed a cannon and a battalion of national guards. on reaching the rue saint-honoré, the crowd had taken good care not to enter the court of the riding school, where they might have been arrested and disarmed. they preferred to follow the rue saint-honoré and take the passage conducting thence to the assembly and the terrace of the feuillants. three municipal officers who had gone to the tuileries garden, passed through this passage before the crowd, and met the advancing column at the door of the assembly, just as m. ramond was in the tribune discussing vergniaud's proposition. while the head of the column was awaiting the issue of this discussion, the rank and file were constantly advancing. the { } passage became so thronged that people were in danger of stifling. part of them withdrew from the crowd and went into the garden of the capuchin convent, where they amused themselves by planting the liberty tree in the classic ground of monkish ignorance and idleness, as was said in those days. the remainder, which was in front of the door and the grating of the terrace of the feuillants, became exasperated. the sight of the glittering bayonets, and the cannon placed in front of this grating, roused them to fury. meanwhile, a letter from santerre reached the president of the national assembly: "gentlemen," said he, "i have received a letter from the commandant of the national guard, which announces that the gathering amounts to eight thousand men, and that they demand admission to the bar of the chamber."--"since there are eight thousand of them," cried a deputy, "and since we are only seven hundred and forty-five, i move that we adjourn the session and go away." santerre's letter is thus expressed: "mr. president, the inhabitants of the faubourg saint-antoine are celebrating to-day the anniversary of the oath of the _jeu de paume_. they have been calumniated before you; they ask to be admitted to the bar; they will confound their cowardly detractors for the second time, and prove that they are still the men of july ." it was applauded by a large number of the assembly. on the other side murmurs rose against it. m. ramond { } went on with his speech: "eight thousand men, they say, are awaiting your decision. you owe it to twenty-five millions of other men who await it with no less interest.... certainly, i shall never fear to see the citizens of paris in our midst, nor the entire french people around us. no one could behold with greater pleasure than i the weapons which are a terror to the enemies of liberty; but the law and the authorities have spoken. let the petitioners, therefore, lay down at the entrance of the sanctuary the arms they are forbidden to bear within it. you ought to insist on this. they ought to obey." m. ramond's courage did not last long. passing to vergniaud's proposal to send sixty members of the assembly to the tuileries, he said: "i applaud the motive which prompted this proposition. but, convinced that there is nothing to be feared by any person from the citizens of paris, i regard the motion as insulting to them." meanwhile, the noise at the door redoubles; the petitioners are growing impatient. guadet rises to demand that they shall come in with their arms. it is plain that the gironde has taken the riot under its patronage. after some disorderly and violent debate, it is resolved that the president shall put the question: are the petitioners to be admitted to the bar? they do not yet decide this other: shall the armed citizens defile before the assembly after they have been heard? the first question is answered in the affirmative. the delegates of the crowd are { } admitted to the bar. they make their entry into the assembly between one and two in the afternoon. their orator is a person named huguenin, who will preside a few weeks later at the council of the commune during the september massacres. in his declamatory harangue he includes every tirade, threat, and insult current in the streets. "we demand," said he, "that you should find out why our armies are inactive. if the executive power is the cause, let it be abolished. the blood of patriots must not flow to satisfy the pride and ambition of the perfidious palace of the tuileries." here the galleries burst into enthusiastic applause. the orator goes on: "we complain of the delays of the superior national court. why is it so slow in bringing down the sword of the law upon the heads of the guilty? ... do the enemies of the country imagine that the men of july are sleeping? if they appear to be so, their awakening will be terrible.... there is no time to dissimulate; the hour is come, blood will flow, and the tree of liberty we are about to plant will flourish in peace." the applause from the galleries redoubles. huguenin excites himself to fury: "the image of the country," he shouts, "is the sole divinity which it shall be permitted to adore. ought this divinity, so dear to frenchmen, to find in its own temple those who rebel against its worship? are there any such? let them show themselves, these friends of arbitrary power; let them make themselves known! this is not their { } place! let them depart from the land of liberty! let them go to coblentz and rejoin the _émigrés_. there, their hearts will expand, they will distil their venom, they will machinate, they will conspire against their country." the orator concludes by demanding that the armed citizens shall be passed in review by the assembly. it was in vain that stanislas de girardin cries, "do the laws exist no longer, then?" the assembly capitulates. armed citizens are introduced. twenty thousand men are about to pass through the session hall. the march is opened by a dozen musicians, who stop in front of the president's armchair. then the two leaders of the manifestation make their appearance: santerre, king of the fish markets, idol of the faubourgs, and saint-huruge, the deserter from the aristocracy, the marquis demagogue; saint-huruge, cast into the bastille for his debts and scandalous behavior, and liberated by the revolution; saint-huruge, the man of gigantic stature and the strength of a hercules, who is the rioter _par excellence_, and whose stentorian voice rises above the bellowing of the crowd. the spectators in the galleries tremble with joy; they stamp on perceiving both santerre and saint-huruge, sabre in hand and pistols at the belt. the band plays the _Ça ira_, the national hymn of the red caps. is this an orgy, a masquerade? look at these rags, these bizarre costumes, these butcher-boys brandishing their knives, these tattered women, these drunken harlots who dance and shout; inhale this { } odor of wine and eau-de-vie; behold the ensigns, the banners of insurrection, the ambulating trophies, the stone table on which are inscribed the rights of man; the placards wherein one reads: "down with the veto!" "the people are tired of suffering!" "liberty or death!" "tremble, tyrant!"; the gibbet from which hangs a doll representing marie antoinette; the ragged breeches surmounting the fashionable motto: "live the sans-culottes!"; the bleeding heart set upon a pike, with the inscription, "heart of an aristocrat!" the procession, which began about two in the afternoon, is not over until nearly four o'clock. at this time santerre repairs to the bar, where he says: "the citizens of the faubourg saint-antoine came here to express to you their ardent wishes for the welfare of the country. they beg you to accept this flag in gratitude for the good will you have shown towards them." the president responds: "the national assembly receives your offering; it invites you to continue to march under the protection of the law, the safeguard of the country." and then, heedless of the dangers the king was about to incur, he adjourns the session at half-past four in the afternoon. what is going to happen? will the armed citizens return peaceably to their homes? or, not content with their promenade to the assembly, will they make another to the palace of the tuileries? what preparations have been made for its defence? ten battalions line the terrace facing the palace. two { } others are on the terrace at the water side, four on the side of the carrousel. there are two companies of gendarmes before the door of the royal court; four on the place louis xvi., to guard the passage of the orangery, opposite rue saint-florentin. here, there might have been serious means of defence. but louis xvi. is a sovereign who does not defend himself. two municipal officers, mm. boucher-saint-sauveur and mouchet, had just approached him: "my colleagues and myself," said m. mouchet to him, "have observed with pain that the tuileries were closed the very instant the cortège made its appearance. the people, crowded into the passage of the feuillants, were all the more dissatisfied because they could see through the wicket that there were persons in the garden. we ourselves, sire, were very much affected at seeing cannon pointed at the people. it is urgent that your majesty should order the gates of the tuileries to be opened." after hesitating slightly, louis xvi. ended by replying: "i consent that the door of the feuillants shall be opened; but on condition that you make the procession march across the length of the terrace and go out by the courtyard gate of the riding school, without descending into the garden." this was one of the king's illusions. while he was parleying with the two municipal officers the armed citizens had passed in review before the assembly. they had just left the session hall by a door leading into the courtyard. once in this { } courtyard, the intervention of some municipal officers caused the entrance known as the dauphin's door, opposite the street of the same name, to be opened for them. it was by this that they entered the tuileries garden, while it was the wish of louis xvi. that they should pass out through it from the terrace of the feuillants. there they are, then, in the garden, having made an irruption there instead of continuing their route through rue saint-honoré. here they come along the terrace in front of the palace, on which several battalions of the national guard are stationed. the crowd passes quickly before these battalions. some of the guards unfix their bayonets; others present arms, as if to do honor to the riot. having passed through the garden, the columns of the people go out through the gate before the pont-royal. they pass up the quay, and through the louvre wickets, and so into the place carrousel, which is cut up by a multitude of streets, a sort of covered ways very suitable to facilitate the attack. certain municipal officers make some slight efforts to quiet the assailants; others, on the contrary, do what they can to embolden and excite them. the four battalions at the entrance of the carrousel, and the two companies of gendarmes posted before the door of the royal court, make no resistance. the rioters, who have invaded the carrousel, find their march obstructed by the closing of this door. santerre and saint-huruge, who had been the last to leave the national assembly, make their appearance, { } raging with anger. they rail at the people for not having penetrated into the palace. "that is all we came for," say they. santerre, before the door of the royal court--one of the three courtyards in front of the palace, opposite the carrousel--summons his cannoneers. "i am going," he cries, "to open the doors with cannon-balls." some royalist officers of the national guard seek vainly to defend the palace. no one heeds them. the door of the royal court opens its two leaves. the crowd presses through. no more dike to the torrent; the gendarmes set their caps on the ends of their sabres, and cry: "live the nation!" the thing is done; the palace is invaded. { } xix. the invasion of the tuileries. it is nearly four o'clock in the afternoon. the invasion of the tuileries is beginning. let us glance at the palace and get a notion of the apartments through which the crowd are about to rush. on approaching it by way of the carrousel, one comes first to three courtyards: that of the princes, in front of the pavilion of flora; the royal court, before the pavilion of the horloge; and the swiss court, before the pavilion of marsan. the assailants enter by the royal court, pass into the palace through the vestibule of the horloge pavilion, and climb the great staircase. on the left of this are the large apartments of the first story:-- . the hall of the hundred swiss (the future hall of the marshals); . the hall of the guards (the future hall of the first consul); . the king's antechamber (the future salon d'apollon); . the state bedchamber (the future throne-room); { } . the king's grand cabinet (called later the salon of louis xiv.); . the gallery of diana. there are a battalion and two companies of gendarmes in the palace, as well as the guards then on duty and those they had relieved. but as no orders are given to these troops, they either break their ranks or fraternize with the enemy. no obstacle, no resistance, is offered, and nobody defends the apartments. the assailants, who have taken a cannon as far as the first story, enter the hall of the hundred swiss, whose doors are neither locked nor barricaded. they penetrate into the hall of the guards with the same ease. but when they try to make their way into the oeil-de-boeuf, or king's antechamber, the locked door of this apartment arrests their progress. this exasperates them, and one of the panels is soon broken. where is louis xvi. when the invasion begins? in his bedroom with his family. it communicates with the grand cabinet, and has windows commanding a view of the garden. m. acloque, chief of the second legion of the national guard, and a faithful royalist, hastens to the king by way of the little staircase leading from the princes' court to the royal chamber, in order to tell him what has happened. he finds the door locked; he knocks, gives his name, urgently demands admittance, and obtains it. he advises louis xvi. to show himself to the people. { } the king, whom no peril has ever frightened, does not hesitate to follow this advice. the queen wishes to accompany her husband; but she is opposed in this and forcibly drawn into the dauphin's chamber, which is near that of louis xvi. happier than the queen,--these are her own words,--madame elisabeth finds nobody to tear her from the king. she takes hold of the skirts of her brother's coat. nothing could separate them. louis xvi. passes into the great cabinet, thence into the state bedchamber, and through it into the oeil-de-boeuf, where he will presently receive the crowd. he is surrounded at this moment by madame elisabeth, three of his ministers (mm. de beaulieu, de lajard, and terrier de montciel), the old marshal de mouchy, chevalier de canolle, m. d'hervilly, m. guinguerlet, lieutenant-colonel of the unmounted gendarmes, and m. de vainfrais, also an officer of gendarmes. some grenadiers of the national guard afterwards arrive through the great cabinet and the state bedchamber. "come here! four grenadiers of the national guard!" cries the king. one of them says, "sire, do not be afraid."--"i am not afraid," replies the king; "put your hand on my heart; it is pure and tranquil." and taking the grenadier's hand he presses it forcibly against his breast. the grenadier is a tailor named jean lalanne. later, under the terror, by a decree of the th messidor, year ii., he will be condemned to death for having--so runs the sentence--"displayed the character of a { } cringing valet of the tyrant, in boasting before several citizens that capet, taking his hand and laying it on his heart, had said to him, 'feel, my friend, whether it palpitates.'" "gentlemen, save the king!" cries madame elisabeth. meanwhile, the crowd is still in the next apartment, the hall of the guards. they are battering away with hatchets and gun-stocks at the door which opens into the king's antechamber. nothing but a partition separates louis xvi. from the assailants. he orders the door to be opened. the crowd rush in. "here i am," says louis xvi. calmly; "i have never deviated from the constitution." "citizens," says acloque, "recognize your king and respect him; the law commands you to do so. we will all perish rather than suffer him to receive the slightest harm." m. de canolle cries: "long live the nation! long live the king!" this cry is not repeated. some one begs madame elisabeth to retire. "i will not leave the king," she replies, "i will not leave him." those who surround louis xvi. make a rampart for him of their bodies. the crowd becomes immense. it is proposed to the king that he stand on a bench in the embrasure of the central window, from which there is a view of the courtyard. other benches and a table are placed in front of him. madame elisabeth takes a bench in the next window with m. de marsilly. the hall is full. groans, atrocious threats, and gross insults resound on every side. some one shouts: "down with the { } veto! to the devil with the veto! recall the patriot ministers! let him sign, or we will not go out of here!" the butcher legendre comes forward. he asks permission to speak. silence is obtained, and, addressing the king, he says: "monsieur." at this unusual title, louis xvi. make a gesture of surprise. "yes, monsieur," goes on legendre, "listen to us; it is your duty to listen to us.... you are a traitor. you have always deceived us, and you deceive us still; the measure is full, and the people are tired of being made your laughing-stock." the insolent butcher, who calls himself the agent of the people, then reads a pretended petition which is a mere tissue of recriminations and threats. louis xvi. listens with imperturbable sang-froid. he answers simply: "i will do what the constitution and the decrees ordain that i shall do." the noise begins anew. it is a rain, a hail of insults. some individuals mistake madame elisabeth for marie antoinette. her equerry, m. de saint-pardoux, throws himself between her and the furious wretches, who cry: "ah! there is the austrian woman; we must have the austrian!" and undeceives them by naming her.--"why did you not allow them to believe i am the queen?" says the courageous princess; "perhaps you might have averted a greater crime." and, putting aside a bayonet which almost touches her breast, "take care, monsieur," she says gently, "you might hurt somebody, and i am sure you would be sorry to do that." { } the shouts redouble. the confusion becomes terrible. it is with great difficulty that some grenadiers of the national guard defend the embrasure of the window where louis xvi. still stands immovable on his bench. mingled with the crowd there are inoffensive persons, who have come merely out of curiosity, and even honest men who sincerely pity the king. but there are tigers and assassins as well. one of them, armed with a club ending in a sword-blade, tries to thrust it into the king's heart. the grenadiers parry the blow with their bayonets. a market porter struggles long to reach louis xvi., against whom he brandishes a sabre. several times the wretched monarch seeks to address the crowd. his voice is lost in the uproar. a municipal official, m. mouchet, hoisting himself on the shoulders of two persons, demands by voice and gesture a moment's silence for the king and for himself. vain efforts. the vociferations of the crowd only increase. here comes a long pole on the end of which is a phrygian cap, a _bonnet rouge_. the pole is inclined towards m. mouchet. m. mouchet takes the cap and presents it to the king, who, to please the crowd, puts it on his head. is it possible? that man on a bench, with the ignoble cap of a galley-slave on his head, surrounded by a drunken and tattered rabble who vomit filthy language, that man the king of france and navarre, the most christian king, louis xvi.? go back to the day of the coronation, june , . it is { } just seventeen years and nine days ago! do you remember the cathedral of rheims, luminous, glittering; the cardinals, ministers, and marshals of france, the red ribbons, the blue ribbons, the lay peers with their vests of cloth-of-gold, their violet ducal mantles lined with ermine; the clerical peers with cope and cross? do you remember the king taking charlemagne's sword in his hand, and then prostrating himself before the altar on a great kneeling-cushion of velvet sown with golden lilies? do you see him vested by the grand-chamberlain with the tunic, the dalmatica, and the ermine-lined mantle which represent the vestments of a sub-deacon, deacon, and priest, because the king is not merely a sovereign, but a pontiff? do you see him seizing the royal sceptre, that golden sceptre set with oriental pearls, and carvings representing the great carlovingian emperor on a throne adorned with lions and eagles? do you remember the pealing of the bells, the chords of the organ, the blare of trumpets, the clouds of incense, the birds flying in the nave? and now, instead of the coronation the pillory; instead of the crown the hideous red cap; instead of hymns and murmurs of admiration and respect,--insults, the buffoonery of the fish-market, shouts of contempt and hatred, threats of murder. ah! the time is not far distant when a conventionist will break the vial containing the sacred oil on the pavement of the abbey of saint remi. how slippery is the swift descent, the fatal descent by which a { } sovereign who disarms himself glides down from the heights of power and glory to the depths of opprobrium and sorrow! there he is! not content with putting the red bonnet on his head, he keeps it there, and mumming in the jacobin coiffure, he cries: "long live the nation!" the crowd find the spectacle amusing. a national guard, to whom some one has passed a bottle of wine, offers the complaisant king a drink. perhaps the wine is poisoned. no matter; louis xvi. takes a glass of it. while all this is going on, two deputies, isnard and vergniaud, present themselves. "citizens," says the first, "i am isnard, a deputy. if what you demand were at once granted, it might be thought you extorted it by force. in the name of the law and the national assembly, i ask you to respect the constituted authorities and retire. the national assembly will do justice; i will aid thereto with all my power. you shall obtain satisfaction; i answer for it with my head; but go away." vergniaud follows him with similar remarks. neither is listened to. nobody departs. it is six in the evening. for two hours, one man, exposed to every insult, has held his own against a multitude. at last pétion arrives wearing his mayor's scarf. the crowd draws back. "sire," says he, "i have just this instant learned the situation you were in."--"that is very astonishing," returns louis xvi.; "for it has lasted two hours."--"sire, truly, i was ignorant that there was trouble at the palace. { } as soon as i was informed, i hastened to your side. but you have nothing to fear; i answer for it that the people will respect you."--"i fear nothing," replies the king. "moreover, i have not been in any danger, since i was surrounded by the national guard." pétion, like pontius pilate, pretends indifference. a municipal officer, m. champion, reminds him of his duties, and says with firmness: "order the people to retire; order them in the name of the law; we are threatened with great danger, and you must speak." at last pétion decides to intervene. "citizens," he says, "all you who are listening to me, came to present legally your petition to the hereditary representative of the nation, and you have done so with the dignity and majesty of a free people; return now to your homes, for you can desire nothing further. your demand will doubtless be reiterated by all the eighty-three departments, and the king will grant your prayer. retire, and do not, by remaining longer, give occasion to the public enemies to impugn your worthy intentions." at first this discourse of the mayor of paris produces but slight effect. the cries and threats continue. but, after a while, the crowd, worn out with shouting, and hungry and thirsty as well, begin to quiet down a little. the most excited cry: "we are waiting for an answer from the king. nothing has been asked of him yet." others say: "listen to the mayor, he is going to speak again; we will { } hear him." pétion repeats what he said before: "if you do not wish your magistrates to be unjustly accused, withdraw." m. sergent, administrator of police, who had come with the mayor, asked if any one has ordered the doors leading from the grand cabinet to the gallery of diana to be opened, so as to allow the crowd to pass out by the small staircase into the court of the princes. louis xvi. overheard this question. "i have had the apartments opened," said he; "the people, marching out on the gallery side, will like to see them." a sentiment of curiosity hastened the movements of the crowd. in order to go out, they had to pass through the state bedchamber, the grand cabinet, and the gallery of diana. sergent, standing in front of the door, leading from the oeil-de-boeuf to the state bedchamber, unfastens his scarf and waving it over his head, cries: "citizens, this is the badge of the law; in its name we invite you to retire and follow us." pétion says: "the people have done what they ought to do. you have acted with the pride and dignity of freemen. but there has been enough of it; let all retire." a double row of national guards is formed, and the people pass between them. the return march begins. a few recalcitrants want to remain, and keep up a cry of "down with the veto! recall the ministers!" but they are swept on by the stream, and follow the march like all the rest. while they are going out through the door between the oeil-de-boeuf and the state { } bed-chamber, the national guard prevents any one from entering on the other side, through the door connecting the oeil-de-boeuf with the hall of the guards. at this moment, a deputation of twenty-four members of the assembly present themselves. roused by the public clamor announcing that the king's life is in danger, the national assembly has called an extraordinary evening session. the president of the deputation, m. brunk, says to the king: "sire, the national assembly sends us to assure ourselves of your situation, to protect the constitutional liberty you should enjoy, and to share your danger." louis xvi. replies: "i am grateful for the solicitude of the assembly; i am undisturbed in the midst of frenchmen." at the same time, pétion goes to turn back the crowd, who are constantly ascending the great staircase, and who threaten another invasion. the sentry at the doorway of the oeil-de-boeuf is replaced, and the crowd ceases to flock thither. the circle of national guards about the sovereign is increased. a space is formed, and he is surrounded by the deputation from the assembly. acloque, seeing that the tumult is lessening and the room no longer encumbered by the crowd, proposes to the king that he should retire, and louis xvi. decides to do so. surrounded by deputies and national guards, he passes into the state bedchamber, and notwithstanding the throng, he manages to reach a secret door at the right of the bed, near the chimney, which communicates with his bedroom. he goes through this little door, and some one closes it behind him. { } it is not far from eight o'clock in the evening. the peril and humiliation of louis xvi. have lasted nearly four hours, and the unhappy king is not yet at the end of his sufferings, for he does not know what has become of his wife and children. while these sad scenes had been enacting in the palace, a furious populace had been in incessant commotion beneath the windows, in the garden and the courtyards. people desiring to establish communication between those down stairs and those above, had been heard to cry: "have they been struck down? are they dead? throw us down their heads!" a slender young man, with the profile of a roman medal, a pale complexion, and flashing eyes, was looking at all this from the upper part of the terrace beside the water. unable to comprehend the long-suffering of louis xvi., he said in an indignant tone: "how could they have allowed this rabble to enter? they should have swept out four or five hundred of them with cannon, and the rest would have run." the man who spoke thus, obscure and hidden in the crowd, opposite that palace where he was to play so great a part, was the "straight-haired corsican," the future emperor napoleon. { } xx. marie antoinette on june twentieth. louis xvi. had just entered his bedchamber. the crowd, after leaving the hall of the oeil-de-boeuf, had departed through the state bedchamber, and the king's great cabinet, called also the council hall. on entering this last apartment, an unexpected scene had surprised them. behind the large table they saw the queen, madame elisabeth, the dauphin, and madame royale. how came the queen to be there? what had happened? at a quarter of four, when louis xvi. had left his room to go into the hall of the bull's-eye and meet the rioters, marie antoinette, as we have already said, made desperate efforts to follow him. m. aubier, placing himself before the door of the king's chamber, prevented the queen from going out. in vain she cried: "let me pass; my place is beside the king; i will join him and perish with him if it must be." m. aubier, through devotion, disobeyed her. nevertheless, the queen, whose courage redoubled her strength, would have borne down this faithful servant if m. rougeville, a chevalier of saint-louis, had not aided him to block up the passage. { } imploring marie antoinette in the name of her own safety and that of the king, not to expose herself needlessly to poniards, and aided by the minister of foreign affairs, they drew her almost by force into the chamber of the dauphin, which was near the king's. mm. de choiseul, d'haussonville, and de saint-priest, assisted by several grenadiers of the national guard, afterwards induced her to go with her children into the grand cabinet of the king, called also the council hall, because the ministers were accustomed to assemble there. the princess de lamballe, the princess of tarento, the marchioness de tourzel, the duchesses de luynes, de duras, de maillé, the marchioness de laroche-aymon, madame de soucy, the baroness de mackau, the countess de ginestous, remained with the queen. so also did the minister chambonas, the duke de choiseul, counts d'haussonville and de montmorin, viscount de saint-priest, marquis de champcenetz, and general de wittenghoff, commander of the th military division. the queen and her children occupied the embrasure of a window, and the large and heavy table used by the ministerial council was placed in front of them as a sort of barricade. meanwhile, marie antoinette's apartments and her bedroom on the ground-floor were invaded. some national guards tried vainly to defend them. "you are cutting your own throats!" shouted the people. overwhelmed by numbers, they saw the door of the first apartment broken down by hatchets. it { } contained the beds of the queen's servants, ranged behind screens. afterwards they saw the invaders go into marie antoinette's sleeping-room, tear the clothes off her bed, and loll upon it, crying as they did so, "we will have the austrian woman, dead or alive!" the queen, however, remained in the council hall, where she could hear the echo of the cries resounding in that of the oeil-de-boeuf, where louis xvi. was, and from which she was separated only by the state bedchamber. toward seven in the evening she beheld madame elisabeth, who, after heroically sharing the dangers of the king, had now found means to rejoin her. "the deputies who came to us," she wrote to madame de raigecourt, july , "had come out of good will. a veritable deputation arrived and persuaded the king to go back to his own apartments. as i was told this, and as i was unwilling to be left in the crowd, i went away about an hour before he did, and rejoined the queen: you can imagine with what pleasure i embraced her." in their perils, therefore, madame elisabeth was near both louis xvi. and marie antoinette. after having voluntarily exposed herself to all the anguish of the invasion of the oeil-de-boeuf, the courageous princess was with the queen in the council hall, when the crowd, coming through the state bed-chamber, arrived there. the horde marched through it, carrying their barbarous inscriptions like so many ferocious standards. "one of these," says madame { } campan in her memoirs, "represented a gibbet from which an ugly doll was hanging; below it was written: 'marie antoinette to the lamp-post!' another was a plank to which a bullock's heart had been fastened, surrounded by the words: 'heart of louis xvi.' finally, a third presented a pair of bullock's horns with an indecent motto." some royalist grenadiers belonging to the battalion called the _filles-saint-thomas_, were near the council-table and protected the queen. marie antoinette was standing, and held her daughter's hand. the dauphin sat on the table in front of her. at the moment when the march began, a woman threw a red cap on this table and cried out that it must be placed on the queen's head. m. de wittenghoff, his hand trembling with indignation, took the cap and after holding it for a moment over marie antoinette's head, put it back on the table. then a cry was raised: "the red cap for the prince royal! tri-colored ribbons for little veto!" ribbons were thrown down beside the phrygian cap. some one shouted: "if you love the nation, set the red cap on your son's head." the queen made an affirmative sign, and the revolutionary coiffure was set on the child's fair head. what humiliations were these for the unhappy mother! what anguish for so haughty, so magnanimous a queen! the galley-slave's cap has touched the head of the daughter of cæsars, and now soils the forehead of her son! the slang of the { } fish-markets resounds beneath the venerable arches of the palace. how bitterly the unfortunate sovereign expiates her former triumphs! where are the ovations and the apotheoses, the carriages of gold and crystal, the solemn entries into the city in its gala dress, to the sound of bells and trumpets? what trace remains of those brilliant days when, more goddess than woman, the queen of france and navarre appeared through a cloud of incense, in the midst of flowers and light? this good and beautiful sovereign, whose least smile, or glance, or nod, had been regarded as a precious recompense, a supreme favor by the noble lords and ladies who bent respectfully before her, behold how she is treated now! consider the costumes and the language of her new courtiers! and yet, marie antoinette is majestic still. even in this horrible scene, in presence of these drunken women and ragged suburbans, she does not lose that gift of pleasing which is her special dower. at a distance they curse her; but when they come near they are subjugated by her spell. her most ferocious enemies are touched in their own despite. a young girl had just called her "_autrichienné_." "you call me an austrian woman," replied she, "but i am the wife of the king of france, i am the mother of the dauphin; i am a frenchwoman by my sentiments as wife and mother. i shall never again see the land where i was born. i can be happy or unhappy nowhere but in france. i was happy when you loved me." confused by this gentle { } reproach, the young girl softened. "pardon me," she said; "it was because i did not know you; i see very well now that you are not wicked." a woman, passing, stopped before the queen and began to sob. "what is the matter with her?" asked santerre; "what is she crying about?" and he shook her by the arm, saying: "make her pass on, she is drunk." even santerre himself felt marie antoinette's influence. "madame," he said to her, "the people wish you no harm. your friends deceive you; you have nothing to fear, and i am going to prove it by serving as your shield." it was he who took pity on the dauphin whom the heat was stifling, and said: "take the red cap off the child; he is too hot." he too, it was, that hastened the march of the procession and pointed out to the people the different members of the royal family by name, saying: "this is the queen, this is her son, this her daughter, this madame elisabeth." at last the crowd is gone. the hall is empty. it is eight o'clock. the queen and her children enter the king's chamber. louis xvi., who finds them once more after so many perils and emotions, covers them with kisses. in the midst of this pathetic scene some deputies arrive. marie antoinette shows them the traces of violence which the people have left behind them,--locks broken, hinges forced off, wainscoting burst through, furniture ruined. she speaks of the dangers that have threatened the king and the insults offered to herself. perceiving that merlin de { } thionville, an ardent jacobin, has tears in his eyes, she says: "you are weeping to see the king and his family so cruelly treated by people whom he has always desired to render happy." the republican answered: "yes, madame, i weep, but it is for the misfortunes of the mother of a family, not for the king and queen; i hate kings and queens." a deputy accosted marie antoinette, saying in a familiar tone: "you were very much afraid, madame, you must admit." "no, monsieur," she replied, "i was not at all afraid; but i suffered much in being separated from the king at a moment when his life was in danger. at least, i had the consolation of being with my children and performing one of my duties." "without pretending to excuse everything, agree, madame, that the people showed themselves very good-natured." "the king and i, monsieur, are convinced of the natural goodness of the people; it is only when they are misled that they are wicked."--"how old is mademoiselle?" went on the deputy, pointing to madame royale.--"she is at that age, monsieur, when one feels only too great a horror of such scenes." other deputies surround the dauphin. they question him on different subjects, especially concerning the geography of france and its new territorial division into departments and districts, and are enchanted by the correctness of his replies. an officer of chasseurs of the national guard enters the king's chamber. this officer had shown { } the utmost zeal in protecting his sovereign and had had the honor of being wounded at his side. he is congratulated. the dauphin perceives him. "what is the name of that guard who defended my father so bravely?" he asks.--"monseigneur," replies m. hue, "i do not know; he will be flattered if you ask him." the prince runs to put his question to the officer, but the latter, in respectful terms, declines to answer. then m. hue insists. "i beg you," he cries, "tell us your name."--"i ought to conceal my name," replies the officer; "unfortunately for me, it is the same as that of an execrable man." the faithful royalist bore the same name as the man who had caused the arrest of the royal family at varennes the previous year. he was called drouot. the hour for repose has come at last. it is ten o'clock. certain individuals still complain: "they took us there for nothing; but we will go back and have what we want." still, the storm is over. the crowd has evacuated the palace, the courtyards, and the garden. the assembly closes its sessions at half-past ten. pétion said there: "the king has no cause of complaint against the citizens who marched before him. he has said as much to the deputies and magistrates." finally, as the deputies were about to separate after this exciting day, one of them, m. guyton-morveau, remarked: "the deputation which preceded us, has doubtless announced to you that all is now tranquil. we remained with the king for some time, and saw nothing which could { } inspire the least alarm. we invited the king to seek some repose. he sent an officer of the national guard to visit the posts, and the officer reported that there was nobody in the palace. his majesty assured us that he desired to remain alone; we left him; and we can certify to you that all is quiet." { } xxi. the morrow of june twentieth. in the morning of june there were still some disorderly gatherings in front of the tuileries. on awaking, the dauphin put this artless question to the queen: "mamma, is it yesterday still?" alas! yes, it was still yesterday, it was always to be yesterday until the catastrophes at the end of the drama. it was just a year to a day since the royal family had furtively quitted paris to begin the fatal journey which terminated at varennes. this souvenir occurred to marie antoinette, and, recalling the first stations of her calvary, the unfortunate sovereign told herself that her humiliations had but just begun. her lips had touched only the brim of the chalice, and it must be drained to the dregs. meanwhile, visitors were arriving at the tuileries one after another to condole with and protest their fidelity to the king and his family. when marshal de mouchy made his appearance, the worthy old man was received with the honors due to his noble conduct on the previous day. when the invasion began, louis xvi., in order not to irritate the rabble, had given his gentlemen a formal order to withdraw, but { } the old marshal, hoping that his great age (he was seventy-seven) would excuse his presence in the palace, had refused to leave his master. more than once, with a strength rejuvenated by devotion, he had succeeded in repulsing persons whose violence made him tremble for the king's life. as soon as she saw the marshal, marie antoinette made haste to say: "i have learned from the king how courageously you defended him yesterday. i share his gratitude."--"madame," he replied, alluding to those of his relatives who had figured among the promoters of the revolution, "i did very little in comparison with the injuries i should like to repair. they were not mine, but they touch me very nearly."--"my son," said the queen, calling the dauphin, "repeat before the marshal, the prayer you addressed to god this morning for the king." the child, kneeling down, put his hands together, and looking up to heaven, began to sing this refrain from the opera of _pierre le grand_:-- _ciel, entends la prière qu'ici je fais: conserve un si bon père a ses sujets._[ ] after the marshal de mouchy came m. de malesherbes. contrary to his usual custom, the ex-first { } president wore his sword. "it is a long time," some one said to him, "since you have worn a sword."--"true," replied the old man, "but who would not arm when the king's life is in danger?" then, looking with emotion at the little prince, he said to marie antoinette: "i hope, madame, that at least our children will see better days!" and yet, even for the present there still remained a glimmer of hope. hardly had the invaders left the palace than invectives against them rose from all classes of society. the calmness and courage of the king and his family found admirers on every side. the departments sent addresses demanding the punishment of those who had been guilty. royalist sentiments woke to life anew. one might almost believe that the indignation caused by the recent scandals would produce an immediate reaction in favor of louis xvi. possibly, with an energetic sovereign, something might have been attempted. on the whole, the insurrection had obtained nothing. even the girondins perceived the dangerous character of revolutionary passions. honest men stigmatized the criminal tendencies which had just displayed themselves. it was the moment for the king to show himself and strike a great blow. but louis xvi. had neither will nor energy. letting the last chance of safety which fortune offered him escape, he was unable to profit by the turn in public opinion. nothing could shake him out of that easy patience which was the chief cause of his ruin. { } marie antoinette herself was opposed to vigorous measures. she still desired to try the effects of kindness. learning that a legal inquiry was proposed into the events of june , and foreseeing that m. hue would be called as a witness, she said to this loyal servant: "say as little in your deposition as truth will permit. i recommend you, on the king's part and my own, to forget that we were the objects of these popular movements. every suspicion that either the king or myself feel the least resentment for what happened must be avoided; it is not the people who are guilty, and even if it were, they would always obtain pardon and forgetfulness of their errors from us." during this time the assembly maintained an attitude more than equivocal. it contained a great number of honest men. but, terrorized already, it no longer possessed the courage of indignation. it grew pale before the menaces of the public. by cringing to the rabble it had attained that hypocritical optimism which is the distinctive mark of moderate revolutionists, and which makes them in turn the dupes and the victims of those who are more zealous. if the majority of the deputies had said openly what they silently thought, they would not have hesitated to stigmatize the invasion of the tuileries as it deserved. but in that case, what would have become of their popularity with the pikemen? and then, must they not take into account the ambitions of the girondins, the hatreds of the mountain party, { } and the rancor of madame roland and her friends? was it not, moreover, a real satisfaction to the bourgeoisie to give power a lesson and humiliate a sovereign? ah! how cruelly this pleasure will be expiated by those who take delight in it, and how they will repent some day for having permitted justice, law, and authority to be trampled under foot! when the session of june opened, deputy daverhoult denounced in energetic terms the violence of the previous day. thuriot exclaimed: "are we expected to press an inquiry against forty thousand men?" duranton, the minister of justice, then read a letter from the king, dated that day, and worded thus: "gentlemen, the national assembly is already acquainted with the events of yesterday. paris is doubtless in consternation; france will hear the news with astonishment and grief. i was much affected by the zeal shown for me by the national assembly on this occasion. i leave to its prudence the task of investigating the causes of this event, weighing its circumstances, and taking the necessary measures to maintain the constitution and assure the inviolability and constitutional liberty of the hereditary representative of the nation. for my part, nothing can prevent me, at all times and under all circumstances, from performing the duties imposed on me by the constitution, which i have accepted in the true interests of the french nation." a few moments after this letter had been read, the session was disturbed by a warning from the { } municipal agent of the department, to the effect that an armed crowd were marching towards the palace. this was soon followed by tidings that pétion had hindered their further advance, and the mayor himself came to the assembly to receive the laudations of his friends. "order reigns everywhere," said he; "all precautions have been taken. the magistrates have done their duty; they will always do so, and the hour approaches when justice will be rendered them." pétion then went to the tuileries, where he addressed the king nearly in these terms:-- "sire, we learn that you have been warned of the arrival of a crowd at the palace. we come to announce that this crowd is composed of unarmed citizens who wish to set up a may-pole. i know, sire, that the municipality has been calumniated; but its conduct will be understood by you."--"it ought to be by all france," responded louis xvi.; "i accuse no one in particular, i saw everything."--"it will be," returned the mayor; "and but for the prudent measures taken by the municipality, much more disagreeable events might have occurred." the king attempted to reply, but pétion, without listening to him, went on: "not to your own person; you may well understand that it will always be respected." the king, unaccustomed to interruption when speaking, said in a loud voice: "be silent!" there was silence for an instant, and then louis xvi. added: "is it what you call respecting { } my person to enter my house in arms, break down my doors and use force to my guards?"--"sire," answered pétion, "i know the extent of my duties and of my responsibility."--"do your duty!" replied louis xvi.; "you are answerable for the tranquillity of paris. adieu!" and the king turned his back on the mayor. pétion revenged himself that very evening, by circulating a rumor that the royal family were preparing to escape; in consequence, he requested the commanders of the national guard to re-enforce the sentries and redouble their vigilance. the revolutionists, who had been disconcerted for a moment by popular indignation, raised their heads again. prudhomme wrote in the _révolutions de paris_: "the parisian people--yes, the people, not the aristocratic class of citizens--have just set a grand example to france. the king, at the instigation of lafayette, discharged his patriotic ministers; he paralyzed by his veto the decree relative to the camp of twenty thousand men, and that on the banishment of priests. very well! the people rose and signified to him their sovereign will that the ministers should be reinstated and these two murderous vetoes recalled.... doubtless it will not be long before europe will be full of a caricature representing louis xvi. of the big paunch, covered with orders, crowned with a red cap, and drinking out of the same bottle with the _sans-culottes_, who are crying: 'the king is drinking, the king has drunk. he has the liberty { } cap on his head.' would he might have it in his heart!" apropos of this red bonnet which remained for three hours on the sovereign's head, bertrand de molleville ventured to put some questions to louis xvi. on the evening of june . according to the memoirs of the former minister of marine, this is what the king replied: "the cries of 'long live the nation' increasing in violence and seeming to be addressed to me, i answered that the nation had no better friend than i. then an ill-looking man, thrusting himself through the crowd, came close to me and said in a rude tone: 'very well! if you are telling the truth, prove it to us by putting on this red cap.' 'i consent,' said i. instantly one or two of these people advanced and placed the cap on my hair, for it was too small for my head to enter it. i was convinced, i don't know why, that their intention was simply to place this cap on my head and then retire, and i was so preoccupied with what was going on before my eyes, that i did not notice whether it was there or not. so little did i feel it that after i had returned to my chamber i did not observe that i still wore it until i was told. i was greatly astonished to find it on my head, and was all the more displeased because i could have taken it off at once without the least difficulty. but i am convinced that if i had hesitated to receive it, the drunken man by whom it was presented would have thrust his pike into my stomach." { } during the same interview bertrand de molleville congratulated the king upon his almost miraculous escape from the dangers of the previous day. louis xvi. replied: "all my anxieties were for the queen, my children and my sister; because i feared nothing for myself."--"but it seems to me," rejoined his interlocutor, "that this insurrection was aimed chiefly against your majesty."--"i know it very well," returned louis xvi.; "i saw clearly that they wanted to assassinate me, and i don't know why they did not do it; but i shall not escape them another day. so i have gained nothing; it is all the same whether i am assassinated now or two months from now!"--"great god!" cried bertrand de molleville, "does your majesty believe that you will be assassinated?"--"i am convinced of it," replied the king; "i have expected it for a long time and have accustomed myself to the thought. do you think i am afraid of death?"--"certainly not, but i would desire your majesty to take vigorous measures to protect yourself from danger."--"it is possible," went on the king after a moment of reflection, "that i may escape. there are many odds against me, and i am not lucky. if i were alone i would risk one more attempt. ah! if my wife and children were not with me, people should see that i am not so weak as they fancy. what would be their fate if the measures you propose to me did not succeed?"--"but if they assassinate your majesty, do you think that the queen and her children would be in less danger?"--"yes, i think { } so, and even were it otherwise, i should not have to reproach myself with being the cause." a sort of christian fanaticism had taken possession of the king's soul. resigned to his fate, he ceased to struggle, and wrote to his confessor: "come to see me to-day; i have done with men; i want nothing now but heaven." [ ] listen, heaven, to the prayer that here i make: preserve so good a father to his subjects. { } xxii. lafayette in paris. one of the greatest griefs of a political career is disenchantment. to pass from devout optimism to profound discouragement; to have treated as alarmists or cowards whoever perceived the least cloud on the horizon, and then to see the most formidable tempests unchained; to be obliged to recognize at one's proper cost that one has carried illusion to the verge of simplicity and has judged neither men nor things aright; to have heard distressed passengers saying that a pilot without experience or prudence is responsible for the shipwreck; to have promised the age of gold and suddenly found one's self in the age of iron, is a veritable torture for the pride and the conscience of a statesman. and this torture is still more cruel when to disappointment is added the loss of a popularity laboriously acquired; when, having been accustomed to excite nothing but enthusiasm and applause, one is all at once greeted with criticism, howls, and curses, and when, having long strutted about triumphantly on the summits of the capitol, one sees yawning before him the gulf at the foot of the tarpeian rock. { } such was the fate of lafayette. a few months had sufficed to throw down the popular idol from his pedestal, and the same persons who had once almost burned incense before him, now thought of nothing but flinging him into the gutter. stunned by his fall, lafayette could not believe it. to familiarize himself with the fickleness, the caprices, and the inconsequence of the multitude was impossible. for him the constitution was the sacred ark, and he did not believe that the very men who had constructed this edifice at such a cost had now nothing so much at heart as to destroy it. he would not admit that the predictions of the royalists were about to be accomplished in every point, and still desired to hold aloof from the complicities into which revolutions drag the most upright minds and the most honest characters. he who, in july, , had not been able to prevent the assassination of foulon and berthier; who, on october , had marched, despite himself, against versailles; who, on april , , had been unable to protect the departure of the royal family to saint cloud; who, on the following june , had thought himself obliged to say to the jacobins in their club: "i have come to rejoin you, because i think the true patriots are here," nevertheless imagined that just a year later, all that was necessary to vanquish the same jacobins was for him to show himself and say like cæsar: "_veni, vidi, vici_." it was only a later illusion of the generous but imprudent man who had already dreamed many { } dreams. he thought the popular tiger could be muzzled by persuasion. he was going to make a _coup d'état_, not in deeds, but in words, forgetting that the revolution neither esteems nor fears anything but force. as m. de larmartime has said: "one gets from factions only what one snatches." instead of striking, lafayette was going to speak and write. the jacobins might have feared his sword; they despised his words and pen. but though it was not very wise, the noble audacity with which the hero of america came spontaneously to throw himself into the heat of the struggle and utter his protest in the name of right and honor, was none the less an act of courage. while with the army, that asylum of generous ideas, the sentiments on which his ancestors had prided themselves rekindled in his heart. memories of his early youth revived anew. doubtless he also recalled his personal obligations to louis xvi. on his return from the united states, had he not been created major-general over the heads of a multitude of older officers? had not the queen accorded him at that epoch the most flattering eulogies? had he not been received at the great receptions of may , , when any other officer unless highly born would have remained in the oeil-de-boeuf or paid his court in the passage of the chapel? had he not accepted the rank of lieutenant-general from the king, on june , ? the gentleman reappeared beneath the revolutionist. the humiliation of a throne for which his ancestors had so often shed their blood { } caused him a real grief, and it is perhaps regrettable that louis xvi. should have refused the hand which his recent adversary extended loyally though late. lafayette was encamped near bavay with the army of the north when the first tidings of june reached him. his soul was roused to indignation, and he wanted to start at once for paris to lift his voice against the jacobins. old marshal luckner tried in vain to restrain him by saying that the _sans-culottes_ would have his head. nothing could stop him. placing his army in safety under the cannon of maubeuge, he started with no companion but an aide-de-camp. at soissons some persons tried to dissuade him from going further by painting a doleful picture of the dangers to which he would expose himself. he listened to nobody and went on his way. reaching paris in the night of june - , he alighted at the house of his intimate friend, the duke de la rochefoucauld, who was about to play so honorable a part. as soon as morning came, lafayette was at the door of the national assembly, asking permission to offer the homage of his respect. this authorization having been granted, he entered the hall. the right applauded; the left kept silence. being allowed to speak, he declared that he was the author of the letter to the assembly of june , whose authenticity had been denied, and that he openly avowed responsibility for it. he then expressed himself in the sincerest terms concerning the outrages committed in { } the palace of the tuileries on june . he said he had received from the officers, subalterns, and soldiers of his army a great number of addresses expressive of their love for the constitution, their respect for the authorities, and their patriotic hatred against seditious men of all parties. he ended by imploring the assembly to punish the authors or instigators of the violences committed on june , as guilty of treason against the nation, and to destroy a sect which encroached upon national sovereignty, and terrorized citizens, and by their public debates removed all doubts concerning the atrocity of their projects. "in my own name and that of all honest men in the kingdom," said he in conclusion, "i entreat you to take efficacious measures to make all constitutional authorities respected, particularly your own and that of the king, and to assure the army that the constitution will receive no injury from within, while so many brave frenchmen are lavishing their blood to defend it on the frontiers." applause from the right and from some of those in the galleries began anew. the president said: "the national assembly has sworn to maintain the constitution. faithful to its oath, it will be able to guarantee it against all attacks. it accords to you the honors of the session." the general went to take his seat on the right. deputy kersaint observed that his place was on the petitioners' bench. the general obeyed this hint and sat down modestly on the bench assigned him. renewed applause { } ensued. thereupon guadet ascended the tribune and said in an ironic tone: "at the moment when m. lafayette's presence in paris was announced to me, a most consoling idea presented itself. so we have no more external enemies, thought i; the austrians are conquered. this illusion did not last long. our enemies remain the same. our exterior situation is not altered, and yet m. lafayette is in paris! what powerful motives have brought him hither? our internal troubles? does he fear, then, that the national assembly is not strong enough to repress them? he constitutes himself the organ of his army and of honest men. where are these honest men? how has the army been able to deliberate?" guadet concluded thus: "i demand that the minister of war be asked whether he gave leave of absence to m. lafayette, and that the extraordinary committee of twelve make a report to-morrow on the danger of granting the right of petition to generals." ramond, one of the most courageous members of the right, was the next speaker: "four days ago," said he, "an armed multitude asked to appear before you. positive laws forbade such a thing, and a proclamation made by the department on the previous day recalled this law and demanded that it should be put into execution. you paid no attention, but admitted armed men into your midst. to-day m. lafayette presents himself; he is known only by reason of his love of liberty; his life is a series of combats against despotisms of every sort; he has { } sacrificed his life and fortune to the revolution. it is against this man that pretended suspicions are directed and every passion unchained. has the national assembly two weights and measures, then? certainly, if respect is to be had to persons, it should be shown to this eldest son of french liberty." this eulogy exasperated the left. deputy saladin exclaimed: "i ask m. ramond if he is making m. lafayette's funeral oration?" however, the right was still in the majority. after a long tumult guadet's motion against lafayette was rejected by votes against . the general left the assembly surrounded by a numerous cortège of deputies and national guards, and went directly to the palace of the tuileries. it is the decisive moment. the vote just taken may serve as the starting-point of a conservative reaction if the king will trust himself to lafayette. but how will he receive him? the sovereign's greeting will be polite, but not cordial. the king and queen say they are persuaded that there is no safety but in the constitution. louis xvi. adds that he would consider it a very fortunate thing if the austrians were beaten without delay. lafayette is treated with a courtesy through which suspicion pierces. when he leaves the palace, a large crowd accompany him to his house and plant a may-pole before the door. on the next day louis xvi. was to review four thousand men of the national guard. lafayette had proposed to appear at this review { } beside the king and make a speech in favor of order. but the court does not desire the general's aid, and takes what measures it can to defeat this project. pétion, whom it had preferred to lafayette as mayor of paris, countermands the review an hour before daybreak. perhaps louis xvi. might have succeeded in overcoming his repugnance to lafayette and submitted to be rescued by him. but the queen absolutely refused to trust the man whom she considered her evil genius. she had seen him rise like a spectre at every hapless hour. he had brought her back to paris a prisoner on the th of october. he had been her jailer. his apparition amid the glare of torches in the court of the carrousel had frozen her with terror when she was flying from her prison, the tuileries, to begin the fatal journey to varennes. his aides-de-camp had pursued her. he was responsible for her arrest; he was present at her humiliating and sorrowful return; the sight of his face, the sound of his voice, made her tremble; she could not hear his name without a shudder. in vain madame elisabeth exclaimed: "let us forget the past and throw ourselves into the arms of the only man who can save the king and his family!" marie antoinette's pride revolted at the thought of owing anything to her former persecutor. moreover, in his latest confidential communications with her, mirabeau had said: "madame, be on your guard against lafayette; if ever he commands the army, he would like to keep { } the king in his tent." in the queen's opinion, to rely on lafayette would be to accept him as regent of the palace under a sluggard king. protector for protector, she preferred danton. danton, who, subsidized from the civil list, accepts money without knowing whether he will fairly earn it; danton, who, while awaiting events, had made the cynical remark that he would "save the king or kill him." strange that the orator of the faubourgs inspired the daughter of cæsars with less repugnance than the gentleman, the marquis. "they propose m. de lafayette as a resource," she said to madame campan; "but it would be better to perish than owe our safety to the man who has done us most harm." however, lafayette was not yet discouraged. he wished to save the royal family in spite of themselves. he assembled several officers of the national guard at his house. he represented to them the dangers into which the apathy of each plunged the affairs of all; he showed the urgent necessity of combining against the avowed enterprises of the anarchists, of inspiring the national assembly with the firmness required to repress the intended attacks, and foretold the inevitable calamities which would result from the weakness and disunion of honest men. he wanted to march against the jacobin club and close it. but, in consequence of the instructions issued by the court, the royalists of the national guard were indisposed to second him in this measure. lafayette, having no one on his side but the constitutionals, an { } honest but scanty group who were suspected by both of the extreme parties, gave up the struggle. the next day, june , he beat a hasty retreat to the army, after writing to the assembly another letter which was merely an echo of the first one. a moment since, the jacobins were trembling. now, they are reassured, they triumph. in his _chronique des cinquante jours_, roederer says: "if m. de lafayette had had the will and ability to make a bold stroke and seize the dictatorship, reserving the power to relinquish it after the re-establishment of order, one could comprehend his coming to the assembly with the sword of a dictator at his side; but, to show it only, without resolving to draw it from the scabbard, was a fatal imprudence. in civil commotions it will not answer to dare by halves." { } xxiii. the lamourette kiss. france had still its moments of enthusiasm and illusion before plunging into the abyss of woes. it seemed under an hallucination, or suffering from a sort of vertigo. a nameless frenzy, both in good and evil, agitated and disturbed it beyond measure in , that year so fertile in surprises and dramas of every kind. strange and bizarre epoch, full of love and hatred, launching itself from one extreme to the other with frightful inconstancy, now weeping with tenderness, and now howling with rage! society resembled a drunken man who is sometimes amiable in his cups, and sometimes cruel. there were sudden halts on the road of fury, oases in the midst of scorching sands, beneath a sun whose fire consumed. but the caravan does not rest long beneath the shady trees. quickly it resumes its course as if urged by a mysterious force, and soon the terrible simoom overwhelms and destroys it. madame elisabeth wrote to madame de raigecourt, july , : "it would need all madame de sévigné's eloquence to describe properly what { } happened yesterday; for it was certainly the most surprising thing, the most extraordinary, the greatest, the smallest, etc., etc. but, fortunately, experience may aid comprehension. in a word, here were jacobins, feuillants, republicans, and monarchists, abjuring all their discords and assembling near the tree of the constitution and of liberty, to promise sincerely that they will act in accordance with law and not depart from it. luckily, august is coming, the time when, the leaves being well grown, the tree of liberty will afford a more secure shelter." what had happened on the day before madame elisabeth wrote this letter? there had been a very singular session of the legislative assembly. in the morning, a woman named olympe de gouges, whose mother was a dealer in second-hand clothing at montauban, being consumed with a desire to be talked about, had caused an emphatic placard to be posted up, in which she preached concord between all parties. this placard was like a prologue to the day's session. among the deputies there was a certain abbé lamourette, the constitutional bishop of lyons, who played at religious democracy. he was an ex-lazarist who had been professor of theology at the seminary at toul. weary of the conventual yoke, he had left his order, and at the beginning of the revolution was the vicar-general of the diocese of arras. he had published several works in which he sought to reconcile philosophy and religion. mirabeau was { } one of his acolytes and adopted him as his theologian in ordinary. finding him fit to "bishopize" (_à evêquailler_), to use his own expression, the great tribune recommended him to the electors of the rhone department. it was thus that the abbé lamourette became the constitutional bishop of lyons. after his consecration, he issued a pastoral instruction in such agreement with current ideas that mirabeau, his protector, induced the constituent assembly to have it sent as a model to every department in france. in , the abbé lamourette was fifty years old. affable, unctuous, his mouth always full of pacific and gentle words, he naïvely preached moderation, concord, and fraternity in conversations which were like so many sermons. for several days the discussions in the assembly had been of unparalleled violence. suspicion, hatred, rancor, wrath, were unchained in a fury that bordered on delirium. right and left emulated each other in outrages and invectives. lafayette's appearance and the fear of a foreign invasion had disturbed all minds. the national assembly, sitting both day and night, was like an arena of gladiators fighting without truce or pity. it was this moment which the good abbé lamourette chose for delivering his most touching sermon from the tribune. during the session of july , brissot was about to ascend the tribune and propose new measures of public safety. lamourette, getting before him, asked to be heard on a motion of order. he said { } that of all the means proposed for arresting the divisions which were destroying france, but one had been forgotten, and that the only one which could be efficacious. it was the union of all frenchmen in one mind, the reconciliation of all the deputies, without exception. what was to prevent this? the only irreconcilable things are crime and virtue. what do all our mistrust and suspicions amount to? one party in the assembly attributes to the other a seditious desire to destroy the monarchy. the others attribute to their colleagues a desire to destroy constitutional equality and to establish the aristocratic government known as that of the two chambers. these are the disastrous suspicions which divide the empire. "very well!" cried the abbé, "let us crush both the republic and the two chambers." the hall rang with unanimous applause from the assembly and the galleries. from all sides came shouts of "yes, yes, we want nothing but the constitution." lamourette went on: "let us swear to have but one mind, one sentiment. let us swear to sink all our differences and become a homogeneous mass of freemen formidable both to the spirit of anarchy and that of feudalism. the moment when foreigners see that we desire one settled thing, and that we all desire it, will be the moment when liberty will triumph and france be saved. i ask the president to put to vote this simple proposition: that those who equally abjure and execrate the republic and the two chambers shall rise." at { } once, as if moved by the same impulse, the members of the assembly rose as one man, and swore enthusiastically never to permit, either by the introduction of the republican system or by that of the two chambers, any alteration whatsoever in the constitution. by a spontaneous movement, the members of the extreme left went towards the deputies of the right. they were received with open arms, and, in their turn, the right advanced toward the ranks of the left. all parties blended. jaucourt and merlin, albite and ramond, gensonné and calvet, chabot and genty, men who ordinarily opposed each other relentlessly, could be seen sitting on the same bench. as if by miracle, the assembly chamber became the temple of concord. the moved spectators mingled their acclamations with the oaths of the deputies. according to the expressions of the _moniteur_, serenity and joy were on all faces, and unction in every heart. m. emmery was the next speaker. "when the assembly is reunited," said he, "all the powers ought to be so. i ask, therefore, that the assembly at once send the king the minutes of its proceedings by a deputation of twenty-four members." the motion was adopted. a few minutes later, louis xvi., followed by the deputation and surrounded by his ministers, entered the hall. cries of "long live the nation! long live the king!" resounded from every side. the sovereign { } placed himself near the president, and in a voice that betrayed emotion, made the following address: "gentlemen, the spectacle most affecting to my heart is that of the reunion of all wills for the sake of the country's safety. i have long desired this salutary moment; my desire is accomplished. the nation and the king are one. each of them has the same end in view. their reunion will save france. the constitution should be the rallying-point for all frenchmen. we all ought to defend it. the king will always set the example of so doing." the president replied: "sire, this memorable moment, when all constituted authorities unite, is a signal of joy to the friends of liberty, and of terror to its enemies. from this union will issue the force necessary to combat the tyrants combined against us. it is a sure warrant of liberty." after prolonged applause a great silence followed. "i own to you, m. the president," presently said the complaisant louis xvi., "that i was longing for the deputation to finish, so that i might hasten to the assembly." applause and cries of "long live the nation! long live the king!" redoubled. what! this monarch now acclaimed is the same prince against whom vergniaud hurled invectives a few days ago with the enthusiastic approbation of the same assembly! he is the sovereign whom the girondin thus addressed: "o king, who doubtless have believed with lysander the tyrant that truth is no better than a lie, and that men must be amused { } with oaths like children with rattles; who have pretended to love the laws only to preserve the power that will enable you to defy them; the constitution only that it may not cast you from the throne where you must remain in order to destroy it; the nation only to assure the success of your perfidy by inspiring it with confidence,--do you think you can impose upon us to-day by hypocritical protestations?" what has occurred since the day when vergniaud, uttering such words as these, was frantically cheered? nothing. that day, the weather-cock pointed to anger; to-day to concord. why? no one knows. tired of hating, the assembly doubtless needed an instant of relaxation. violent sentiments end by wearying the souls that experience them. they must rest and renew their energies in order to hate better to-morrow. and why say to-morrow? this very evening the quarrelling, anger, and fury will begin anew. at half-past three louis xvi. left the hall of the manège, in the midst of joyful applause from the assembly and the galleries. during the evening session discord reappeared. the following letter from the king was read: "i have just been handed the departmental decree which provisionally suspends the mayor and the procureur of the commune of paris. as this decree is based on facts which personally concern me, the first impulse of my heart is to beg the assembly to decide upon it." does any one believe that the assembly will have the courage to condemn pétion and the th of june? not a bit { } of it. it makes no decision, but passes unanimously from the king's letter to the order of the day. and what occurs at the clubs? listen to billaud-varennes at the jacobins: "they embrace each other at the assembly," he exclaims; "it is the kiss of judas, it is the kiss of charles ix., extending his hand to coligny. they were embracing like this while the king was preparing for flight on october . they were embracing like this before the massacres of the champ-de-mars. they embrace, but are the court conspiracies coming to an end? have our enemies ceased their advance against our frontiers? is lafayette the less a traitor?" and thereupon the cry broke out: "pétion or death!" the next day, june , at the assembly, loud applause greeted the orator from a section who said, concerning the department: "it openly serves the sinister projects and disastrous conspiracies of a perfidious court. it is the first link in the immense chain of plots formed against the people. it is an accomplice in the extravagant projects of this general, who, not being able to become the hero of liberty, has preferred to make himself the don quixote of the court." a deputy exclaimed: "the acclamations with which the assembly has listened to this petition authorize me to ask its publication: i make an express motion to that effect." and the publication was decreed. o poor lamourette! humanitarian abbé, rose-water revolutionist, of what avail is your democratic holy water? what have you gained by your sentimental { } jargon? what do your dreams of evangelical philosophy and universal brotherhood amount to? poor constitutional abbé, people are scoffing already at your sacerdotal unction, your soothing homily! the very men who, to please you, have sworn to destroy the republic, will proclaim it two and a half months later. your famous reunion of parties, people are already shrugging their shoulders at and calling it the "_baiser d'amourette, la réconciliation normande_": the calf-love kiss, the pretended reconciliation. they accuse you of having sold yourself to the court. they ridicule, they flout, and they will kill you. january , , fouquier-tinville's prosecuting speech will punish you for your moderatism. you will carry your head to the scaffold, and, optimist to the end, you will say: "what is the guillotine? only a rap on the neck." { } xxiv. the fÉte of the federation in . the fête of the federation, which was to be celebrated july , was awaited with anxiety. the federates came into paris full of the most revolutionary projects. anxiety and anguish reigned at the tuileries. louis xvi. and marie antoinette, who were to be present in the champ-de-mars, feared to be assassinated there. the queen's importunities decided the king to have a plastron made, to ward off a poniard thrust. composed of fifteen thicknesses of italian taffeta, this plastron consisted of a vest and a large belt. madame campan secretly tried it on the king in the chamber where marie antoinette was lying. pulling madame campan by the dress as far as possible from the queen's bed, louis xvi. whispered: "it is to satisfy her that i yield; they will not assassinate me; their plan is changed; they will put me to death in another way." when the king had gone out, the queen forced madame campan to tell her what he had just said. "i had divined it!" she exclaimed. "he has said this long time that all that is going on in france is an imitation of the revolution in england under charles i. i begin to dread { } an impeachment for him. as for me, i am a foreigner, and they will assassinate me. what will become of my poor children?" and she fell to weeping. madame campan tried to administer a nervine, but the queen refused it. "nervous maladies," said she. "are the ailments of happy women; i no longer have them." without her knowledge a sort of corset, in the style of her husband's plastron, had been made for her. nothing could induce her to wear it. to those who implored her with tears to put it on, she replied: "if seditious persons assassinate me, so much the better; they will deliver me from a most sorrowful life." the fête of the federation was celebrated in amidst extremely tragical preoccupations. things had changed very greatly since the fête which had excited such enthusiasm two years earlier. on july , , the champ-de-mars was filled at four o'clock in the morning by a crowd delirious with joy. at eight o'clock in the morning of july , , it was still empty. the people were said to be at the bastille witnessing the laying of the first stone of the column to be erected on the ruins of the famous fortress. on the champ-de-mars there was no magnificent altar served by three hundred priests, no side benches covered by an innumerable crowd, none of that sincere and ardent joy which throbbed in every heart two years before. for the fête of , eighty-three little tents, representing the departments of the kingdom, had been erected on hillocks of sand. { } before each tent stood a poplar, so frail that it seemed as if a breath might blow away the tree and its tri-colored pendant. in the middle of the champ-de-mars were four stretchers covered with canvas painted gray which would have made a miserable decoration for a boulevard theatre. it was a so-called tomb, an honorary monument to those who had died or were about to die on the frontiers. on one side of it was the inscription: "tremble, tyrants; we will avenge them!" the altar of the country could hardly be seen. it was formed of a truncated column placed on the top of the altar steps raised in . perfumes were burned on the four small corner altars. two hundred yards farther off, near the seine, a large tree had been set up and named the tree of feudalism. from its branches depended escutcheons, helmets, and blue ribbons interwoven with chains. this tree rose out of a wood-pile on which lay a heap of crowns, tiaras, cardinals' hats, saint peter's keys, ermine mantles, doctors' caps, and titles of nobility. a royal crown was among them, and beside it the escutcheons of the count de provence, the count d'artois, and the prince de condé. the organizers of the fête hoped to induce the king himself to set fire to this pile, covered with feudal emblems. a figure representing liberty, and another representing law, were placed on casters by the aid of which the two divinities were to be rolled about. fifty-four pieces of cannon bordered the champ-de-mars on the side next the seine, and the phrygian cap crowned every tree. { } at eleven in the morning the king and his cortège arrived at the military school. a detachment of cavalry opened the march. there were three carriages. in the first were the prince de poix, the marquis de brézé, and the count de saint-priest; in the second, the queen's ladies, mesdames de tarente, de la roche-aymon, de maillé, and de mackau; in the third, the king, the queen, their two children, and madame elisabeth. the trumpets sounded and the drums beat a salute. a salvo of artillery announced the arrival of the royal family. the sovereign's countenance was mild and benevolent. marie antoinette appeared still more majestic than usual. the dignity of her demeanor, the grace of her children, and the angelic charm of madame elisabeth inspired a tender respect. the little dauphin wore the uniform of a national guard. "he has not deserved the cap yet," said the queen to the grenadiers. the royal family took their places on the balcony of the military school, which was covered with a red velvet carpet embroidered with gold, and watched the popular procession, entering the champ-de-mars by the gate of the rue de grenelle, and marching towards the altar of the country. what a strange procession! men, women, children, armed with pikes, sticks, and hatchets; bands singing the _Ça ira_; drunken harlots, adorned with flowers; people from the faubourgs with the inscription, "long live pétion!" chalked on their head-gear; six legions of national guards marching pell-mell with the _sans-culottes_; red { } caps; placards with devices either ferocious or stupid, like this one: "long live the heroes who died in the siege of the bastille!" a plan in relief of the celebrated fortress; a travelling printing-press throwing off copies of the revolutionary manifesto, which the crowd at first mistook for a little guillotine; a great deal of noise and shouting,--and there you have the popular cortège. by way of compensation, the troops of the line and the grenadiers of the national guard displayed extremely royalist sentiments. the th regiment of infantry having halted under the balcony, its band played the air: _où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?_ (where is one better off than in the bosom of his family?) the moment when louis xvi. left the military school to walk to the altar of the country with the national assembly was not without solemnity. a certain anxiety was felt by all as to what might happen. would louis xvi. be struck by a ball or by a poniard? what might not be feared from so many demoniacs, howling like cannibals? the king, the deputies, the soldiers, the crowd, all pressed against each other in a solid mass that left no vacant spaces; all was in continual undulation. louis xvi. could only advance slowly and with difficulty. the intervention of the troops was necessary to enable him to reach the altar of the country, where he was to swear allegiance for the second time to the constitution whose fragments were to overwhelm his throne. "it needed the character of louis xvi.," madame de { } staël has said, "it needed that martyr character which he never belied, to support such a situation as he did. his gait, his countenance, had something peculiar to himself; on other occasions one might have wished he had more grandeur; but at this moment it was enough for him to remain what he was in order to appear sublime. from a distance i watched his powdered head in the midst of all those black ones; his coat, still embroidered as it had been in former days, stood out against the costumes of the common people who pressed around him. when he ascended the steps of the altar, one seemed to behold the sacred victim offering himself in voluntary sacrifice." the queen had remained on the balcony of the military school. from there she watched through a lorgnette the dangerous progress of the king. a prey to inexpressible emotion, she remained motionless during an entire hour, hardly able to breathe on account of excessive anguish. she used the lorgnette steadily, but at one moment she cried out: "he has come down two steps!" this cry made all those about her shudder. the king could not, in fact, reach the summit of the altar, because a throng of suspicious-looking persons had already taken possession of it. deputy dumas had the presence of mind to cry out: "attention, grenadiers! present arms!" the intimidated _sans-culottes_ remained quiet, and louis xvi. took the oath amid the thundering of the cannon ranged beside the seine. { } it was then proposed to the king that he should set fire to the tree of feudalism; it was close to the river and the arms of france were hung upon it. louis xvi. spared himself that shame, exclaiming, "there is no more feudalism!" he returned to the military school by the way he came. the th legion of the national guard had not yet marched past when the cavalry announced the king's approach. this legion, quickening its pace, was intercepted by the royal escort, and invaded, not to say routed, by the populace, which from all sides pressed into its ranks. meanwhile the anguish of marie antoinette redoubled. "the expression of the queen's face," madame de staël says again, "will never be effaced from my memory. her eyes were drowned in tears; the splendor of her toilette, the dignity of her demeanor, contrasted with the throng that surrounded her. nothing separated her from the populace but a few national guards; the armed men assembled in the champ-de-mars seemed more as if they had come together for a riot than for a festival." pétion, who had been reinstated in his functions as mayor of paris on the previous day, was the hero of the occasion. they called him king pétion, and the cheers which resounded in honor of this revolutionist were like a funeral knell in the ears of marie antoinette. at last louis xvi. appeared in front of the military school. the queen experienced a momentary joy in seeing him approach. rising hastily, she ran { } down the stairs to meet him. always calm, the king tenderly clasped his wife's hand. at once royalist sentiment took fire. all who were present--national guards, troops of the line, switzers, people in the courts, at the windows, on balconies and gates--all cried: "long live the king! long live the queen!" the royal family regained the tuileries in the midst of acclamations. at the entrance of the palace enthusiasm deepened. from the royal court to the great stairway of the horloge pavilion, the grenadiers of the national guard, who had escorted and saved the king, formed into line with shouts of joy. "all former souvenirs," says the count de vaublanc in his memoirs, "all former habits of respect then awoke.... yes, i saw and observed this multitude; it was animated with the best sentiments; at heart it was faithful to its king and crowned him with sincere benedictions. but do popular love and fidelity afford any support to a tottering throne? he is mad who can think so. the people will be spectators of the latest combat and will applaud the victor. and let no one blame them! what can they do if they are not united, encouraged, and led? the people behold a few seditious individuals attack a throne, and a few courageous men defend it; they fear one party and desire the success of the other. when the struggle is over, they submit and obey. the most honest of them weep in silence, the timid force themselves to display a guilty joy in order to escape the hatred of the victors whom they see { } bathing themselves in blood. they think about their families, their affairs, their means of support. they were not expected to lead themselves; that duty was imposed on others; have they fulfilled it?" it is said that during the fête those who were friendly to the king, amongst the crowd, were awaiting a signal they expected from him. they hoped that, by the assistance of the swiss, they could force their way to the royal family during the confusion of a hand-to-hand affray, and get them safely out of paris. but louis xvi. neither spoke nor acted. he returned to his palace without having dared anything. and, nevertheless, there were still many chances of safety open. imagine the effect of a haughty bearing, a commanding gesture in place of the inert attitude habitual to the unfortunate sovereign. fancy the most christian king, the heir of louis xiv., on horseback, haranguing the people in the style of his witty and valiant ancestor, henry iv.! he is still king. the troops of the line are faithful. the great majority of the national guard are well-disposed towards him. luckner, lafayette, dumouriez himself, would ask nothing better than to defend him if he would show a little energy. the day after the ceremony of july , lafayette was still anxious that louis xvi. should leave paris openly and go to compiègne, so as to show france and europe that he was free. in case of resistance, the general demanded only fifty loyal cavaliers to take the royal family away. from compiègne, picked { } squadrons would conduct them to the midst of the french army, the asylum of devotion and honor. but louis xvi. refused. the last resources remaining to him were to evaporate between his hands. he will profit neither by the sympathies of all european courts, which ardently desire his safety; by his civil list, which might be such an efficacious means of action; nor by the loyalty of his brave soldiers, who are ready to shed their last drop of blood in his defence. a large party in the legislative assembly would ask nothing but a signal, providing it were seriously given, to rally with vigor to the royal cause. he had intrepid champions there whom no menace could affright, and who on every occasion, no matter how violent or tumultuous the galleries might be, had braved the storm with heroic constancy. public opinion was changing for the better. the schemes and language of the jacobins exasperated the mass of honest people. the provinces were sending addresses of fidelity to the king. what was lacking to the monarch to enable him to combine so many scattered elements into a solid group? a little will, a little of that essential quality, audacity, which, according to danton, is the last word of politics. but louis xvi. has a timorous soul. if he makes one step forward, he is in haste to make another back. he is scrupulous, hesitating; he has no confidence in himself or any one else. this prince, so incontestably courageous, acts as if he were a coward. he has made so many concessions already that { } the idea of any manner of resistance seems to him chimerical. does the fate of charles i. make him dread the beginning of civil war as the supreme danger? does he fear to imperil the lives of his wife and children by an energetic deed? is he expecting foreign aid? does he think to prove his wisdom by his patience, and that success will crown delay? is he so benevolent, so gentle, that the least thought of repression is repugnant to him? does he wish to carry to extremes that pardon of injuries which is recommended by the gospel? what is plain is, that he rejects every firm resolution. palliatives, expedients, half-measures, were what suited this honest but feeble nature. disturbed by contradictory councils, and no longer knowing what to desire or what to hope, he looked on at his own destruction like an unmoved spectator. he was no longer a sovereign full of the sentiment of his power and his rights, but an almost unconscious victim of fatality. example full of startling lessons for all leaders of state who adopt weakness as a system, and who, under pretext of benevolence or moderation, no longer know how to foresee, to will, or to strike! { } xxv. the last days at the tuileries. during one of the last nights of july, at one o'clock, madame campan was alone near the queen's bed, when she heard some one walking softly in the adjoining corridor, which was ordinarily locked at both ends. madame campan summoned the valet-de-chambre, who went into the corridor; presently the noise of two men fighting reached the ears of marie antoinette. "what a position!" cried the unfortunate queen. "insults by day and assassins by night!" the valet cried: "madame, it is a scoundrel whom i know; i am holding him."--"let him go," said the queen. "open the door for him; he came to assassinate me; he will be carried in triumph by the jacobins to-morrow." people were constantly saying that the faubourg saint-antoine was getting ready to march against the palace. marie antoinette was so badly guarded, and it was so easy to force an entrance to her apartment on the ground-floor, opposite the garden, that madame de tourzel, her children's governess, begged her to sleep in the dauphin's room on the first floor. the queen was averse to this step, as she was { } unwilling to have any one suspect her uneasiness. but madame de tourzel having shown her that it would be easy to keep the secret of this change by using the dauphin's private staircase, she ended by accepting the proposal so long as the trouble should last. she was so thoughtful of all those in her service that it cost her much to incommode them in the least. finally, she consented to use the bed of the governess, and a pallet was laid for the latter every evening. mademoiselle pauline de tourzel slept on a sofa in an adjoining closet. as no one in the house suspected that the queen might have changed her apartment for the night, madame de tourzel and her daughter took precautionary measures. when the queen had gone to bed, they rose, and after making sure that the doors were locked, they shot the inside bolts. "the closet i occupied served as a passage for the royal family when they went to supper," says mademoiselle de tourzel, afterwards madame de béarn, in her _souvenirs de quarante ans_; "i went to bed early; sometimes i pretended to be asleep when the princes were passing through, and i saw them approach my sofa, one after another; i heard their expressions of kindness and good will toward me, and noticed what care they took not to disturb my slumber." poor marie antoinette! could one believe that a queen of france would be reduced to keeping a little dog in her bedroom to warn her of the least noise in her apartment? the dauphin, delighted to { } have his mother sleep so near him, used to run to her as soon as he awoke, and clasping her in his little arms would say the most affectionate things. this was the only moment of the day that brought her any consolation. by the end of july, both the queen and her children were obliged to give up walking in the garden. she had gone out to take the air with her daughter in the dauphin's small parterre at the extreme end of the tuileries, close to the place louis xv. some federates grossly insulted her. four swiss officers made their way through the crowd, and placing the queen and the young princess between them, brought them back to the palace. when she reached her apartments, marie antoinette thanked her defenders in the most affecting terms, but she never went out again. after june , the garden, excepting the terrace of the feuillants, which, by a decree of the assembly, had become a part of its precincts, had been forbidden to the populace. posters warned the people to remain on the terrace and not go down into the garden. the terrace was called national ground, and the garden the land of coblentz. inscriptions apprised passers-by of this novel topography. tri-colored ribbons had been tied to the banisters of the staircases by way of barriers. placards were fastened at intervals to the trees bordering the terrace, whereon could be read: "citizens, respect yourselves; give the force of bayonets to this feeble barrier. citizens, do { } not go into this foreign land, this coblentz, abode of corruption." the leaders had such an empire over the crowd that no one disobeyed. and yet it was the height of summer, the trees offered their verdant shade, and the king had withdrawn all his guards and opened every gate. nobody dared infringe the revolutionary mandate. one young man, paying no attention, went down into the garden. furious clamors broke out on all sides. "to the lamp-post with him!" cried some one on the terrace. thereupon the young man, taking off his shoes, drew out his handkerchief and began to wipe the dust from their soles. people cried bravo, and he was carried in triumph. marie antoinette could not become resigned to this hatred. often she frightened her women by wishing to go out of the palace and address the people. "yes," she would cry, her voice trembling, as she walked quickly to and fro in her chamber, "yes, i will say to them: frenchmen, they have had the cruelty to persuade you that i do not love france, i, the wife of its king and the mother of a dauphin!" then, this brief moment of generous exaltation over, the illusion of being able to move a nation of insulters quickly vanished. her life was a daily, hourly struggle. the wife, the mother, the queen, never ceased to contend against destiny. she hardly slept or ate; but from the very excess of danger she drew additional energy, and moral and material force. as she awoke at daybreak, she required that the { } shutters should not be closed, so that her sleepless nights might be sooner consoled by the light of morning. the most widely diverse sentiments occupied her soul. a captive in her palace, she sometimes believed herself irrevocably condemned by fate, and sometimes hoped for deliverance. toward the middle of one of the last nights preceding the th of august, the moon shone into her bedchamber. "in a month," she said to madame campan, "i shall not see that moon unless i am freed from my chains." but she was not free from anxiety concerning all that might happen before that. "the king is not a poltroon," she added; "he has very great passive courage, but he is crushed by a false shame, a doubt of himself, which arises from his education quite as much as from his character. he is afraid of commanding; he dreads above everything to speak to assemblages of men. he lived uneasily and like a child, under the eyes of louis xv. until he was twenty, and this constraint has had an effect on his timidity. in our circumstances, a few clearly spoken words addressed to the parisians who are devoted to us would immensely strengthen our party, but he will not say them." then marie antoinette explained why she did not put herself forward more: "for my part," said she, "i could act, and mount a horse if need were; but, if i acted, it would put weapons into the hands of king's enemies; a general outcry would be raised in france against the austrian woman, against female domination; moreover, { } i should reduce the king to nothingness by showing myself. a queen who is not regent must in such circumstances remain inactive and prepare to die." the danger constantly increased. at four in the morning of one of the last days of july, warning was given at the palace that the faubourgs were threatening, and would doubtless march against the tuileries. madame campan went very softly into the queen's room. for a wonder, marie antoinette was sleeping peacefully and profoundly. madame campan did not rouse her. "you were right," said louis xvi.; "it is good to see her take a little rest. oh! her griefs redouble mine!" at her waking the queen, on being informed of what had passed, began to weep, and said: "why was i not called?" madame campan excused herself by saying: "it was only a false alarm. your majesty needed to repair your prostrate strength."--"it is not prostrate," quickly replied the courageous sovereign; "misfortune makes it all the greater. elisabeth was with the king, and i was sleeping! i, who wish to perish beside him! i am his wife; i am not willing that he should incur the least danger without me!" on sunday, august ,--the last sunday the royal family were to spend at the tuileries,--as they were going to the chapel to hear mass, half the national guards on duty cried: "long live the king!" the others said: "no, no; no king, down with the veto!" the same day, at vespers, the chanters had agreed to swell their tones greatly, and in a { } menacing way, when reciting this versicle of the _magnificat: deposuit potentes de sede_--"he hath put down the mighty from their seat." in their turn the royalists, after the _dominum salvum fac regem_, cried thrice, turning as they did so toward the queen: _et reginam_. there was a continual murmuring all through the divine office. five days later, the same chapel was to be a pool of blood. and yet madame elisabeth, always calm and always angelic, still had illusions. one morning of this terrible month of august, while in her room in the pavilion of flora, she thought she heard some one humming her favorite air, _pauvre jacques_, beneath her windows. attracted by this refrain, which in the midst of sorrow renewed the souvenir of happier times, she half opened her window and listened attentively. the words sung were not those of the ballad she loved, yet they were royalist in sentiment and adapted to the same air. the poor people had been substituted for poor jack--the poor people who were pitied for having a king no longer and for knowing nothing but wretchedness. such marks of attachment consoled the virtuous princess, and made her hope against all hope. she wrote, august , to her friend madame de raigecourt: "they say that the king is going to be turned out of here somewhat forcibly, and made to lodge in the hôtel-de-ville. they say that there will be a very strong movement to that effect in paris. do you believe it? for my part, i do not. i believe in rumors, but not in their { } resulting in anything. that is my profession of faith. for the rest, everything is perfectly quiet to-day. yesterday passed in the same way, and i think this one will be like it." on august , the eve of the fatal day, madame elisabeth again addressed a reassuring letter to one of her friends, madame de bombelles. curiously enough she dated this letter august , no doubt by accident, and when madame de bombelles received it, she read these lines, which seem like the irony of fate: "this day of the th, which was to have been so exciting, so terrible, is as calm as possible; the assembly has decreed neither deposition nor suspension." { } xxvi. the prologue to the tenth of august. the first rumblings of the storm began. people quarrelled and fought in the palais royal, the cafés, and the theatres. half of the national guard sided with the court, and the other half with the people. to seditious speeches were added songs full of insults to the king and queen. these songs, sold on every corner, applauded in every tavern, and repeated by the wives and children of the people, propagated revolutionary fury. there was a constant succession of gatherings, brawls, and riots. the assembly had declared the country in danger. rumors of every sort excited popular imagination. it was said that priests who refused the oath were in hiding at the tuileries, which was, moreover, full of arms and munitions. the duke of brunswick's manifesto exasperated national sentiment. it was read aloud in every street. the leaders neglected nothing likely to excite the populace, and prepared their last attack on the throne, their afterpiece of june , with as much audacity as skill. in order to subdue the court, it was necessary to destroy its only remaining means of defence. to { } leave plenty of elbow-room for the riot, the assembly, on july , ordered the troops of the line to be sent some thirty-five miles beyond paris and kept there. a singular means was devised for breaking up the choice troops of the national guard, who were royalists. they were told that it was contrary to equality for certain citizens to be more brilliantly equipped than others; that a bearskin cap humiliated those who were entitled only to a felt one; and that there was a something aristocratic about the name of grenadier which was really intolerable to a simple foot-soldier. the choice troops were dissolved in consequence, and the grenadiers came to the assembly like good patriots to lay down their epaulettes and bearskin caps and assume the red cap. on july , the national guard was reconstructed, by taking in all the vagabonds and bandits that the clubs could muster. the famous federates of marseilles, who were to take such an active part in the coming insurrection, arrived in paris the same day. the girondins, having failed to obtain their camp of twenty thousand men before paris, had devised instead of it a reunion of federate volunteers, summoned from every part of france. the roads were at once thronged by future rioters whom the assembly allowed thirty cents a day. the jacobins of brest and marseilles distinguished themselves. instead of a handful of volunteers they sent two battalions. that of marseilles, recruited by { } barbaroux, comprised five hundred men and two pieces of artillery. starting july , it entered paris july . excited to fanaticism by the sun and the declamations of the southern clubs, it had run over france, been received under triumphal arches, and chanted in a sort of frenzy the terrible stanzas of rouget de l'isle's new hymn, the _marseillaise_. it was at this time that blanc gilli, deputy from the bouches du rhone department to the legislative assembly, wrote: "these pretended marseillais are the scum of the jails of genoa, piedmont, sicily, and of all italy, spain, the archipelago, and barbary. i run across them every day." rouget de l'isle received from his old mother, a royalist and catholic at heart, a letter in which she said: "what is this revolutionary hymn which a horde of brigands are singing as they pass through france, and in which your name is mixed up?" at paris the accents of that terrible melody sounded like strokes of the tocsin. the men who sang it filled the conservatives with terror. they wore woollen cockades and insulted as aristocrats those who wore silk ones. there was no longer any dike to the torrent. august , louis xvi. nominated a cabinet composed of loyal men: joly was minister of justice; champion de villeneuve, of the interior; bigot de sainte-croix, of foreign affairs; du bouchage, of the marine; leroux de la ville, of public taxes; and d'abancourt, of war. but this ministry was to last only ten days. certain petitioners at the bar of the { } assembly asked for the deposition of the king in most violent language. "this measure," says barbaroux in his memoirs, "would have carried philippe of orléans to the regency, and therefore his party violently clamored for it. his creditors, his hirelings, and boon-companions, marat and his cordeliers, all manner of swindlers and insolvent debtors, thronged public places and incited to this deposition because they were hungry for money and positions under a regent who was their tool and their accomplice." in vain did louis xvi. display those sentiments of paternal kindness which had hitherto availed him so little. august , he sent a message to the assembly, in which he said: "i will uphold national independence to my latest breath. personal dangers are nothing compared to public ones. oh! what are personal dangers to a king whom men are seeking to deprive of his people's love? this is the real plague-spot in my heart. perhaps the people will some day know how dear their welfare is to me. how many of my sorrows could be obliterated by the least evidence of a return to right feeling!" how did they respond to this conciliatory language? after it had been read, pétion, the mayor of paris, presented himself at the bar, and read an address from the council general of the commune, in which these words occur: "the chief of the executive power is the first link of the counter-revolutionary chain.... through a lingering forbearance, we would have desired the power to ask you for the { } suspension of louis xvi., but to this the constitution is opposed. louis xvi. incessantly invokes the constitution; we invoke it in our turn, and ask you for his deposition." the next day the municipality distributed five thousand ball cartridges to the marseillais, while refusing any to the national guards. nevertheless, the girondins still hesitated. guadet, vergniaud, and gensonné would have declared themselves satisfied if the three ministers belonging to their party had been reinstated, and on july they secretly despatched a letter to the sovereign, by thierry, his valet-de-chambre, in which they said that, "attached to the interests of the nation, they would never separate them from those of the king except in so far as he separated them himself." as to barbaroux, like a true visionary, he dreamed of i know not what rose-water insurrection. "they should not have entered the apartments of the palace," he has said, "but merely blockaded them. had this plan been followed, the blood of frenchmen and swiss, ignorant victims of court perfidy, would not have been shed on the th of august, the republic would have been founded without convulsions or massacres, and we, corroded by popular gangrene, should not have become the horror of all nations." the demagogues were not at all certain of success. robespierre was to spend the th of august in the discreet darkness of a cellar. danton was prudently to await the end of the combat before arming himself with a big sabre and marching at the head of the marseilles { } battalion as the hero of the day. barbaroux says in his memoirs that on the st, d, and th of august, marat implored him to take him to marseilles, and that on the evening of the th he renewed this prayer more urgently than ever, adding that he would disguise himself as a jockey in order to get away. in spite of their many weaknesses, the majority of the assembly were royalists and constitutionalists still. the proof is that on august , in spite of the violent menaces of the galleries, they decided by against votes, that there was no occasion to impeach lafayette, so abhorred by the jacobins. this vote excited the wrath of the revolutionists to fury. the conservative deputies were insulted, pursued, and struck. several of them barely escaped assassination. the sessions became stormier from day to day. not only were the large galleries of the assembly overthronged by violent crowds, but the courtyards, the approaches, and the corridors were obstructed. many sat or stood on the exterior entablatures of the high windows. the upper part of the hall, where the jacobins sat, received many strangers, in spite of the often-reiterated opposition of the right. below this mountain sat the members of the centre, the _ventrus_. there were not seats enough for them, and they were crowded up in a ridiculous manner. at the bottom of the hall, almost entirely deserted, were the forty-four members of the right. they were easily marked and counted by their future executioners, who threatened them by voice and gesture. every { } day the petitioners who were admitted to the honors of the session avoided the empty benches of the right and seated themselves with the mountain or the centre, where they crowded still more the already overcrowded deputies. the discussions were like formidable tempests. "the effect produced by such a spectacle," says count de vaublanc in his memoirs, "was still greater on those who entered the hall during one of those terrible moments. i received this impression several times myself, and it will never be effaced from my mind; i seek vainly for expressions by which to describe it. long afterwards, m. de caux, then minister of war, said to me: 'you made the profoundest impression on me which i ever received in my life. i was young at the time. i entered the galleries just as you were standing out against the furious shouts of a part of the deputies and the people in the galleries.'" meanwhile the end was approaching. faithful royalists still proposed schemes of flight to louis xvi. bertrand de molleville, who is so ill disposed toward madame de staël, says concerning this: "there was nobody, even to madame de staël, who, either in the hope of being pardoned the injury her intrigues had done the king, or else through her continual need of intrigue, had not invented some plan of escape for his majesty." louis xvi. declined them all. he would owe nothing to lafayette. he relied on the money he had given to danton and other demagogues, and hoped that the { } insurrectionary bands would be repulsed by the royalists of the national guard and the swiss regiment. august th, in the evening, this fine regiment left its courbevoie barracks and arrived at the tuileries at daybreak next morning. under various idle pretexts it had been deprived of its twelve pieces of artillery, and also of three hundred men who had been given the commission, true or false as may be, to watch over the transportation of corn in normandy. only seven hundred and fifty, officers and soldiers, remained; but all of them had said: "we will let ourselves be killed to the last man rather than fail in honor or betray the sanctity of our oaths." in company with a handful of noblemen, these were to be the last defenders of the throne. the fatal hour was approaching. the section of the cordeliers had decided that if the assembly had not pronounced the king's deposition by the evening of august th, the drums should beat the general alarm at the stroke of midnight, and the insurrection march against the tuileries. the revolutionists were to carry out their plan, and the swiss to keep their word. { } xxvii. the night of august ninth to tenth. the night was serene, the sky clear and sown with stars. the calmness of nature contrasted with the revolutionary passions that had been unchained. on account of the heat, all the windows of the tuileries had been left open, and from a distance the palace could be seen illuminated as if for a fête. it had just struck midnight. the revolution was executing the programme of the cordeliers' section. the tocsin was sounding all over the city. everybody named the church whose bell he thought he recognized. the people of the faubourgs were out of bed in their houses. the drums mingled with the tocsin. the revolutionists beat the general alarm, and the royalists the call to arms. no one was asleep at the tuileries. there was no further question of etiquette. the night reception in the royal bedchamber was omitted for the first time. certain old servitors, faithful guardians of tradition, in vain recalled that it was not permissible to sit down in the sovereign's apartments. the courtiers of the last hour seated themselves in armchairs, on tables and consoles. louis xvi. stayed sometimes { } in his chamber and sometimes in his great cabinet, also called the council hall, where the assembled ministers received constant tidings of what was happening without. the pious monarch had summoned his confessor, abbé hébert, and shutting himself up with this venerable priest, he besought from heaven the resignation and courage he needed to pass through the final crisis. madame elisabeth showed the faithful madame campan the carnelian pin which fastened her fichu. these words, surrounding the stalk of a lily, were engraved on it: "forget offences, pardon injuries."--"i fear much," said the virtuous princess, "that this maxim has little influence over our enemies, but it must be none the less dear to us." louis xvi. did not wear his padded vest. "i consented to do so on the th of july," said he, "because on that day i was merely going to a ceremony where an assassin's dagger might be apprehended. but on a day when my party may be forced to fight with the revolutionists, i should think it cowardly to preserve my life by such means." marie antoinette was grave and tranquil in her heroism. there was nothing affected about her, nothing theatrical, neither passion, despair, nor the spirit of revenge. according to the expressions of roederer, who never left her, "she was a woman, a mother, a wife in peril; she feared, she hoped, she grieved, and she took heart again." she was also a queen, and the daughter of maria theresa. her anxiety and grief were restrained or concealed by { } her respect for her rank, her dignity, and her name. when she reappeared amidst the courtiers in the council hall, after having dissolved in tears in thierry's room, the redness of her cheeks and eyes had disappeared. the courtiers said to each other: "what serenity! what courage!" the struggle might still seem doubtful. something like two hundred noblemen who had spontaneously repaired to the king, seven hundred and fifty swiss, and nine hundred mounted gendarmes posted at the approaches of the tuileries were the last resources of the commander-in-chief of the french army. the swiss, who through some one's extreme imprudence had not cartridges enough, were posted in the apartments, the chapel, and at the entry of the royal court. baron de salis, as the oldest captain of the regiment, commanded at the stairways. a reserve of three hundred men, under captain durler, was stationed in the swiss court, before the pavilion of marsan. the national guards belonging to the sections _petits-pères_ and the _filles-saint-thomas_ showed themselves well disposed toward the king; but it was different with the other companies. as to the mounted gendarmes, louis xvi. could not count on them, and before the riot ended they were to join the insurgents in spite of all the efforts made by their royalist officers. the artillerists of the national guard, charged with serving the cannons placed in the courts and before the palace doors to defend the entry, were to act in the same manner. { } like the swiss, the two hundred noblemen, martyrs to the old french ideas of honor, had resolved to be loyal unto death. with their silk coats and drawing-room swords, they seemed as if they had come to a fête instead of a combat. the servants of the chateau joined them. some of them had pistols and blunderbusses. some, for lack of other weapons, had taken the tongs from the chimneys. they jested with each other over their accoutrements. no, no; there was nothing laughable in these champions of misfortune. they represented the past, with its ancient fidelity to the altar and the throne. a great poet who had the spirit of divination, heinrich heine, wrote on november , , as if he foresaw february , : "the middle classes will possibly make less resistance than the aristocracy would do in a similar case. even in its most pitiable weakness, its enervation by immorality and its degeneration through flattery, the old nobility was still alive to a certain point of honor unknown to our middle classes, who have become prosperous by industry, but who will perish by it also. another th of august is predicted for these middle classes; but i doubt whether the industrial knights of the throne of july will prove themselves as heroic as the powdered marquises of the old régime who, in silk coats and flimsy dress swords, opposed the people who invaded the tuileries." the greater part of these noblemen, volunteers for the last conflict, were old men with white hair. there were also children among them. { } m. mortimer-ternaux, author of the _histoire de la terreur_, has remarked: "was not this a time to exclaim with racine:-- "'see what avengers arm themselves for the quarrel?' "who could have told louis xiv., when in the midst of the splendors of his court he was present at the performance of _athalie_, that the poet was predicting, through the mouth of joad, the fate reserved for his great-grandson?" the royalist national guards who were in the apartments considered the volunteer noblemen as companions in arms. they shook hands with each other amid cries of "long live the king! long live the national guard!" but the troops outside did not share these sentiments. jealous of the royalists assembled in the palace, they wanted to have them sent out. a regimental commander having come to make known this desire to louis xvi., marie antoinette exclaimed: "nothing can separate us from these gentlemen; they are our most faithful friends. they will share the dangers of the national guard. they will obey us. put them at the cannon's mouth, and they will show you how men die for their king." meantime what had become of pétion, whose business it was, as mayor, to defend the palace? summoned to the tuileries, he arrived there at eleven in the evening. as louis xvi. said to him: "it seems there is a great deal of commotion?"--"yes, sire," he replied, "the excitement is great." and he { } enlarged upon the measures he claimed that he had taken, and his pretended haste to wait upon the king. in going out, he came face to face with m. de mandat, who, as general-in-chief of the national guard, was in command of all military forces. "why," exclaimed he, "have the police refused cartridges to the national guard when they have wasted them on the marseillais? my men have only four charges apiece; some of them have not one. no matter; i answer for everything; my measures are taken, providing i am authorized, by an order signed by you, to repel force by force." not daring to avow his complicity with the riot, pétion signed the order demanded. then he made his escape under pretext of inspecting the gardens, and fell amongst some royalist national guards, who reprimanded him severely. he began to fear being kept at the tuileries as a hostage, to guarantee the palace against the attempts of the populace, and went to the assembly. it had adjourned at ten o'clock the evening before, but on account of the crisis had met again at two in the morning. the assembly knew the gravity of the danger as well as the king did; but through a ridiculous and culpable point of honor, it affected not to recognize it, and devoted to the reading of a colonial report the moments it should have employed in saving that constitution it had sworn to maintain. pétion merely put in an appearance in the hall of the manège. but he took good care not to return to the tuileries. at half-past three in the morning the { } rolling of a carriage was heard from the palace. it was that of the mayor, going back empty. he had not dared to get into it, and had only sent his coachman an order to return when he found himself in safety at the mayoralty, whither he had made his way on foot. meanwhile, some hundred unknown individuals, who gathered at the hôtel-de-ville, and surreptitiously made their way into one of the halls, had formed an insurrectionary commune. on their own authority they appointed commissaries of sections, and dismissed the staff of the national guard, who were very much in their way; but retained in office manuel as procurator and pétion as mayor. this new municipality, whose very existence was unknown at the palace, had just learned that mandat, general-in-chief of the national guard, had a document in his pocket by which pétion authorized him to oppose force to force. it was necessary to get rid of this document at any cost. the municipality sent mandat an order to come to the hôtel-de-ville. he knew nothing about the revolution that had just taken place there. and yet he hesitated to obey. a secret presentiment took possession of his soul. finally, at the instance of roederer, he decided, towards five in the morning, to leave the tuileries and go to that hôtel-de-ville, which was to be so fatal to him. when he came before the municipality he was surprised to see new faces. he was accused of having intended to disperse "the { } innocent and patriotic column of the people," and sentenced to be taken to the abbey prison. it was a sentence of death. mandat was massacred on the steps of the hôtel-de-ville. a pistol-shot brought him down. pikes and sabres finished him. his body was thrown into the seine. such was the first exploit of the new commune. it preluded thus the massacres of september. "mandat's death," says count de vaublanc in his memoirs, "was, beyond any doubt, the chief cause of the calamities of the day. if he had attacked the rebels as soon as they came near the palace, he could have dispersed them with ease. they took a long time to form and set off; and, being undecided and uneasy, they often halted. no troop marching from a given point in this immense city knew whether it was seconded by the rebels from other quarters, and lost much time in making sure." the second exploit of the commune was to confine pétion at the mayoralty under the guard of six men. a voluntary captive, this accomplice of the insurrection rejoiced at a measure which sheltered him from every danger. as m. mortimer-ternaux has observed: "on this fatal night, when the passion of the royalty was fulfilled, pétion doubled the parts of judas and pontius pilate. like judas, he went at nightfall to give the kiss of peace to louis xvi. by assuring him of his loyalty; like the roman governor, he proclaimed at daybreak the impotence with which he had stricken himself, and washed his hands of all that was to happen." { } when the first fires of this fatal day were kindling in the sky, marie antoinette experienced a profound emotion. looking with melancholy at the horizon which began to lighten: "sister," said she to madame elisabeth, "come and see the sun rise." it was the sun that was to illumine the death-struggle of royalty. sinister omen! the sun was red as blood. { } xxviii. the morning of august tenth. the fatal day began. it was five o'clock in the morning. the queen made her children rise, lest the swords of the insurgents should surprise them in their beds. the dauphin, unaccustomed to being called so early, stared with surprise at the spectacle presented by the court and garden. "mamma," said he, "why should any one harm papa? he is so good!" then, turning to a little girl who was his usual companion in his games, he addressed her these words, which prove how well, in spite of his age, he knew the peril he was in: "here, josephine, take this lock of my hair, and promise to wear it as long as i am in danger." led by their chief, marshal de mailly, an old man of eighty-six, the two hundred noblemen, who had assembled in the gallery of diana, passed in review before the royal family with those of the national guards who were royalists. "sire," exclaimed the old marshal, bending his knee, "here are your faithful nobles who have hastened to re-establish your majesty on the throne of your ancestors."--"for this once," responded louis xvi., "i consent that { } my friends should defend me; we will perish or save ourselves together." the last defenders of the throne shed tears of fidelity and tenderness. they kneeled before marie antoinette, and entreated the honor of kissing her hand. never had the queen appeared more gracious and majestic. the national guards, enchanted, loaded their arms with transport. the queen seized the dauphin in her arms and held him above their heads like a living standard. the young men shouted: "long live the kings of our fathers!" and the old men cried: "long live the king of our children!" at the gates of the tuileries the tide was rising. vanguards of the insurrection, the marseillais arrived unhindered. the municipality had succeeded in removing the cannons which were to have prevented approach by way of the pont-neuf and the pont-royal. mandat was no longer there to issue orders. nothing impeded the march of the faubourgs. and yet resistance might still have been possible. it is barbaroux, the fierce revolutionist himself, who says so. "all the faults committed by the insurrection, the wretched arrangement of the attacking party, the terror of some and the ignorance of others, the forces at the palace, all made the victory of the court certain, if the king had not left his post. if he had shown himself on horseback, a large majority of the people of paris would have pronounced for him." napoleon, who was an eye-witness, had said the night before to pozzo di borgo, that with two { } battalions of swiss and some cavalry he would undertake to give the rioters a lesson they would remember. in the evening of august , he wrote to his brother joseph: "according to what i saw of the temper of the crowd in the morning, if louis xvi. had mounted a horse, he would have gained the victory." very few of the insurgents were seriously determined on a revolt. most of them marched blindly, not knowing, and not even asking, whither they went. westermann had been obliged to threaten santerre, and even to put his sword against his breast, in order to induce him to march. a great number of the people of the faubourgs, uneasy as to the result of the enterprise, said that, considering the preparations made by the palace, it would be better to defer the matter to another day. the unarmed crowd followed through mere curiosity, and were ready to take flight at the first discharge of musketry. according to count de vaublanc, the swiss, if they had been commanded by a good officer from four o'clock in the morning, would have sufficed to disperse the multitude as they came up, and possibly might have won the day for the king without bloodshed. "thus, the best of princes rendered useless the courage of his defenders, and to spare the blood of his enemies accomplished the ruin of his friends. all his virtues turned against him and brought him to his ruin." m. de vaublanc says again in his memoirs: "at six in the morning those who were in revolt had not yet assembled. how much time had been lost, how { } much was still to be lost! it was too evident that no military judgment had presided over that strange disposition of troops, so placed within and without the palace as to be unable to give each other mutual support; a military man knows too well the value of the briefest moments, he knows too well how quickly victory can be decided by attacking the flank of a multitude with a small number of brave men. if the king had appointed one of the generals near him absolute master of operations, no doubt this general would have given the rebels no time to unite.... alas! louis xvi. had three times more courage than was necessary to conquer, but he knew not how to avail himself of it." such also was the opinion of m. thiers, who, in his _histoire de la révolution française_, says: "it must be repeated, the unfortunate prince feared nothing for himself. he had, in fact, refused to wear a wadded vest, as he had done on july , saying that on a day of combat he ought to be as much exposed as the least of his servants. courage did not fail him then, and afterwards he displayed a bravery that was noble and elevated enough; but he lacked boldness to take the offensive.... it is certain, as has been frequently said, that if he had mounted a horse and charged at the head of his troops, the insurrection would have been put down." toward six o'clock the king went out on the balcony. he was saluted with acclamations. then he went down the great staircase with the queen to { } inspect the troops stationed in the courtyards. as one of his gentlemen-of-the-chamber, emmanuel aubier, has remarked: "he had never made war himself during his reign; there had never been a war on the continent; he was so unfortunate as to be wanting in grace, even awkward, and to look thoughtful rather than energetic,--a thing displeasing to french soldiers." instead of putting on a uniform and mounting a horse, he wore a purple coat, of the shade used as mourning for kings, on this fatal day when he was to wear mourning for the monarchy. unspurred, unbooted, shod as if for a drawing-room, with white silk stockings, his hat under his arm, his hair out of curl and badly powdered, there was nothing martial, nothing royal about him. at this hour, when what was needed was the attitude and the fire of a henry iv., he looked like an honest country gentleman talking with his farmers. the first condition of inspiring confidence is to possess it. louis xvi.'s aspect was much more that of a victim than a sovereign. the cries of "long live the king!" which would have been enthusiastic for a prince ready to battle for his rights and reconquer his realm at the sword's point, were few and sad. after having inspected the troops in the courts, louis xvi. decided to inspect those in the garden also. the queen returned to the palace, and he continued his rounds. the loyal national guards, comprising the companies of the _petits-pères_ and the _filles-saint-thomas_, were drawn up on the terrace between the palace and { } the garden. they received the king sympathetically and advised him to continue his inspection as far as the place louis xv. at this moment a battalion of the national guards from the saint-marceau section defiled before him, uttering shouts of hatred and fury. louis xvi. was undisturbed by this. he remained calm, and when this battalion had got into position, he tranquilly reviewed it. then he walked on again and crossed the entire garden. the battalion of the _croix-rouge_, which was on the terrace beside the water, cried from a distance: "down with the veto! down with the traitor!" on the terrace of the feuillants, at the other side, there was an equally violent crowd. the king, calm as ever, went on to the swing-bridge by which the tuileries was entered from place louis xv. he was well enough received by the troops stationed there. but his return to the palace could not but be difficult. the national guards of the _croix-rouge_ had broken rank and come down from the terrace beside the river to the garden, and pressed around the king with menacing shouts. the unfortunate monarch could only re-enter the palace where he had but a few moments more to stay, by calling to his aid a double row of faithful grenadiers. the ministers who were at the windows became alarmed. one of them, m. de bouchage, cried: "great god! it is the king they are hooting! what the devil are they doing down there? quick; we must go after him!" and he hastened to descend into the garden with his colleague, { } bigot de sainte-croix, to meet his master. the queen, who beheld the sight, shed tears. the two ministers brought back louis xvi. he came in out of breath, and fatigued by the heat and the exercise he had taken, but otherwise seeming very little moved. "all is lost," said the queen. "this review has done more harm than good." from this moment bad tidings succeeded each other without interruption. they were apprised of the formation of the new commune, mandat's murder, the march of the faubourgs, and the arrival of the first detachments of rioters. the marseillais debouched into the carrousel, and sent an envoy to demand that the gate of the royal court should be opened. as it remained closed, they knocked on it with repeated blows, while the national guards said: "we will not fire on our brothers." would resistance have been possible even at this moment; that is to say, between seven and eight in the morning? m. de vaublanc thought so. "i do not know," he writes, "to what section the first band that arrived on the carrousel belonged; it was in disorder and badly armed. if the king had marched towards this troop at the head of a battalion of the national guard, if he had pronounced these words: 'i am your king; i order you to lay down your arms,' the success would have been decided. the flight of a single battalion of rebels would have sufficed to frighten and disperse the others, even before they were formed into line." { } it was at this time that roederer, instead of counselling resistance, implored louis xvi. to seek shelter in the assembly for the royal family. "sire," he said in an urgent tone, "your majesty has not five minutes to lose; there is no safety for you except in the national assembly. in the opinion of the department, it is necessary to go there without delay. there are not men enough in the courtyards to defend the palace; nor are they perfectly well-disposed. on the mere recommendation to be on the defensive, the cannoneers have already unloaded their cannons."--"but," said the king, "i did not see many persons on the carrousel."--"sire," returned roederer, "there are a dozen pieces of artillery, and an immense crowd is arriving from the faubourgs." the idea of a flight before the insurrection revolted the queen's pride. "what are you saying, sir?" cried she; "you are proposing that we should seek shelter with our most cruel persecutors! never! never! i will be nailed to these walls before i consent to leave them. sir, we have troops."--"madame, all paris is on the march. resistance is impossible. will you cause the massacre of the king, your children, and your servants?" louis xvi. still hesitating, roederer vehemently insisted. "sire," said he, "time presses; this is no longer an entreaty nor even a counsel we take the liberty of offering you; there is only one thing left for us to do now, and we ask your permission to take you away." the king looked fixedly at his { } interlocutor for several seconds; then, turning to the queen, he said: "let us go," and rose to his feet. madame elisabeth said: "monsieur roederer, do you answer for the king's life?"--"yes, madame, with my own," responded the communal attorney. then, turning to the king: "sire," said he, "i ask your majesty not to take any of your court with you, but to have no cortège but the department and no escort except the national guard."--"yes," replied the king, "there is nothing but that to say." the minister of justice exclaimed: "the ministers will follow the king."--"yes, they have a place in the assembly."--"and madame de tourzel, my children's governess?" said the queen.--"yes, madame; she will accompany you." roederer then left the king's chamber, where this conversation had taken place, and said in a loud voice to the persons crowding together in the council hall: "the king and his family are going to the assembly without other attendants than the department, the ministers, and a guard." then he asked: "is the officer who commands the guard here?" this officer presenting himself, he said to him: "you must bring forward a double file of national guards to accompany the king. the king desires it." the officer replied: "it shall be done." louis xvi. came out of his chamber with his family. he waited several minutes in the hall until the guard should arrive, and, going around the circle composed of some forty or fifty persons belonging to his court: "come, { } gentlemen," said he, "there is nothing more to do here." the queen, turning to madame campan, said: "wait in my apartment; i will rejoin you or else send word to go i don't know where." marie antoinette took no one with her except the princess de lamballe and madame de tourzel. the princess de tarente and madame de la roche-aymon, afflicted at the thought of being left at the tuileries, went down with all the other ladies to the queen's apartments on the ground-floor. la chesnaye, who had succeeded to the command of the national guard in consequence of mandat's death, put himself at the head of the escort. this was formed of detachments from the most loyal battalions, the _petits-pères_, the _suite des moulins_, and the _filles-saint-thomas_, re-enforced by about two hundred swiss, commanded by the colonel of the regiment, marquis de maillardoz, and the major, baron de bachmann. the cortège reached the great staircase by way of the council hall, the royal bedchamber, the oeil-de-boeuf, the hall of the guards, and the hall of the hundred swiss. as he was passing through the oeil-de-boeuf, louis xvi. took the hat of the national guard on his right, and replaced it by his own, which was adorned with white feathers. the guard, surprised, removed the king's hat from his head and carried it under his arm. when louis xvi. arrived at the foot of the stairs in the pavilion of the horloge, his thoughts recurred { } to the faithful adherents who had so uselessly devoted themselves to his defence, and whom he was leaving at the tuileries without watchword or direction. "what is going to become of all those who have stayed up stairs?" said he.--"sire," replied roederer, "it seemed to me that they were all in colored coats. those who have swords need only lay them off, follow you, and go out through the garden."--"that is true," returned louis xvi. in the vestibule, a little further on, as he was about to quit the fatal palace which fate had condemned him never to re-enter, he had a last moment of scruple and hesitation. he said again: "but after all, there are not many people on the carrousel." "true, sire," replied roederer; "but the faubourgs will soon arrive, and all the sections are armed, and have assembled at the municipality; besides, there are neither men enough here, nor are they determined enough to resist the actual gathering on the carrousel, which has twelve pieces of artillery." the die is cast; louis xvi. abandons the tuileries. respect alone restrains the grief and indignation that move the swiss soldiers and the noblemen whose weapons and whose blood have been refused. they looked down from the windows at the cortège, or better, the funeral procession of royalty. it was about seven o'clock in the morning. the escort was drawn up in two lines. the members of the department formed a circle around the royal family. roederer walked first. then came the king, with { } bigot de sainte-croix, minister of foreign affairs, at his side; the queen followed, giving her left arm to m. du bouchage, minister of marine, and her right hand to the dauphin, who held madame de tourzel with the other; then madame royale and madame elisabeth, with de joly, minister of justice; the minister of war, d'abancourt, leading the princess de lamballe. the ministers of the interior and of taxes, champion de villeneuve and le roux de la ville, closed the procession. the air was pure and the morning radiant. the sun lighted up the garden, the marble sculpture, and the sheets of water. birds sang under the trees, and nature smiled on this day of mourning as if it were a festival. looking at the populace, madame elisabeth said: "all those people have gone astray; i should like them to be converted; i should not like them to be punished." tears stood in the eyes of the little madame royale. the princess de lamballe said mournfully: "we shall never return to the tuileries!" the prince de poix, the duke de choiseul, counts d'haussonville, de vioménil, de hervilly, and de pont-l'abbé, the marquis de briges, chevalier de fleurieu, viscount de saint-priest, the marquis de nantouillet, mm. de fresnes and de salaignac, the king's equerries, and saint-pardoux, the equerry of madame elisabeth, followed the sad procession. they passed through the grand alley unobstructed as far as the parterres, then turned to the right, { } toward the alley of the chestnut trees. there a halt of some minutes occurred, in order to give time for warning the assembly. louis xvi. looked down at a heap of dead leaves which had been swept up by the gardeners after a storm the night before. "there are a good many leaves," said the king; "they are falling early this year." it was only a few days before that manuel had written in a journal that the king would not last until the falling of the leaves. perhaps louis xvi. remembered the prophecy of the revolutionist; the dauphin, with the carelessness belonging to his age, amused himself by kicking about the dead leaves, the leaves that had fallen as his father's crown was falling at this moment. before the royal family could enter the assembly chamber, it was necessary that the step the king had taken should be announced to the deputies. the president of the department undertook this commission. a deputation of twenty-four members was at once sent to meet louis xvi. they found him in the large alley at the foot of the terrace of the feuillants, a few steps from the staircase leading up to it, and which goes as far as the lobby through which one enters the hall occupied by the national assembly. "sire," said the leader of the deputation, "the assembly, eager to contribute to your safety, offers to you and your family an asylum in its midst." during this time, the terrace and the staircase had become thronged by a furious crowd. a man { } carrying a long pole cried out in rage: "no, no; they shall not enter the assembly. they are the cause of all our troubles. this must be ended. down with them!" roederer, standing on the fourth step of the staircase, cried: "citizens, i demand silence in the name of the law. you seem disposed to prevent the king and his family from entering the national assembly; you are not justified in opposing it. the king has a place there in virtue of the constitution; and though his family has none legally, they have just been authorized by a decree to go there. here are the deputies sent to meet the king; they will attest the existence of this decree." the deputies confirmed his words. nevertheless, the crowd still hesitated to leave the way clear. the man with the pole kept on brandishing it, and crying: "down with them! down with them!" roederer, going on to the terrace, snatched the pole and flung it into the garden. the crowd was so compact that in the midst of the squabble some one stole the queen's watch and her purse. a man with a sinister face approached the dauphin, took him from marie antoinette, and lifted him in his arms. the queen uttered a cry. "do not be frightened," said the man; "i will do him no harm." another person said to louis xvi.: "sire, we are honest men; but we are not willing to be betrayed any longer. be a good citizen, and don't forget to drive away your shavelings and your wife." insults and threats resounded from all sides. finally, after an actual struggle, the royal family succeeded { } in opening a passage. they made their way with difficulty through the narrow lobby, choked with people, penetrated the crowd, and entered the session chamber. it was there that royalty, humiliated and overcome, was to lie at the point of death under the eyes of its implacable enemies. { } xxix. the box of the logograph. the royal family has just entered the session chamber. it will find there not an asylum, but the vestibule of the prison and the scaffold. the man who had taken the dauphin from the queen's arms at the door of the assembly set him down on the secretary's desk with an air of triumph, and the young prince was greeted with applause. marie antoinette advanced with dignity. according to vaublanc's expression, she would not have had a different bearing or a more august serenity on a day of royal pomp. louis xvi. took a place near the president. the queen, her daughter, madame elisabeth, and madame de tourzel sat down on the ministerial benches. as soon as the dauphin was left to himself, he sprang towards his mother. a voice cried: "take him to the king! the austrian woman is unworthy of the people's confidence." an usher attempted to obey this injunction. however, the child began to cry, people were affected, and he was allowed to remain with the queen. at this moment some armed noblemen made their appearance at the extremity of the hall. "you { } compromise the king's safety!" exclaimed some one, and the nobles retired. order was restored. louis xvi. began to speak. "i came here," said he, "to prevent a great crime, and i think that i could be nowhere more secure than amidst the representatives of the nation." alas! the crime will not be prevented, but only adjourned. vergniaud occupied the president's chair. "sire," he replied, "you may count on the firmness of the national assembly. it knows its duties; its members have sworn to die in defending the rights of the people and the constituted authorities." so they still called louis xvi. sire; presently they will call him nothing but louis capet. they allow him to take an armchair near the president; but in a few minutes they will find this place too good for him. and it is the voice of this very vergniaud who, a few hours from now, will pronounce his deposition, and five months later his sentence of death. hardly had the unhappy king sat down when chabot, the unfrocked capuchin, claimed that a clause of the constitution forbade the assembly to deliberate in presence of the sovereign. under this pretext his place was changed, and louis xvi. with all his family was shut up in the reporters' gallery, sometimes called the box of the logograph. this miserable hole, about six feet high by twelve wide, was on a level with the last ranks of the assembly, behind the president's chair and the seats of the { } secretaries. it was ordinarily set apart for the editors, or rather for the stenographers of a great newspaper which reported the proceedings, and which was called the _journal logographique_, or the _logotachygraphe_, usually abbreviated into the _logographe_. louis xvi. seated himself in the front of the box, marie antoinette half-concealed herself in a corner, where she sought a little shelter against so many humiliations. her children and their governess took places on a bench with madame elisabeth and the princess de lamballe. several noblemen, the latest courtiers of misfortune, stood up behind them. roederer, who was at the bar, then made a report in the name of the municipal department, in which he explained all that had taken place. he declared that he had said to the soldiers and national guard detailed for the defence of the tuileries: "we do not ask you to shed the blood of your brethren nor to attack your fellow-citizens; your cannons are there for your defence, not for an attack; but i require this defence in the name of the law, in the name of the constitution. the law authorizes you, when violence is used against you, to repress it vigorously.... once more, you are not to be assailants, but to act on the defensive only." roederer added that the cannoneers, instead of complying with his urgent exhortations, gave no response save that of unloading their pieces before him. after having explained how greatly the { } defence was disorganized, he thus ended his report: "we felt ourselves no longer in a position to protect the charge confided to us; this charge was the king; the king is a man; this man is a father. the children ask us to assure the existence of the father; the law asks us to assure the existence of the king of france; humanity asks of us the existence of the man. no longer able to defend this charge, no other idea presented itself than that of entreating the king to come with his family to the national assembly.... we have nothing to add to what i have just said, except that, our force being paralyzed, and no longer in existence, we can have none but that which it shall please the national assembly to communicate. we are ready to die in the execution of the orders it may give us. we ask, while awaiting them, to remain near it, being useless everywhere else." the assembly, not then suspecting that it would so soon depose louis xvi., applauded without contradiction from the galleries. the president said to roederer: "the assembly has listened to your account with the greatest interest; it invites you to be present at the session." the advice given by roederer to the king has been greatly blamed. the event has seriously influenced the judgment since passed upon it. if louis xvi. had received the support he had a right to count on from the representatives, things would have appeared in quite another light. count de vaublanc, in his memoirs, has rendered full justice { } to the loyal intentions of the municipal attorney. "the advice he gave has been accounted a crime," says m. de vaublanc; "i think it is an unjust reproach. until then he had done all that lay in his power to contribute to the defence of the palace. he must have seen clearly that as the king would not defend himself, he could no longer be defended. if the rebels had been attacked, neither m. roederer nor any one else would have proposed going to the assembly; but since they were on the defensive, and without any recognized leader, the magistrate might doubtless have been struck with a single thought: the king and his family are about to be massacred. the king put an end to all irresolution in saying these words: 'there is nothing more to do here.'" at first, louis xvi. seemed not to repent of the step he had been obliged to take. even in that wretched hole, the logograph box, his face at first was calm and even confident. as the shouting had increased outside, vergniaud ordered the removal of the iron grating separating this box from the hall, so that in case the populace made an irruption into the lobbies, the king could take refuge in the midst of the deputies. in default of workmen and tools, the deputies nearest at hand, the duke de choiseul, prince de poix, and the ministers, undertook to tear away the grating, and louis xvi. himself, accustomed to the rough work of a locksmith, joined his efforts to theirs. the fastenings having been broken in this manner, the unfortunate sovereign seemed not { } to doubt the sentiments of the national assembly. he pointed out the most remarkable deputies to the dauphin, chatted with several among them, and looked on at the session like a mere spectator in a box at the theatre. the royal family had been nearly two hours at the assembly when all of a sudden a frightful discharge of musketry and artillery was heard. the deputies of the left grew pale with fear and anger, thinking themselves betrayed. casting glances of uneasiness and wrath at the feeble monarch, they accused him of having ordered a massacre, and said that all was lost. an officer of the national guard rushed in, crying: "we are pursued, we are overpowered!" the galleries, affrighted, imagined that the swiss would arrive at any moment. excitement was at its height. sinister, imposing, dreadful moment! solemn hour, when the monarchy, amidst a frightful tempest, was like a venerable oak which lightning has just stricken; when terror, wrath, and pity disputed the possession of men's souls, and when the king, already captive, was present like charles v. at his own funeral. marie antoinette had started. at the sound of the cannon her cheeks kindled and her eyes blazed. a vague hope animated her. perhaps, she said within herself, the monarchy is at last to be avenged; perhaps the swiss are about to give the insurrection a lesson it will remember; perhaps louis xvi. will re-enter in triumph the palace of his forefathers. the daughter of cæsars prayed god in silence, and supplicated { } him to grant victory to the defenders of the throne. chimeras! vain hopes! louis xvi. has no longer but one idea: to cast off all responsibility for events. he mustered up, so to say, the little authority he had yet remaining, to write hastily, in pencil, the last order he was to sign: the order to stop firing. he flattered himself that the prohibition to shoot would justify him completely in the sight of the national assembly, and induce them to treat him with more consideration. but he asked himself anxiously who would be bold enough to carry his order as far as the palace. would not so perilous a mission intimidate even the most heroic? m. d'hervilly, who was at this moment in the box of the logograph, offered himself. as the king and queen at first refused his offer, and pointed out all the dangers of such an errand: "i beg their majesties," cried he, "not to think of my danger; my duty is to brave everything in their service; my place is in the midst of the firing, and if i were afraid of it i should be unworthy of my uniform." these words determined louis xvi. to give m. d'hervilly the order signed by his own hand; the valiant nobleman, bearing this order which was to have such disastrous consequences for the defenders of the palace, went hastily out of the assembly hall and made his way to the tuileries through a rain of balls and canister. { } xxx. the combat. what had taken place at the tuileries after the departure of the royal family for the assembly? at the very moment when they abandoned this palace which they were never to see again, the marseillais, the vanguard of the insurrection, were pounding at the gate of the principal courtyard, furious because it was not opened. a few minutes later, the column of the faubourg saint-antoine, after passing through the rue saint-honoré, debouched on the carrousel. it was under command of the pole, lazouski, and westermann, who directed it toward the gate of the royal court. as the marseillais had not yet succeeded in forcing this, westermann had it broken open. the cannoneers, whose business it was to defend the palace, at once declared on the side of the riot and turned their pieces against the tuileries. with the exception of the domestics there were now in the palace only the seven hundred and fifty swiss, about a hundred national guards, and a few nobles. the sole instructions the swiss received came from old marshal de mailly: "do not let yourselves be taken." louis xvi. had said absolutely nothing on going { } away, and his departure discouraged his most faithful adherents. add to this that the swiss had not enough cartridges. what was to be the fate of this fine regiment, this _corps d'élite_, which everywhere and always had set the example of discipline and military honor; which ever since the revolution began had haughtily repulsed every attempt to tamper with it; and whose red uniforms alone struck terror into the populace? these brave soldiers guarded respectfully the traditions of their ancestors who, at the famous retreat of meaux, had saved charles ix. "but for my good friends the swiss," said that prince, "my life and liberty would have been in a bad way." what the swiss of the sixteenth century had done for one king of france, the swiss of the eighteenth century would have done for his successor. they would have saved louis xvi. if he would have let himself be saved. a major-general who had remained at the tuileries, judging that it was impossible to defend the courts with so few soldiers, cried: "gentlemen, retire to the palace!" "they had to leave six cannon in the power of the enemy and to abandon the courts. it should have been foreseen that it would be necessary to retake these under penalty of being burned in the palace; the common soldiers said so loudly. meanwhile they obeyed, and were disposed as well as time and the localities permitted. the stairs and windows were lined with soldiers." (account of colonel pfyffer d'altishoffen, published at lucerne in .) { } one post occupied the chapel, and another the vestibule and grand staircase. there were swiss also at the windows looking into the courts. "down with the swiss!" cried the marseillais. "down! down! surrender!" however, the struggle had not yet begun. nearly fifteen minutes elapsed between the invasion of the royal court and the first shot. the marseillais brandished their pikes and guns, but they were not confident, for at first they dared not cross the court more than half-way. the swiss and national guards who were at the windows made gestures to induce the populace to quiet down and go away. the throng of insurgents grew greater every minute. they had just got their cannon into battery against the tuileries. what the swiss specially intended was to defend the grand staircase, so as to prevent the apartments on the first floor from being invaded. this staircase, afterwards destroyed, was in the middle of the vestibule of the horloge pavilion. the chapel, whose site was afterwards changed, was on the level of the first landing; and from this landing, two symmetrical flights, at right angles with the first, led to the hall of the hundred swiss (the future hall of the marshals). westermann, bolder than the other insurgents, had advanced as far as the vestibule with several marseillais. he began to parley with the soldiers, trying to set them against their officers and induce them to lay down their arms. sergeant blazer answered westermann: "we are swiss, and the swiss only lay down their weapons with their lives." { } the officers caused a barricade of pieces of wood to be raised on the first landing at the head of the stairs, to prevent new deputations from coming to demoralize their men. the marseillais attempted to take it by main force. some of them were armed with halberds terminating in hooks. these they thrust below the barricade, trying to catch the men defending it. they seized an adjutant in this way and disarmed him. at the foot of the stairs "they seized the first swiss sentry and afterwards five others. they laid hold of them with hooked pikes which they thrust into their coats and drew them forwards, disarming them at once of their sabres, guns, and cartridge-boxes, amidst shouts of laughter. encouraged by the success of this forlorn hope, the whole crowd pressed towards the foot of the stairs and there massacred the five swiss already taken and disarmed." (m. peltier's relation.) then a pistol-shot was heard. from which side did it come? was it the marseillais who provoked the combat? was it the swiss who sought to avenge their comrades, the sentries? whoever it was, this pistol-shot was the signal for the fight, which began about half-past ten in the morning. at first the swiss had the advantage. every shot they fired from the windows told. among the people crowding the courtyards were many who had not come to fight, but through mere curiosity. pale with fright, they fled toward the carrousel through the gate of the royal court, which was strewn in an { } instant with guns, pikes, and cartridge-boxes. some of the insurgents fell flat on their faces and counterfeited death, rising occasionally and gliding along the walls to gain the sentry-boxes of the mounted sentinels as best they could. even the majority of the cannoneers deserted their pieces and ran like the rest. the courts were cleared in an instant. two swiss officers, mm. de durler and de pfyffer, instantly made a sortie at the head of one hundred and twenty soldiers, took four cannon, and found themselves once more masters of the door of the royal court. a detachment of sixty soldiers formed themselves into a hollow square before this door and kept up a rolling fire on the rioters remaining on the carrousel until the place was completely swept. at the same time, on the side of the garden, another detachment of swiss, under count de salis, seized three cannon and brought them to the palace gate. napoleon, who witnessed the combat from a distance, says: "the swiss handled their artillery with vigor; in ten minutes the marseillais were chased as far as the rue de l'echelle, and never came back until the swiss were withdrawn by the king's order." it was now, in fact, that m. d'hervilly arrived, hatless and unarmed, through the fusillade of grape. they wanted to show him the dispositions they had just made on the garden side. "there is no question of that," said he; "you must go to the assembly; it is the king's order." the unfortunate soldiers flattered themselves that they might still { } be of use. "yes, brave swiss," cried baron de viomesnil, "go and find the king. your ancestors did so more than once." in spite of their chagrin at abandoning the field of which they they had just become masters, they obeyed. their only thought was to repair to that assembly where a last humiliation awaited them. the officers had the drums beat the call to arms, and, in spite of the rain of balls from every side, they succeeded in marshalling the soldiers as if for a dress parade in front of the palace, opposite the garden. the signal for departure was given. an unforeseen peril was reserved for these heroes. the battalions of the national guard, stationed at the door of the pont royal, at that of the manège court, and the beginning of the terrace of the feuillants, had stood still, with their weapons grounded, since the affray began. but hardly had the swiss entered the grand alley than these battalions, neutral until now, detailed a number of individuals who hid behind the trees, and fired, with their muzzles almost touching the troops. on reaching the middle of the alley, the swiss, who hardly deigned to return this fire, divided into two columns. the first, turning to the right under the trees, went towards the staircase leading to the assembly from the terrace of the feuillants. the second, which followed at a short distance and acted as a rearguard, went on as far as the place louis xv., where it found the mounted gendarmes. if this body of cavalry had done its duty, it would have united with the { } swiss. but, far from that, it declared for the insurrection, and sabred them. it is said that the officers and soldiers killed in this retreat across the garden were interred at the foot of the famous chestnut whose exceptional forwardness has earned the surname of the tree of march . thus the bonapartist tree of popular tradition owes its astonishing strength of vegetation solely to the human compost furnished by the corpses of the last defenders of royalty. the first column, that which was on its way to the assembly, presented itself resolutely in front of the terrace of the feuillants, which was full of people. these took flight, and the swiss entered the corridors of the assembly. carried away by his zeal, one of their officers, baron de salis, entered the hall with his naked sword in his hand. the left uttered a cry of affright. a deputy went out to order the commander, baron de durler, to make his troop lay down their arms. m. de durler, having refused, he was conducted to the king. "sire," said he, with sorrowful indignation, "they want me to lay down arms." louis xvi. responded: "put them in the hands of the national guard; i am not willing that brave men like you should perish." to surrender arms! did louis xvi. fully comprehend that for soldiers like these such an outrage was a hundred times worse than death? the king's words were like a thunderbolt to them. they wept with rage. "but," said they, "even if we have no more cartridges, we can still defend ourselves with our { } bayonets!" such devotion, such courage, such discipline, such heroism to end like this! and yet the unfortunate swiss, though grieved to the heart, resigned themselves to the last sacrifice their master required from their fidelity, laid down their arms, and were imprisoned in the ancient church of the feuillants, to the number of about two hundred and fifty. it was all that remained of this magnificent regiment. the others had been killed in the garden or had their throats cut in the palace, and the greater part of the survivors were to be assassinated in the massacres of september. "thus ended the french king's regiment of swiss guards, like one of those sturdy oaks whose prolonged existence has affronted so many storms, and which nothing but an earthquake can uproot. it fell the very day on which the ancient french monarchy also fell. it counted more than a century and a half of faithful services rendered to france. to destroy this worthy corps a combination of unfortunate events had been required; it had been necessary to deprive the swiss of their artillery, their ammunition, their staff, and the presence of the king; to enfeeble them five days before the combat by sending away a detachment of three hundred men; to forbid the two hundred men who accompanied the king to the assembly to fire a shot; to render useless the wise dispositions of mm. de maillardoz and de bachmann by an ill-advised order at the moment of the attack; and to have m. d'hervilly come at { } the moment of victory to divide and enfeeble the defence." (relation of colonel pfyffer d'altishoffen.) the swiss republic has honored the memory of these sons who died for a king. at the entrance of lucerne, in the side of a rock, a grotto has been hollowed out, in which may be seen a colossal stone lion, the work of thorwaldsen, the famous danish sculptor. this lion, struck by a lance, and lying down to die, holds tight within his claws the royal escutcheon upon a shield adorned with fleurs-de-lis. underneath the lion are engraved the names of the swiss officers and soldiers who died between august and september , . above it may be read this inscription cut in the rock:-- helvetiorum fidei ac virtuti. _to the fidelity and courage of the swiss._ louis xvi. had to repent his weakness bitterly. the wretched monarch had at last reached the bottom of the abyss where the slippery descent of concessions ends, and for having been willing to spare the blood of a few criminals, he was to see that of his most loyal and faithful adherents shed in torrents. it is said that napoleon, who witnessed the combat from a distance, cried several times, in speaking of louis xvi.: "what, then, wretched man! have you no cannon to sweep out this rabble?" behind the people of the th of august, the man of brumaire already appeared as a conqueror. { } work away, then, insurgents! this unknown young man, this "straight-haired corsican," hidden in the crowd, will be the master of you all! he will crush the revolution, he will made himself all-powerful in that palace of the tuileries where the riot is lording it at this moment! and after him, the brother of the king whom you insult to-day and will kill to-morrow, the count de provence, that _émigré_ who is the object of your hatred, will triumphantly enter the palace of his forefathers. and each of them in his turn, the corsican gentleman and the brother of louis xvi., will be received with the same transports in that fatal palace which is now red with the blood of the swiss! how surprised these people would be if they could foresee what the future has in store for them! among these frenzied demagogues, these ultra-revolutionists, these dishevelled marseillais with lips blackened by powder, and jackets all blood, how many will be the fanatical admirers and soldiers of a cæsar! { } xxxi. the results of the combat. the results of the combat were, at the assembly, the decree of suspension, or, rather, the decree of deposition; at the tuileries, devastation, massacre, and conflagration. from the moment when he ordered his last defenders to lay down their arms, louis xvi. was but the phantom of a king. while the fight was going on, robespierre had remained in hiding; marat had not quitted the bottom of a cellar. even danton, the man of "audacity," did not show himself until after the last shot had been fired. but now that fate had declared for the revolution, those who were trembling and hesitating a moment since, were those who talked the loudest. louis xvi., who had been dreaded a few minutes ago, was insulted and jeered at. the national assembly, royalist in the morning, became the accomplice of the republicans during the day. it perceived, moreover, that the th of august was aimed at it not less than at the throne, and that its own downfall would be contemporaneous with that of royalty. huguenin, the president of the new commune, came boldly to the bar, and said to the deputies: { } "the people is your sovereign as well as ours!" another individual, likewise at the bar, exclaimed in a menacing tone: "for a long time the people has asked you to pronounce the deposition, and you have not even yet pronounced the suspension! know that the tuileries is on fire, and that we shall not extinguish it until the vengeance of the people has been satisfied!" vergniaud, who in the morning had promised the king the support of the assembly, no longer even attempted to stem the revolutionary tide. he came down from the president's chair, and went to a desk to write the decree which should give a legislative form to the will of the insurrection. in virtue of this decree, which vergniaud read from the tribune, and which was unanimously adopted, the royal power was suspended and a national convention convoked. in reality this was a veritable deposition, and yet the assembly still hesitated to give the last shock which should uproot the royal tree that had sheltered beneath its branches so many faithful generations. it declared that in default of a civil list, a salary should be granted to the king during his suspension; that louis xvi. and his family should have a palace, the luxembourg, for a residence, and that he should be appointed governor of the prince-royal. concerning this, madame de staël has remarked in her _considerations sur les principaux événements de la révolution française_: "ambition for power mingled with the enthusiasm of principles in the republicans { } of , and several among them offered to maintain royalty if all the ministerial places were given to their friends.... the throne they attacked served to shelter them, and it was not until after they had triumphed that they found themselves exposed before the people." what the girondins wanted was merely a change in the ministry; it was not a revolution. vergniaud felt that he had been distanced. when he read the act of deposition, his voice was sad, his attitude dejected, and his action feeble. did he foresee that the king and himself would die at the same place, on the same scaffold, and only nine months apart? louis xvi. listened to the invectives launched against him, and to the decree depriving him of royal power, without a change of color. at the very moment when the vote was taken, he bent towards deputy coustard, who sat beside the box of the _logographe_, and said with the greatest tranquillity: "what you are doing there is not very constitutional." impassive, and speaking of himself as of a king who had lived a thousand years before, he leaned his elbows on the front of the box, and looked on, like a disinterested spectator, at the lugubrious spectacle that was unrolled before him. marie antoinette, on the contrary, was shuddering. so long as the combat lasted, a secret hope had thrilled her. but when she saw them bringing to the assembly and laying on the table the jewel-cases, trinkets, and portfolios which the insurgents had just { } taken from her bedroom at the tuileries; when she heard the victorious cries of the rioters; when vergniaud's voice sounded in her ears like a funeral knell--she could hardly contain her grief and indignation. for one instant she closed her eyes. but presently she haughtily raised her head. the tide was rising, rising incessantly. petitioners demanded sometimes the deposition, and sometimes the death, of the king. this dialogue was overheard between the painter david and merlin de thionville, who were talking together about louis xvi.: "would you believe it? just now he asked me, as i was passing his box, if i would soon have his portrait finished."--"bah! and what did you say?"--"that i would never paint the portrait of a tyrant again until i should have his head in my hat."--"admirable! i don't know a more sublime answer, even in antiquity." the demands of the revolution grew greater from minute to minute. in the decree of deposition which had been voted on vergniaud's proposition, it was stipulated that the ministers should continue to exercise their functions. a few instants later, brissot caused it to be decreed that they had lost the nation's confidence. a new ministry was nominated during the session. the three ministers dismissed before june --roland, clavière, and servan--were reinstalled by acclamation in the ministries of the interior, of finances, and of war. the other ministers were chosen by ballot: danton was nominated to that { } of justice by votes, monge to the marine by , and lebrun-tondu to foreign affairs by . this ballot established the fact that out of the members composing the assembly, but were present. two days before, had voted on the question concerning lafayette, and now, at the moment of the final crisis, not more than could be found! all the others had disappeared, through fear or through disgust. the revolution was accomplished by an assembly thus reduced, and a commune whose members had appointed themselves. marie antoinette, in her pride as queen, was unable to conceive that there could be anything serious in such a government. when lebrun-tondu's appointment was announced, she leaned towards bigot de sainte-croix, and said in his ear: "i hope you will none the less believe yourself minister of foreign affairs." the unfortunate royal family were still prisoners in the narrow box of the _logographe_. the heat there was horrible: the sun scorched the white walls of this furnace where the captives listened, as in a place of torture, to the most ignoble insults and the most sanguinary threats. at seven o'clock in the evening, count françois de la rochefoucauld succeeded in approaching the box of the _logographe_. he thus describes its aspect at this hour: "i approached the king's box; it was unguarded except by some wretches who were drunk and paid no attention to me, so that i half-opened the door. i saw the king with a fatigued and { } downcast face; he was sitting on the front of the box, coldly observing through his lorgnette the scoundrels who were talking, sometimes one after another, and sometimes all together. near him was the queen, whose tears and perspiration had completely drenched her fichu and her handkerchief. the dauphin was asleep on her lap, and resting partly also on that of madame de tourzel. mesdames elisabeth, de lamballe, and madame the king's daughter were at the back of the box. i offered my services to the king, who replied that it would be too dangerous to try to see him again, and added that he was going to the luxembourg that evening. the queen asked me for a handkerchief; i had none; mine had served to bind up the wounds of the viscount de maillé, whom i had rescued from some pikemen. i went out to look for a handkerchief, and borrowed one from the keeper of the refreshment-room; but as i was taking it to the queen, the sentinels were relieved, and i found it impossible to approach the box." we have just seen what occurred at the assembly after the close of the combat. cast now a glance at the tuileries. what horrible scenes, what cries of grief, how many wounded, dead, and dying, what streams of blood! what had become of those swiss who, either in consequence of their wounds, or through some other motive, had been obliged to remain at the palace? eighty of them had defended the grand staircase like heroes, against an immense crowd, and died after prodigies of valor. seventeen { } swiss who were posted in the chapel, and who had not fired a shot since the fight began, hoped to save their lives by laying down their arms. it was a mistake. they had their throats cut like the others. two ushers of the king's chamber, mm. pallas and de marchais, sword in hand, and hats pulled down over their eyes, said: "we don't want to live any longer; this is our post; we ought to die here!" and they were killed at the door of their master's chamber. m. dieu died in the same way on the threshold of the queen's bedroom. a certain number of nobles who had not followed the king to the assembly succeeded in escaping the blows of the assassins. passing through the suite of large apartments towards the louvre gallery, they rejoined there some soldiers detailed to guard an opening contrived in the flooring, so as to prevent the assailants from entering by that way. they crossed this opening on boards, and reached the extremity of the gallery unhindered; then, going down the staircase of catharine de medici, they managed to gain the streets near the louvre. these may have been saved. but woe to all men, no matter what their conditions, who remained in the tuileries! domestic servants, ushers, laborers, every soul was put to death. they killed even the dying, even the surgeons who were caring for the wounded. it is barbaroux himself who describes the murderers as "cowardly fugitives during the action, assassins after the victory, butchers { } of dead bodies which they stabbed with their swords so as to give themselves the honors of the combat. in the apartments, on roofs, and in cellars, they massacred the swiss, armed or disarmed, the chevaliers, soldiers, and all who peopled the chateau.... our devotion was of no avail," says barbaroux again; "we were speaking to men who no longer recognized us." and the women, what was their fate? when the firing began, the queen's ladies and the princesses descended to marie antoinette's apartments on the ground-floor. they closed the shutters, hoping to incur less danger, and lighted a candle so as not to be in total darkness. then mademoiselle pauline de tourzel exclaimed: "let us light all the candles in the chandelier, the sconces, and the torches; if the brigands force open the door, the astonishment so many lights will cause them may delay the first blow and give us time to speak." the ladies set to work. when the invaders broke in, sabre in hand, the numberless lights, which were repeated also in the mirrors, made such a contrast with the daylight they had just left, that for a moment they remained stupefied. and yet, the princess de tarente, madame de la roche-aymon, mademoiselle de tourzel, madame de ginestons, and all the other ladies were about to perish when a man with a long beard made his appearance, crying to the assassins in pétion's name: "spare the women; do not dishonor the nation." { } madame campan had attempted to go up a stairway in pursuit of her sister. the murderers followed her. she already felt a terrible hand against her back, trying to seize her by her clothes, when some one cried from the foot of the stairs: "what are you doing up there?"--"hey!" said the murderer, in a tone that did not soon leave the trembling woman's ears. the other voice replied: "we don't kill women." the revolution goes fast; it will kill them next year. madame campan was on her knees. her executioner let go his hold. "get up, hussy," he said to her, "the nation spares you!" in going back she walked over corpses; she recognized that of the old viscount de broves. the queen had sent word to him and to another old man as the last night began, that she desired them to go home. he had replied: "we have been only too obedient to the king's orders in all circumstances when it was necessary to expose our lives to save him; this time we will not obey, and will simply preserve the memory of the queen's kindness." what a sight the tuileries presented! people walked on nothing but dead bodies. a comic actor drank a glass of blood, the blood of a swiss; one might have thought himself at a feast of atreus. the furniture was broken, the secretaries forced open, the mirrors smashed to pieces. prudhomme, the journalist of the _révolutions de paris_, thinks that "medicis-antoinette has too long studied in them { } the hypocritical look she wears in public." what a sinister carnival! drunken women and prostitutes put on the queen's dresses and sprawl on her bed. through the cellar gratings one can see a thousand hands groping in the sand, and drawing forth bottles of wine. everywhere people are laughing, drinking, killing. the royal wine runs in streams. torrents of wine, torrents of blood. the apartments, the staircase, the vestibule, are crimson pools. disfigured corpses, pictures thrust through with pikes, musicians' stands thrown on the altar, the organ dismounted, broken,--that is how the chapel looks. but to rob and murder is not enough: they will kindle a conflagration. it devours the stables of the mounted guards, all the buildings in the courts, the house of the governor of the palace: eighteen hundred yards of barracks, huts, and houses. already the fire is gaining on the pavilion of marsan and the pavilion of flora. the flames are perceived at the assembly. a deputy asks to have the firemen sent to fight this fire which threatens the whole quarter saint-honoré. somebody remarks that this is the commune's business. but the commune, to use a phrase then in vogue, thinks it has something else to do besides preventing the destruction of the tyrant's palace. it turns a deaf ear. the messenger returns to the assembly. it is remarked that the flames are doing terrible damage. the president decides to send orders to the firemen. but the firemen return, saying: "we can do nothing. they { } are firing on us. they want to throw us into the fire." what is to be done? the president bethinks himself of a "patriot" architect, citizen palloy, who generally makes his appearance whenever there are "patriotic" demolitions to be accomplished. it is he whom they send to the palace, and who succeeds in getting the flames extinguished. the tuileries are not burned up this time. the work of the incendiaries of was only to be finished by the petroleurs of . night was come. a great number of the parisian population were groaning, but the revolutionists triumphed with joy. curiosity to see the morning battle-field, urged the indolent, who had stayed at home all day, towards the quays, the champs-elysées, and the tuileries. they looked at the trees under which the swiss had fallen, at the windows of the apartments where the massacres had taken place, at the ravages made by the hardly extinguished fire. the buildings in the three courts: court of the princes, court royal, court of the swiss, had been completely consumed. thenceforward these three courts formed only one, separated from the carrousel by a board partition which remained until , and was replaced by a grating finished on the very day when the first consul came to install himself at the tuileries. the inscription which was placed above the wooden partition: "on august royalty was abolished; it will never rise again," disappeared even before the proclamation of the empire. { } squads of laborers gathered up the dead bodies and threw them into tumbrels. at midnight an immense pile was erected on the carrousel with timbers and furniture from the palace. there the corpses of the victims that had strewed the courts, the vestibule, and the apartments were heaped up, and set on fire. the national guard had disappeared; it figured with the king and the assembly itself, among the vanquished of the day. instead of its bayonets and uniforms one saw nothing in the stations and patrols that divided paris but pikes and tatters. "some one came to tell me," relates madame de staël, "that all of my friends who had been on guard outside the palace, had been seized and massacred. i went out at once to learn the news; the coachman who drove me was stopped at the bridge by men who silently made signs that they were murdering on the other side. after two hours of useless efforts to pass i learned that all those in whom i was interested were still living, but that most of them had been obliged to hide in order to escape the proscription with which they were threatened. when i went to see them in the evening, on foot, and in the mean houses where they had been able to find shelter, i found armed men lying before the doors, stupid with drink, and only half waking to utter execrable curses. several women of the people were in the same state, and their vociferations were more odious still. whenever a patrol intended to maintain order made its appearance, { } honest people fled out of its way; for what they called maintaining order was to contribute to the triumph of assassins and rid them of all hindrances." at last the city was going to rest a while after so much emotion! it was three o'clock in the morning. the assembly, which had been in session for twenty-four hours, adjourned. only a few members remained in the hall to maintain the permanence proclaimed at the beginning of the crisis. the inspectors of the hall came for louis xvi. and his family, to conduct them, not to the luxembourg, but to the upper story of the convent of the feuillants, above the corridor where the offices and committees of the assembly had been established. it was there, in the cells of the monks, that the royal family were to pass the night. then all was silent once more. royalty was dying! { } xxxii. the royal-family in the convent of the feuillants. what a strange prison was this dilapidated old monastery, these little cells, not lived in for two years, with their flooring half-destroyed, and their narrow windows looking down into courts full of men drunken with wine and blood! by the light of candles stuck into gun-barrels the royal family entered this gloomy lodging. trembling for her son, who was frightened, the queen took him from m. aubier's arms and whispered to him. the child grew calmer. "mamma," said he, "has promised to let me sleep in her room because i was very good before all those wicked men." four cells, all opening by similar small doors upon the same corridor, comprised the quarters of the royal family. what a night! the souvenirs of the previous day came back like dismal dreams. their ears were still deafened with furious cries. they seemed to see the blood of the swiss flowing like a torrent, the pyramids of corpses in red uniforms, the flames of the terrible conflagration sweeping the approaches to the tuileries. marie antoinette seems under an { } hallucination; her emotions break her down. is this woman, confided to the care of an unknown servant, in this deserted old convent, really she? is this the queen of france and navarre? this the daughter of the great empress maria theresa? what uncertainty rests over the fate of her most faithful servitors! what news will she yet learn? who has fallen? who has survived the carnage? the hours of the night wear on; marie antoinette has not been able to sleep a moment. the marquis de tourzel and m. d'aubier remained near the king's bedside. before sleeping, he talked to them with the utmost calmness of all that had taken place. "people regret," said he, "that i did not have the rebels attacked before they could have forced the assembly; but besides the fact that in accordance with the terms of the constitution, the national guards might have refused to be the aggressors, what would have been the result of this attack? the measures of the insurrection were too well taken for my party to have been victorious, even if i had not left the tuileries. do they forget that when the seditious commune massacred m. mandat, it rendered his projected defence of no avail?" while louis xvi. was saying this, the men placed under the windows were shouting loudly for the queen's head. "what has she done to them?" cried the unfortunate sovereign. the next morning, august , several persons were authorized to enter the cells of the convent. { } among them was one of the officers of the king's bedchamber, françois hue, who had incurred the greatest dangers on the previous day. cards of admission were distributed by the inspector of the assembly hall. a large guard was stationed at all the issues of the corridor. no one could pass without being stopped and questioned. after surmounting all obstacles, m. hue reached the cell of louis xvi. the king was still in bed, with his head covered by a coarse cloth. he looked tenderly at his faithful servant. m. hue, who could scarcely speak for sobbing, apprised his unhappy master of the tragic death of several persons whom his majesty was especially fond of, among others, the chevalier d'allonville, who had been under-governor to the first dauphin, and several officers of the bedchamber: mm. le tellier, pallas, and de marchais. "i have, at least," said louis xvi., "the consolation of seeing you saved from this massacre!" all night long, madame elisabeth, the princess de lamballe, and madame de tourzel had prayed and wept in silence at the door of the chamber where marie antoinette watched beside her sleeping children. it was not until morning, after cruel insomnia, that the wretched queen was at last able to close her eyes. and when, after a few minutes, she opened them again, what an awakening! at eight o'clock in the morning mademoiselle pauline de tourzel arrived at the feuillants. "i cannot say enough," she writes in her _souvenirs de quarante { } ans_, "about the goodness of the king and queen; they asked me many questions about the persons concerning whom i could give them any tidings. madame and the dauphin received me with touching signs of affection; they embraced me, and madame said: 'my dear pauline, do not leave us any more!'" the courtiers of misfortune came one after another. madame campan and her sister, madame auguié, saw the prince de poix, m. d'aubier, m. de saint-pardou, madame elisabeth's equerry, mm. de goguelat, hue, and de chamilly in the first cell; in the second they found the king. they wanted to kiss his hand, but he prevented it, and embraced them without speaking. in the third cell they saw the queen, waited on by an unknown woman. marie antoinette held out her arms. "come!" she cried; "come, unhappy women! come and see one who is still more unhappy than you, since it is she who has been the cause of all your sorrow!" she added: "we are ruined. we have reached the place at last to which they have been leading us for three years by every possible outrage; we shall succumb in this horrible revolution, and many others will perish after us. everybody has contributed to our ruin: the innovators like fools, others like the ambitious, in order to aid their own fortunes; for the most furious of the jacobins wanted gold and places, and the crowd expected pillage. there is not a patriot in the whole infamous horde; the emigrants had their schemes and manoeuvres; { } the foreigners wanted to profit by the dissensions of france; everybody has had a part in our misfortunes." here the dauphin entered with his sister and madame de tourzel. "poor children!" cried the queen. "how cruel it is not to transmit to them so noble a heritage, and to say: all is over for us!" and as the little dauphin, seeing his mother and those around her weeping, began to shed tears also: "my child," the queen said, embracing him, "you see i have consolations too; the friends whom misfortune deprived me of were not worth as much as those it gave me." then marie antoinette asked for news of the princess de tarente, madame de la roche-aymon, and others whom she had left at the tuileries. she compassionated the fate of the victims of the previous day. madame campan expressed a desire to know what the foreign ambassadors had done in this catastrophe. the queen replied that they had done nothing, but that the english ambassadress, lady sutherland, had just displayed some interest by sending linen for the dauphin, who was in need of it. what memories must not that little cell in the feuillants convent have left in the souls of those who were privileged to present there the homage of their devotion to the queen! "i think i still see," madame campan has said in her memoirs, "i shall always see, that little cell, hung with green paper, that wretched couch from which the dethroned sovereign stretched out her arms to us, saying that our { } woes, of which she was the cause, aggravated her own. there, for the last time, i saw the tears flowing and heard the sobs of her whose birth and natural gifts, and above all the goodness of whose heart had destined her to be the ornament of all thrones and the happiness of all peoples." during the th and th of august the tortures of the th were renewed for the royal family. they were obliged to occupy the odious box of the _logographe_ during the sessions of the assembly, and from there witness, as at a show, the slow and painful death-struggle of royalty. as she was on her way to this wretched hole, marie antoinette perceived in the garden some curious spectators on whose faces a certain compassion was depicted. she saluted them. then a voice cried: "don't put on so many airs with that graceful head; it is not worth while. you'll not have it much longer." from the box of the _logographe_ the royal family listened to the most offensive motions; to decrees according the marseillais a payment of thirty sous a day, ordering all statues of kings to be overthrown, and petitions demanding the heads of all the swiss who had escaped the massacre. at last the assembly grew tired of the long humiliation of the august captives. on monday, august , they were not present at the session, and during the day they were notified that in the evening they were to be incarcerated, not in the luxembourg,--that palace being too good for them,--but in the tower of the temple. when marie { } antoinette was informed of this decision, she turned toward madame de tourzel, and putting her hands over her eyes, said: "i always asked the count d'artois to have that villanous tower of the temple torn down; it always filled me with horror!" pétion told louis xvi. that the communal council had decreed that none of the persons proposed for the service of the royal family should follow them to their new abode. by force of remonstrance the king finally obtained permission that the princess de lamballe, madame de tourzel and her daughter should be excepted from this interdiction, and also mm. hue and de chamilly, and mesdames thibaud, basire, navarre, and saint-brice. the departure for the temple took place at five in the evening. the royal family went in a large carriage with manuel and pétion, who kept their hats on. the coachman and footmen, dressed in gray, served their masters for the last time. national guards escorted the carriage on foot and with reversed arms. the passage through a hostile multitude occupied not less than two hours. the vehicle, which moved very slowly, stopped for several moments in the place vendôme. there manuel pointed out the statue of louis xiv., which had been thrown down from its pedestal. at first the descendant of the great king reddened with indignation, then, tranquillizing himself instantly, he calmly replied: "it is fortunate, sir, that the rage of the people spends itself on inanimate objects." manuel might have gone on to say that { } on this very place vendôme "queen violet," one of the most furious vixens of the october days, had just been crushed by the fall of this equestrian statue of louis xiv. to which she was hanging in order to help bring it down. the statue of henry iv. in the place royale, that of louis xiii. in the place des victoires, and that of louis xv. in the place that bears his name, had fallen at the same time. the royal family arrived at the temple at seven in the evening. the lanterns placed on the projecting portions of the walls and the battlements of the great tower made it resemble a catafalque surrounded by funeral lights. the queen wore a shoe with a hole in it, through which her foot could be seen. "you would not believe," said she, smiling, "that a queen of france was in need of shoes." the doors closed upon the captives, and a sanguinary crowd complained of the thickness of the walls separating them from their prey. { } xxxiii. the temple. there are places which, by the very souvenirs they evoke, seem fatal and accursed. such was the dungeon that was to serve as a prison for louis xvi. and his family. the great tower for which marie antoinette had felt a nameless instinctive repugnance in the happiest days of her reign, arose at the extremity of paris like a gigantic phantom, and recalled in a sinister fashion the tragedies of the middle ages and the sombre legends of the templars. it was formerly the manor, the fortress, of that religious and military order of the temple, founded in the holy land at the beginning of the twelfth century, to protect the pilgrims, and which, after the fall of the kingdom of jerusalem, had spread all over europe. the great tower was built by frère hubert, in the early years of the thirteenth century, in the midst of an enclosure surrounded by turreted walls. there ruled, by cross and sword, those men of iron, in white habits, who took the triple vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and who excited royal jealousy by the increase of their power. it was there that philippe le bel went on october , { } , with his lawyers and his archers, to lay his hand on the grand-master, seize the treasures of the order, and on the same day, at the same hour, cause all templars to be arrested throughout the realm. then began that mysterious trial which has remained an insoluble problem to posterity, and after which these monastic knights, whose bravery and whose exploits have made so prolonged an echo, perished in prisons or on scaffolds. pursued by horrible accusations, they had confessed under torture, but they denied at execution. when the grand-master, jacques de molay, and the commander of normandy were burned alive before the garden of philippe le bel, march , , even in the midst of flames, they did not cease to attest the innocence of the order of the temple. the people, astonished by their heroism, believed that they had summoned the pope and the king to appear in the presence of god before the end of the year. clement v., on april , and philippe iv., on november , obeyed the summons. the possessions of the order were given to the hospitallers of saint john of jerusalem, who transformed themselves into knights of malta toward the middle of the sixteenth century. the temple became the provincial house of the grand-prior of the order of malta for the _nation_ or _language_ of france, and the great tower contained successively the treasure, the arsenal, and the archives. in , the grand-prior, jacques de souvré, had a house built in { } front of the old manor, between the court and the garden, which was called the palace of the grand-prior. his successor, philippe de vendôme, made his palace a rendezvous of elegance and pleasure. there shone that anacreon in a cassock, the gay and sprightly abbé de chaulieu, who died a fervent christian in the voluptuous abode where he had dwelt a careless epicurean. there young voltaire went to complete the lessons he had begun in the sceptical circle of ninon de l'enclos. the office of grand-prior, which was worth sixty thousand livres a year, passed afterwards to prince de conti, who in sheltered jean-jacques rousseau there, as _lettres de cachet_ could not penetrate within its privileged precinct. under louis xvi. the palace of the grand-prior had served as a passing hostelry to the young and brilliant count d'artois when he came from versailles to paris. the flowers of the entertainments given there by the prince were hardly faded when louis xvi. suddenly entered it as a prisoner. it was seven o'clock in the evening when the wretched king and his family, coming from the convent of the feuillants, arrived at the temple. situated near the faubourg saint-antoine, not far from the former site of the bastille, the temple enclosure at this period was not more than two hundred yards long by nearly as many wide. the rest of the ancient precinct had disappeared under the pavements or the houses of the great city. nevertheless, the enclosure still formed a sort of little { } private city, sometimes called the ville-neuve-du-temple, the gates of which were closed every night. in one of its angles stood the house called the grand-prior's palace. this was the first stopping-place of the royal family, which had been entrusted by pétion to the surveillance of the municipality and the guard of santerre. the municipal officers stayed close to the king, kept their hats on, and gave him no title except "monsieur." louis xvi., not doubting that the palace of the grand-prior was the residence assigned him by the nation until the close of his career, began to visit its apartments. while the municipal officers took a cruel pleasure in this error, thinking of the still keener one they would enjoy when they disabused him of it, he pleased himself by allotting the different rooms in advance. the word palace had an unpleasant sound to the persecutors of royalty. the temple tower looked more like a prison. toward eleven o'clock, one of the commissioners ordered the august captives to collect such linen and other clothing as they had been able to procure, and follow him. they silently obeyed, and left the palace. the night was very dark. they passed through a double row of soldiers holding naked sabres. the municipal officers carried lanterns. one of them broke the dismal silence he had observed throughout the march. "thy master," said he to m. hue, "has been accustomed to gilded canopies. very well! he is going to find out how we lodge the assassins of the people." { } the lamps in the windows of the old quadrangular dungeon lighted up its high pinnacles and turrets, its gigantic profile and gloomy bulk. the immense tower, one hundred and fifty feet high, and with walls nine feet thick, rose, menacing and fatal, amidst the darkness. beside it was another tower, narrower and not so high, but which was also flanked by turrets. thus the whole dungeon was composed of two distinct yet united towers. the second of these, called the little tower, to distinguish it from the great one, was selected as the prison of the former hosts of versailles, fontainebleau, and the tuileries. the little tower of the temple, which had no interior communication with the great one against which it stood, was a long quadrangle flanked by two turrets. four steps led to the door, which was low and narrow, and opened on a landing at the end of which began a winding staircase shaped like a snail-shell. wide from its base as far as the first story, it grew narrower as it climbed up into the second. the door, which was considered too weak, was to be strengthened on the following day by heavy bars, and supplied with an enormous lock brought from the prisons of the châtelet. the queen was put on the second floor, and the king on the third. on entering his chamber, louis xvi. found a miserable bed in an alcove without tapestry or curtains. he showed neither ill humor nor surprise. engravings, indecent for the most part, covered the walls. he { } took them down himself. "i will not leave such objects before my children's eyes," said he. then he lay down and slept tranquilly. the first days of captivity were relatively calm. the prisoners consoled themselves by their family life, reading, and, above all, prayer. forgetting that he had been a king, and remembering that he was a father, louis xvi. gave lessons to the dauphin. "it would have been worth while for the whole nation to be present at these lessons; they would have been both surprised and touched at all the sensible, cordial, and kindly things the good king found to say when the map of france lay spread out before him, or concerning the chronology of his predecessors. everything in his remarks showed the love he bore his subjects and how greatly his paternal heart desired their happiness. what great and useful lessons one could learn in listening to this captive king instructing a child born to the throne and condemned to share the captivity of his parents." (_souvenirs de quarante ans_, by madame de béarn, _née_ de tourzel.) all those who had been authorized to follow the royal family to the temple--the princess de lamballe, madame de tourzel and her daughter, mesdames thibaud, basire, navarre, mm. de chamilly and françois hue--surrounded the captives with the most respectful and devoted attentions. but these noble courtiers of misfortune, these voluntary prisoners who were so glad to be associated in their { } master's trials, were not long to enjoy an honor they had so keenly desired. in the night of august - , two municipal officers presented themselves, who were commissioned to fetch away "all persons not belonging to the capet family." the queen pointed out in vain that the princess de lamballe was her relative. the princess must go with the others. "in our position," has said madame de tourzel, the governess of the children of france, "there was nothing to do but obey. we dressed ourselves and then went to the queen, to whom i resigned that dear little prince, whose bed had been carried into her room without awaking him." it was an indescribable torture for madame de tourzel to abandon the dauphin, whom she cherished so tenderly, and whom she had educated since . "i abstained from looking at him," she adds, "not only to avoid weakening the courage we had so much need of, but in order to give no room for censure, and so come back, if possible, to a place we left with so much regret. the queen went instantly into the chamber of the princess de lamballe, from whom she parted with the utmost grief. to pauline and me she showed a touching sensibility, and said to me in an undertone: 'if we are not so happy as to see you again, take good care of madame de lamballe. do the talking on all important occasions, and spare her as much as possible from having to answer captious and embarrassing questions.'" the two municipal officers said to hue and chamilly: "are you { } the valets-de-chambre?" on their affirmative response, the two faithful servants were ordered to get up and prepare for departure. they shook hands with each other, both of them convinced that they had reached the end of their existence. one of the municipal officers had said that very day in their presence: "the guillotine is permanent, and strikes with death the pretended servants of louis." when they descended to the queen's antechamber, a very small room in which the princess de lamballe slept, they found that princess and madame de tourzel all ready to start, and clasped in one embrace with the queen, the children, and madame elisabeth. tender and heart-breaking farewells, presages of separations more cruel still! all these exiles from the prison left at the same time. only one of them, m. françois hue, was to return. he was examined at the hôtel-de-ville, and at the close of this interrogation an order was signed permitting him to be taken back to the tower. "how happy i was," he writes, "to return to the temple! i ran to the king's chamber. he was already up and dressed, and was reading as usual in the little tower. the moment he saw me, his anxiety to know what had occurred made him advance toward me; but the presence of the municipal officers and the guards who were near him made all conversation impossible. i indicated by a glance that, for the moment, prudence forbade me to explain myself. feeling the necessity of silence as well as myself, the king resumed his { } reading and waited for a more opportune moment. some hours later, i hastily informed him what questions had been asked me and what i had replied." (_dernières années de louis xvi., par françois hue_.) the unfortunate sovereign doubtless believed that the others were also about to return. vain hope! during the day manuel announced to the king that none of them would come back to the temple. "what has become of them?" asked louis xvi. anxiously.--"they are prisoners at the force," returned manuel.--"what are they going to do with the only servant i have left?" asked the king, glancing at m. hue.--"the commune leaves him with you," said manuel; "but as he cannot do everything, men will be sent to assist him."--"i do not want them," replied louis xvi.; "what he cannot do, we will do ourselves. please god, we will not voluntarily give those who have been taken from us the chagrin of seeing their places taken by others!" in manuel's presence, the queen and madame elisabeth aided m. hue to prepare the things most necessary for the new prisoners of the force. the two princesses arranged the packets of linen and other matters with the skill and activity of chambermaids. behold the heir of louis xiv., the king of france and navarre, with but a single servant left him! he has but one coat, and at night his sister mends it. behold the daughter of the german cæsars, with not even one woman to wait upon her, and who waits on herself, incessantly watched, meanwhile, by the { } inquisitors of the commune; who cannot speak a word or make a gesture unwitnessed by a squad of informers who pursue her even into the chamber where she goes to change her dress, and who spy on her even when she is sleeping! and yet neither the calmness nor the dignity of the prisoners suffers any loss. there was but one thing that keenly annoyed louis xvi. it was when, on august , they deprived him, the chief of gentlemen, of his sword, as if taking away his sceptre were not enough. he consoled himself by prayer, meditation, and reading. he spent hours in the room containing the library of the keeper of archives of the order of malta, who had previously occupied the little tower. one day when he was looking for books, he pointed out to m. hue the works of voltaire and jean-jacques rousseau. "those two men have ruined france," said he in an undertone. on another day he was pained by overhearing the insults heaped on this faithful servant by one of the municipal guards. "you have had a great deal to suffer to-day," he said to him. "well! for the love of me, continue to endure everything; make no answer." at another time he slipped into his hand a folded paper. "this is some of my hair," said he; "it is the only present i can give you at this moment." m. hue exclaims in his pathetic book: "o shade forever cherished! i will preserve this precious gift to my latest day! the inheritance of my son, it will pass on to my descendants, and all of them will see in this testimonial of louis xvi.'s { } goodness, that they had a father who merited the affection of his king by his fidelity." in the evenings the queen made the dauphin recite this prayer: "almighty god, who created and redeemed me, i adore thee. spare the lives of the king, my father, and those of my family! defend us against our enemies! grant madame de tourzel the strength she needs to support the evils she endures on our account." and the angel of the temple, madame elisabeth, recited every day this sublime prayer of her own composition: "what will happen to me to-day, o my god! i do not know. all i know is, that nothing will happen that has not been foreseen by thee from all eternity. it is enough, my god, to keep me tranquil. i adore thy eternal designs, i submit to them with my whole heart; i will all, i accept all; i sacrifice all to thee; i unite this sacrifice to that of thy dear son, my saviour, asking thee by his sacred heart and his infinite merits, the patience in our afflictions and the perfect submission which is due to thee for all that thou wiliest and permittest." one day when she had finished her prayer, the saintly princess said to m. hue: "it is less for the unhappy king than for his misguided people that i pray. may the lord deign to be moved, and to look mercifully upon france!" then she added, with her admirable resignation: "come, let us take courage. god will never send us more troubles than we are able to bear." { } the prisoners were permitted to walk a few steps in the garden every day to get a breath of fresh air. but even there they were insulted. as they passed by, the guards stationed at the base of the tower took pains to put on their hats and sit down. the sentries scrawled insults on the walls. colporteurs maliciously cried out bad tidings, which were sometimes false. one day, one of them announced a pretended decree separating the king from his family. the queen, who was near enough to hear distinctly the voice which told this news, not exact as yet, was struck with a terror from which she did not recover. and yet there were still souls that gave way to compassion. from the upper stories of houses near the temple enclosure there were eyes looking down into the garden when the prisoners took their walk. the common people and the workmen living in these poor abodes were affected. sometimes, to show her gratitude for the sympathy of those unknown friends, marie antoinette would remove her veil, and smile. when the little dauphin was playing, there would be hands at the windows, joined as if to applaud. flowers would sometimes fall, as if by chance, from a garret roof to the queen's feet, and occasionally it happened that when the captives had gone back to their prison, they would hear in the darkness the echo of some royalist refrain, hummed by a passer-by in the silence of the night. the temple tower is no longer in existence. bonaparte visited it when he was consul. "there are { } too many souvenirs in that prison," he exclaimed. "i will tear it down." in he kept his promise. the palace of the grand-prior was destroyed in . no trace remains of that famous enclosure of the templars whose legend has so sombre a poetry. but it has left an impress on the imagination of peoples which will never be effaced. it seems to rise again gigantic, that tower where the son of saint louis realized not alone the type of the antique sage of whom horace said: _impavidum ferient ruinae_, but also the purest ideal of the true christian. does not the name temple seem predestinated for a spot which was to be sanctified by so many virtues, and where the martyr king put in practice these verses of the _imitation of jesus christ_, his favorite book: "it needs no great virtue to live peaceably with those who are upright and amiable; one is naturally pleased in such society; we always love those whose sentiments agree with ours. but it is very praiseworthy, and the effect of a special grace and great courage to live in peace with severe and wicked men, who are disorderly, or who contradict us.... he who knows best how to suffer, will enjoy the greatest peace; such a one is the conqueror of himself, master of the world, the friend of jesus christ, and the inheritor of heaven." { } xxxiv. the princess de lamballe's murder. the princess de lamballe, after being taken from the temple in the night of august - , had been examined by billaud-varennes at the hôtel-de-ville, and then sent, at noon, august , to the force. this prison, divided into two distinct parts, the great and the little force, was situated between the rues roi-de-sicile, culture, and pavée. in it supplemented the abbey and châtelet prisons, which were overcrowded. the little force had a separate entry on the rue pavée to the marais, while the door of the large one opened on the rue des ballets, a few steps from the rue saint-antoine. the register of the little force, which is preserved in the archives of the prefecture of police, records that, at the time of the september massacres, this prison in which the princess de lamballe was immured, contained one hundred and ten women, most of them not concerned with political affairs, and in great part women of the town. here, from august to september , the princess suffered inexpressible anguish. she never heard a turnkey open the door of her cell without thinking that her last hour had come. { } the massacres began on september . on that day the princess de lamballe was spared. in the evening she threw herself on her bed, a prey to the most cruel anxiety. toward six o'clock the next morning, the turnkey entered with a frightened air: "they are coming here," he said to the prisoners. six men, armed with sabres, guns, and pistols, followed him, approached the beds, asked the names of the women, and went out again. madame de tourzel, who shared the princess de lamballe's captivity, said to her: "this threatens to be a terrible day, dear princess; we know not what heaven intends for us; we must ask god to forgive our faults. let us say the _miserere_ and the _confiteor_ as acts of contrition, and recommend ourselves to his goodness." the two women said their prayers aloud, and incited each other to resignation and courage. there was a window which opened on the street, and from which, although it was very high, one could see what was passing by mounting on madame de lamballe's bed, and thence to the window ledge. the princess climbed up, and as soon as her head was noticed on the street, a pretence of firing on her was made. she saw a considerable crowd at the prison door. very little doubt remained concerning her fate. neither she nor madame de tourzel had eaten since the previous day. but they were too greatly moved to take any breakfast. they dared not speak to each other. they took their work, and sat down to await the result of the fatal day in silence. { } toward eleven o'clock the door opened. armed men filled the room and demanded madame de lamballe. the princess put on a gown, bade adieu to madame de tourzel, and was led to the great force, where some municipal officers, wearing their insignia, subjected the prisoners to a pretended trial. in front of this tribunal stood executioners with ferocious faces, who brandished bloody weapons. the atmosphere was sickening: full of the steam of carnage, and the odors of wine and blood. madame de lamballe fainted. when she recovered consciousness she was interrogated: "who are you?"--"marie louise, princess of savoy."--"what is your rank?"--"superintendent of the queen's household."--"were you acquainted with the conspiracies of the court on august ?"--"i do not know that there were any conspiracies on august , but i know i had no knowledge of them."--"swear liberty, equality, hatred to the king, the queen, and royalty."--"i will swear the first two without difficulty; i cannot swear the last; it is not in my heart." here an assistant said in a whisper to madame de lamballe: "swear it! if you do not swear, you are a dead woman." the princess made no answer; she put her hands up to her eyes, covered her face with them and made a step toward the wicket. the judge exclaimed: "let some one release madame!" this phrase was the death signal. two men took the victim roughly by the arms, and made her walk over corpses. hardly had she crossed the threshold when she received a { } blow from a sabre on the back of her head, which made her blood flow in streams. in the narrow passage leading from the rue saint-antoine to the force, and called the priests' cul-de-sac, she was despatched with pikes on a heap of dead bodies. then they stripped off her clothes and exposed her body to the insults of a horde of cannibals. when the blood that flowed from her wounds, or that of the neighboring corpses, had soiled the body too much, they washed it with a sponge, so that the crowd might notice its whiteness better. they cut off her head and her breasts. they tore out her heart, and of this head and this heart they made horrible trophies. the pikes which bore them were lifted high in air, and they went to carry around these excellent spoils of the revolution. at the very moment when the hideous procession began its march, madame de lebel, the wife of a painter, who owed many benefits to madame de lamballe, was trying to get near the prison, hoping to hear news of her. seeing the great commotion in the crowd, she inquired the cause. when some one replied: "it is lamballe's head that they are going to carry through paris," she was seized with horror, and, turning back, took refuge in a hairdresser's shop on the place bastille. hardly had she done so when the crowd entered the place. the murderers came into the shop and required the hairdresser to arrange the head of the princess. they washed it, and powdered the fair hair, all soiled with { } blood. then one of the assassins cried joyfully: "now, at any rate, antoinette can recognize her!" the procession resumed its march. from time to time they called a halt before a wine-shop. wishing to empty his glass, the scoundrel who had the princess's head in his hand, set it flat down on the lead counter. then it was put back on the end of a pike. the heart was on another pike, and other individuals dragged along the headless corpse. in this manner they arrived in front of the temple. it was three o'clock in the afternoon. on that day the royal family had been refused permission to go into the garden. they were in the little tower when the cries of the multitude became audible. the workmen who were then employed in tearing down the walls and buildings contiguous to the temple dungeon, mingled with the crowd, increased also by innumerable curious spectators, and uttered furious shouts. one of the municipal guards at the temple closed doors and windows, and pulled down curtains so that the captives could see nothing. on the street in front of the enclosure a tricolored ribbon had been fastened across, with this inscription: "citizens, you who know how to ally the love of order with a just vengeance, respect this barrier; it is necessary to our surveillance and our responsibility." this was the sole dike they meant to oppose to the torrent. at the side of this ribbon stood a municipal officer named danjou, formerly a priest, who was called abbé six-feet, on account of his { } height. he mounted on a chair and harangued the crowd. he felt his face touched by madame de lamballe's head, still on the end of a pike which the bearer shook about and gesticulated with, and also by a rag of her chemise, soaked with blood and mire, which another individual also carried on a pike. the naked body was there likewise, with its back to the ground and the front cut open to the very breast. danjou tried to make the crowd of assassins who wanted to invade the temple understand that at a moment when the enemy was master of the frontiers, it would be impolitic to deprive themselves of hostages so precious as louis xvi. and his family. "moreover," he added, "would it not demonstrate their innocence if you dare not try them? how much worthier it is of a great people to execute a king guilty of treason on the scaffold!" thus, while preventing an immediate massacre, he held the scaffold in reserve. danjou said that the communal council, in order to show its confidence in the citizens composing the mob, had decided that six of them should be admitted to make the rounds of the temple garden, with the commissioners at their head. the ribbon was then raised and several persons entered the enclosure. they were those who carried the remains of madame de lamballe. with these were the laborers who had been at work on the demolitions. voices were heard demanding furiously that marie antoinette should show herself at a window, so that some one might climb up and make her { } kiss her friend's head. as danjou opposed this infernal scheme, he was accused of being on the side of the tyrant. was the dungeon of the temple to be forced? were the assassins about to seize the queen, tear her in pieces, and drag her, like her friend, through streets and squares to the rolling of drums and the chanting of the _marseillaise_ and the _Ça ira_? a municipal officer entered the tower and began a mysterious parley with his colleagues. as louis xvi. asked what was going on, some one replied: "well, sir, since you desire to know, they want to show you madame de lamballe's head." meanwhile the cries outside were growing louder. another municipal came in, followed by four delegates from the mob. one of them, who carried a heavy sabre in his hand, insisted that the prisoners should present themselves at the window, but this was opposed by the municipal officers, who were less cruel. this man said to the queen in an insulting tone: "they want us to hide the princess de lamballe's head from you when we brought it to let you see how the people avenge themselves on their tyrants. i advise you to show yourself if you don't want the people to come up." marie antoinette fainted on learning her friend's death in this manner. her children burst into tears and tried by their caresses to bring her back to consciousness. the man did not go away. "sir," the king said to him, "we are prepared for the worst, but you might have dispensed yourself from informing the queen of this frightful calamity." { } cléry, the king's valet, was looking through a corner of the window blinds, and saw madame de lamballe's head. the person carrying it had climbed up on a heap of rubbish from the buildings in process of demolition. another, who stood beside him, held her bleeding heart. cléry heard danjou expostulating the crowd in words like these: "antoinette's head does not belong to you; the departments have their rights in it also. france has confided these great criminals to the care of paris; and it is your business to assist us in guarding them until national justice shall avenge the people." then, addressing himself to these cannibals as if they were heroes whose courage and exploits he praised, he added, in speaking of the profaned corpse of the princess de lamballe: "the remains you have there are the property of all. do they not belong to all paris? have you the right to deprive others of the pleasure of sharing your triumph? night will soon be here. make haste, then, to quit this precinct, which is too narrow for your glory. you ought to place this trophy in the palais royal or the tuileries garden, where the sovereignty of the people has been so often trampled under foot, as an eternal monument of the victory you have just won." remarks like these were all that could prevent these tigers from entering the temple and destroying the prisoners. shouts of "to the palais royal!" proved to danjou that his harangue had been appreciated. the assassins at last departed, after having covered his face with { } kisses that smelt of wine and blood. they wanted to show their victim's head at the hôtel toulouse, the mansion of the venerable duke de penthièvre, her father-in-law, but were deterred by the assurance that she did not ordinarily live there, but at the tuileries. then they turned toward the palais royal. the duke of orleans was at a window with his mistress, madame de buffon. he left it, but he may have seen the head of his sister-in-law. some of the cannibals had remained in the neighborhood of the temple. sitting down at table in a wine-shop, they had the heart of the princess de lamballe cooked, and ate it with avidity. "thus," says m. de beauchesne in his excellent work on louis xvii., "this civilization which had departed from god, surpassed at a single bound the fury of savages, and the eighteenth century, so proud of its learning and humanity, ended by anthropophagy." in the evening, when some one was giving collot d'herbois an account of the day's performances, he expressed but one regret,--that they had not succeeded in showing marie antoinette the remains of the princess de lamballe. "what!" he spitefully exclaimed, "did they spare the queen that impression? they ought to have served up her best friend's head in a covered dish at her table." { } xxxv. the september massacres. lovers of paradoxes have tried to represent the september massacres as something spontaneous, a passing delirium of opinion, a sort of great national convulsion. this myth was a lie against history and humanity. it exists no longer, heaven be thanked. the mists with which it was sought to shroud these execrable crimes are now dissipated. light has been shed upon that series of infernal spectacles which would have made cannibals blush. no; these odious massacres were not the result of a popular movement, an unforeseen fanaticism, a paroxysm of rage or vengeance. they present an ensemble of murders committed in cool blood, a planned and premeditated thing. m. mortimer-ternaux, in his _histoire de la terreur_, m. granier de cassagnac, in his _histoire des girondins et des massacres de septembre_, have proved this abundantly. they have exhumed from the archives and the record offices such a mass of uncontested and incontestable documents, that not the slightest doubt is now permissible. edgar quinet has not hesitated to recognize this in his book, _la révolution_. he says: "the { } massacres were executed administratively; the same discipline was everywhere displayed throughout the carnage.... this was not a piece of blind, spontaneous barbarism; it was a barbarity slowly meditated, minutely elaborated by a sanguinary mind. hence it bears no resemblance to anything previously known in history. marat harvested in september what he had been sowing for three years." the parisian populace, eight hundred thousand souls, was inert; it was cowardly, it trembled; but it did not approve, it was not an accomplice. it was a monstrous thing that a handful of cut-throats should be enough to transform paris into a slaughter-house. one shudders in thinking what a few criminals can accomplish in the midst of an immense population. "the people, the real people--that composed of laborious and honest workmen, ardent and patriotic at heart, and of young _bourgeois_ with generous aspirations and indomitable courage--never united for an instant with the scoundrels recruited by maillard from every kennel in the capital. while the hired assassins of the committee of surveillance established in the prisons what vergniaud called a butcher's shop for human flesh, the true populace was assembled on the champ-de-mars, and before the enlistment booths; it was offering its purest blood for the country; it would have blushed to shed that of helpless unfortunates."[ ] in , the murder of hostages and { } the burning of monuments was no more approved by the population than the massacres in the prisons were in . the crimes were committed at both epochs by a mere handful of individuals. the great majority of the people were guilty merely of apathy and fear. the hideous tableau surpasses the most lugubrious conceptions of dante's sombre imagination. paris is a hell. from august , it is like a torpid oriental town. the whole city is in custody, like a criminal whose limbs are held while he is being searched and put in irons. every house is inspected by the agents of the commune. a knock at the door makes the inmates tremble. the denunciation of an enemy, a servant, a neighbor, is a death sentence. people scarcely dare to breathe. neither running water nor solid earth is free. the parapets of quays, the arches of bridges, the bathing and washing boats are bristling with sentries. everything is surrounded. there is no refuge. three thousand suspected persons are taken out of houses, and crowded into prisons. the hunt begins anew the following day. the programme of massacres is arranged. the communal council of surveillance has minutely regulated everything. the price of the actual work is settled. the personnel of cut-throats is at its post. danton has furnished the executioners; manuel, the victims. all is ready. the bloody drama can begin. on september , danton said to the assembly: "the tocsin about to sound is not an alarm signal; it { } is a charge upon the enemies of the country. to vanquish them, gentlemen, all that is needed is boldness, and again boldness, and always boldness." two days before, he had been still more explicit. "the th of august," said he, "divided us into republicans and royalists; the first few in number, the second many...; we must make the royalists afraid." a frightful gesture, a horizontal gesture, sufficed to express his meaning. robbery preceded murder. it was a veritable raid. the commune caused the palaces, national property, the garde-meuble, the houses and mansions of the _émigrés_ to be pillaged. one saw nothing but carts and wagons transporting stolen goods to the hôtel-de-ville. all the plate was stolen from the churches likewise. "millions," says madame roland in her memoirs, "passed into the hands of people who used it to perpetuate the anarchy which was the source of their domination." when will the men of the commune render their accounts? never. who are the accomplices of danton and marat in organizing the massacres? a band of defaulting accountants, faithless violators of public trusts, breakers of locks, swindlers, spies, and men overwhelmed with debts. what interest have they in planning the murders? that of perpetuating the dictatorship they had assumed on the eve of august , and, above all, of having no accounts to render. a few weeks later on, collot d'herbois will say at the jacobin club: "the d of september is the chief article in the creed of our liberty." { } the jailors were forewarned. they served the prisoners' dinner earlier, and took away their knives. there was a disturbed and uneasy look in their faces which made the victims suspect their end was near. toward noon the general alarm was beaten in every street. the citizens were ordered to return at once to their dwellings. an order was issued to illuminate every house when night fell. the shops were closed. terror overspread the entire city. it was agreed that at the third discharge of cannon the cut-throats should set to work. the first blood shed was that of prisoners taken from the mayoralty to the abbey prison. the carriages containing them passed along the quai des orfèvres, the pont-neuf and rue dauphine, until it reached the bussy square. here there was a crowd assembled around a platform where enlistments were going on. the throng impeded the progress of the carriages. thereupon one of the escort opened the door of one of them, and standing on the step, plunged his sabre into the breast of an aged priest. the multitude shuddered and fled in affright. "that makes you afraid," said the assassin; "you will see plenty more like it." the rest of the escort followed the example set them. the carriages go on again, and so do the massacres. they kill along the route, and they kill on arriving at the abbey. towards five o'clock, billaud-varennes presents himself there, wearing his municipal scarf. "people," says he--what he calls { } people is a band of salaried assassins--"people, thou immolatest thine enemies, thou art doing thy duty." then he walks into the midst of the dead bodies, dipping his feet in blood, and fraternizes with the murderers. "there is nothing more to do here," exclaims maillard; "let us go to the carmelites." at the carmelites, one hundred and eighty priests, crowded into the church and convent, were awaiting their fate with pious resignation. two days before, manuel had said to them ironically: "in forty-eight hours you will all be free. get ready to go into a foreign country and enjoy the repose you cannot find here." and on the previous day a gendarme had said to the archbishop of arles, blowing the smoke from his pipe into his face as he did so: "it is to-morrow, then, that they are going to kill your grandeur." a short time before the massacre began, the victims were sent into the garden. at the bottom of it was an orangery which has since become a chapel. mgr. dulau, archbishop of arles, and the bishops of beauvais and de saintes, both of whom were named de la rochefoucauld, kneeled down with the other priests and recited the last prayers. the murderers approached. the archbishop of arles, who was upwards of eighty, advanced to meet them. "i am he whom you seek," he said; "my sacrifice is made; but spare these worthy priests; they will pray for you on earth, and i in heaven." they insulted him before they struck him. "i have never done harm to any one," said he. an assassin { } responded: "very well; i'll do some to you," and killed him. the other priests were chased around the garden from one tree to another, and shot down. during this infernal hunt the murderers were shouting with laughter and singing their favorite song: _dansez la carmagnole_! the massacre of the carmelites is over. "let us go back to the abbey!" cries maillard; "we shall find more game there." this time there is a pretence of justice made. the tribunal is the vestibule of the abbey; maillard, the chief cut-throat, is president; the assassins are the judges, and the public, the marseillais, the sans-culottes, the female furies, and men to whom murder was a delightful spectacle. the prisoners are summoned one after another. they enter the vestibule, which has a wicket as a door of exit. they are questioned simply as a matter of form. their answers are not even listened to. "conduct this gentleman to the force!" says the president. the prisoner thinks he is safe; he does not know that this phrase has been agreed upon as the signal of death. on reaching the wicket, hatchet and sabre strokes cut him down in the midst of his dream. the swiss officers and soldiers who had survived august were murdered thus. their torture lasted a longer or shorter time, and was accomplished with more or less cruel refinements, according to the caprice of the assassins, who were nearly all drunk. night came, and torches were lighted. no { } shadows; a grand illumination. they must see clearly in the slaughter house. lanterns were placed near the lakes of blood and heaps of dead bodies, so as plainly to distinguish the work from the workmen. there were some who were bent on losing no details of the carnage. the spectators wanted to take things easy. they were tired of standing too long. benches for men and others for dames were got ready for them. the death-rattle of the agonizing, the vociferations of the assassins, the emulation between the executioners who kill slowly and the victims who are in haste to die, give joy to the spectators. there is no interruption to the human butchery. there has been so much blood spilled that the feet of the murderers slip on the pavement. a litter is made of straw and the clothes of the victims, and thereafter none are killed except upon this mattress. in this way the work is more commodiously accomplished. the assassins have plenty of assurance. morning dawns on the continuation of the murders, and the wives of the murderers bring them something to eat. on september , the only persons handed over to the cut-throats, were at the abbey, the carmelites, and saint-firmin. on september , the massacre became more general. the assassins had said: "if there is no more work, we shall have to find some." their desire realizes itself. work will not be lacking. there is still some at the force, where the princess de lamballe, the preferred victim, is { } murdered. the assassins, who at the abbey had been paid at the rate of eight francs a day, get only fifty sous at the force. they work with undiminished zeal, even at this reduction. if necessary, they would work for nothing. to drink wine and shed blood is the essential thing. the negro delorme, servant to fournier "the american," distinguishes himself among them all. his black skin, reddened with blood, his white teeth and ferocious eyes, his bestial laugh, his ravenous fury, make him a choice assassin. there is work too at the conciergerie, at the great and little châtelet, the salpêtrière, and the bicêtre. a great number of those detained are people condemned or accused of private crimes which had absolutely nothing in common with politics. no matter; blood is wanted; they kill there as elsewhere. at the grand châtelet, work is so plenty, and the assassins so few, that they release several individuals imprisoned for theft, and impress them into their service. one of these unfortunate accidental executioners begins in a hesitating way, strikes a few undecided blows, and then throws down the hatchet placed in his hands. "no, no," he cries, "i cannot. no, no! rather a victim than a murderer! i would rather receive death from scoundrels like you, then give it to innocent, disarmed people. strike me!" and at once the veteran murderers kill the inexperienced cut-throat. there was a woman, known on account of her charms as the beautiful flower girl, who was accused of having wounded { } her lover, a french guard, in a fit of jealousy. théroigne de mericourt, an amazon of the gutters, was her rival. she pointed her out to the assassins. they fastened her naked to a post, her legs apart and her feet nailed to the ground. they burned her alive. they cut off her breasts with sabre strokes. they impaled her on a hot iron. her shrieks carried dismay as far as the outer banks of the seine. théroigne was at the height of felicity. at the salpêtrière there was still another spectacle. this prison for fallen women is a place of correction for the old, of amendment for the young, and an asylum for those who are still children. more than forty children of the lower classes were slain during these horrible days. the delirium of murder reached its height. gorged with wine mingled with gunpowder, intoxicated with the fumes and reek of carnage, the assassins experienced a devouring, inextinguishable thirst for blood which nothing could quench. more blood, and yet more blood! and where can it now be found? the prisons are empty. there are no more nobles, no more priests, to put to death. very well! for lack of anything better, they will go to an asylum for the poor, the sick, and the insane; to the bicêtre. vagabonds, paupers, fools, thieves, steward, chaplains, janitor, all is fish that comes to their net. the butchery lasts five days and nights without stopping. massacre takes every form; some are drowned in the cellars, others shot in the courts. water, fire, and sword, every sort of torture. { } the cut-throats can at last take some repose. they have worked all the week. there are still some, however, who have not yet had enough, and who are going to continue the massacres of paris in the provinces. the communal council of surveillance has taken care to send to every commune in france a circular bearing the seal of the minister of justice, inviting them to follow the example of the capital. september , the prisoners who had been detained at orleans to be tried there by the superior court, entered versailles on carts. at the moment when they approached the grating of the orangery, assassins sent from paris under the lead of fournier "the american" sprang upon them and immolated every one. thus perished the former minister of foreign affairs, de lessart, and the duke de brissac, former commander of the constitutional guard. fournier "the american"[ ] returned on horseback to paris and began to caracole on the place vendôme; danton loudly felicitated him on the success of the expedition, from the balcony of the ministry of justice. during all this time, what efforts had the assembly made to put a stop to the murders? none, absolutely none. never has any deliberative body shown a like cowardice. neither vergniaud's voice nor that of any other girondin was heard in protest. indignation, pity, found not a single word to say. speeches, { } discussions, votes on different questions, went on as usual. concerning the massacres, not a syllable. during that infamous week, neither the ministers, the virtuous roland not more than the others, neither pétion, the mayor of paris, nor the commander of the national guard sent a picket guard of fifty men to any quarter to prevent the murders. a population of eight hundred thousand souls and a national guard of fifty thousand men bent their necks under the yoke of a handful of bandits, of two hundred and thirty-five assassins (the exact number is known). people trembled. at the assembly the old moderate party had disappeared. there were not more than two hundred odd deputies present at the shameful and powerless sessions. terrorized paris was in a state of stupor and prostration. the murderers ended by execrating themselves. tormented by remorse, they could see nothing before them but vivid faces, reeking entrails, bleeding limbs. "among the cut-throats," m. louis blanc has said, "some gave signs of insanity that led to the supposition that some mysterious and terrible drug had been mingled with the wine they drank." some of them became furious madmen. others sought refuge in suicide, killing themselves the moment they had no one else to kill. others enlisted. they were chased out of the army. among these was the man who had carried the head of the princess de lamballe on a pike. one day when he was boasting of his murders, the soldiers became indignant and { } put him to death. others still were tried as septembrists and sent to the scaffold. the guilty received their punishment, even on this earth. well! there are people nowadays who would like to rehabilitate them! in vain has lamartine, the founder of the second republic, exclaimed in a burst of noble wrath: "has human speech an execration, an anathema, which is equal to the horror these crimes of cannibals inspire in me, as in all civilized men?" in vain have the most celebrated historians of democracy, edgar quinet and michelet, expressed in eloquent terms their indignation against these crimes. in vain has m. louis blanc said: "every murder is a suicide. in the victim the body alone is killed; but what is killed in the murderer is the soul." there are men who would not alone excuse, but glorify the assassinations and the assassins! [ ] m. mortimer-ternaux, _histoire de la terreur_. [ ] claude fournier-lhéritier, was born in auvergne, , and served as a volunteer in santo domingo, - , with toussaint l'ouverture, whence his sobriquet "the american." { } xxxvi. madame roland during the massacres. madame roland's hatred was appeased. the ambitious _bourgeoise_ throned it for the second time at the ministry of the interior, and the queen groaned in captivity in the temple tower. the egeria of the girondins had not felt her heart swell with a single movement of pity for marie antoinette. the fatal th of august had seemed to her a personal triumph in which her pride delighted. the parvenue enjoyed the humiliations of the daughter of the german cæsars. her jealous instincts feasted on the afflictions of the queen of france and navarre. lamartine, indignant at this cruelty on madame roland's part, has repented of the eulogies he gave her in his _histoire des girondins_. in his _cours de littérature_ (volume xiii. conversation xxiii.), he says: "i glided over that medley of intrigue and pomposity which composed the genius, both feminine and roman, of this woman. in so doing, i conceded more to popularity than to truth. i wanted to give a cornelia to the republic. as a matter of fact, i do not know what cornelia was, that mother of the { } gracchi who brought up conspirators against the roman senate, and trained them to sedition, that virtue of ambitious commoners. as to madame roland, who inflated a vulgar husband by the breath of her feminine anger against a court she found odious because it did not open to her upstart vanity, there was nothing really fine in her except her death. her rôle had been a mere parade of true greatness of soul." what lamartine finds fault with most of all is her hostility to the martyr queen. he adds: "she inspired the girondins, her intimate friends, with an implacable hatred against the queen, already so humiliated and so menaced; she had neither respect nor pity for this victim; she points her out to the rebellious multitude. she is no longer a wife, a mother, or a frenchwoman. she poses as nemesis at the door of the temple, when the queen is groaning there over her husband, her children, and herself, between the throne and the scaffold. this ostentatious stoicism of implacability is what, in my view, kills the woman in this female demagogue." alas! if madame roland was guilty, she was to be punished cruelly. the colleague of the _virtuous_ roland was the organizer of the september massacres. the republican sheepfold dreamed of by the admirer of jean-jacques rousseau was invaded by ferocious beasts. human nature had never appeared under a more execrable aspect than since its so-called regeneration. madame roland was filled with a naïve astonishment. after having sown the wind she was { } utterly surprised to reap the whirlwind. what! she said to herself, my husband is minister, or, to speak with great exactness, i am the minister myself, and yet there are people in france who are dissatisfied! ungrateful nation, why dost thou not appreciate thy happiness? madame roland resembled certain politicians, who, having attained to power, would willingly disembarrass themselves of those by whose aid they reached it. for the second time she had just arrived at the goal of her ambition. who dared, then, to pollute her joy? why did that marplot, danton, come with his untimely massacres to destroy such brilliant projects and banish such delightful dreams? the man who, as if in derision and antithesis, allowed himself to be called the minister of justice, produced the effect of a monster on madame roland. the republic as conceived by him had not the head of a goddess, but of a gorgon. its eyes glittered with a sinister lustre. the sword it held was that of an assassin or a headsman. madame roland was greatly astonished when, on sunday, september , , toward five in the evening, when the massacres had already begun, she saw two hundred men of forbidding appearance arrive at the ministry of the interior and ask for her husband, who was absent. lucky for him he was; for albeit a minister, they had come to arrest him in virtue of a mandate of the communal council of surveillance. not finding roland, the two hundred men retired. one of them, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up to his { } elbows, and a sabre in his hand, declaimed furiously against the treachery of ministers. a few minutes later, danton said to pétion: "do you know what they have taken into their heads? if they haven't issued a decree to arrest roland!"--"who did that?" demanded the mayor.--"eh! those devils of committeemen. i have taken the mandate; hold! here it is!" what was madame roland doing the next day, when the worst of the massacres were going on? she gave a dinner, and allowed the prussian, anacharsis clootz, who came, moreover, uninvited, to make a regular defence of these horrible murders. "the events of the day," she says in her memoirs, "formed the subject of conversation. clootz pretended to prove that it was an indispensable and salutary measure; he uttered a good many commonplaces about the people's rights, the justice of their vengeance, and of its utility to the welfare of the species; he talked a long while and very loudly, ate still more, and fatigued more than one listener." and yet, revolutionary passions had not extinguished every notion of humanity and justice in madame roland's soul. on that very day she induced her husband to write a letter to the national assembly concerning the massacres. but how weak and undecided is this letter, and how public opinion must have been lowered and debased when it could regard roland as a courageous minister! in place of scathing the murderers with the energy of an { } honest man, he pleads extenuating circumstances in their favor. "it is in the nature of things and according to the human heart," he said in his pale missive, "that victory should lead to some excesses. the sea, agitated by a violent storm, continues to roar long after the tempest; but everything has its limits and must finally see them determined. yesterday was a day over whose events we ought, perhaps, to draw a veil. i know that the terrible vengeance of the people carries with it a sort of justice; but how easy it is for scoundrels and traitors to abuse this effervescence, and how necessary it is to arrest it!" this language produced not the least effect. the massacres went on, and roland remained minister; although in his letter of september he had written: "i ask the privilege of resigning if the silence of the laws does not permit me to act." the _virtuous_ roland sat in the council beside his colleague, the organizer of this human butchery. september , he addressed a letter to the parisians in which he burnt incense to himself, bragged about his character, his actions, and his firmness, and carried his infatuation so far as to write: "i have twice accepted a burden which i felt myself able to bear." ah! how difficult it is to renounce even a shadow of power, and of what compromises with their consciences are not ministers capable in order to retain for a few days longer the portfolios that are slipping from their hands! in the depths of his soul roland, like his wife, had the profoundest horror of the murders and { } the murderers. and yet notice how he extenuates them in his letter to the parisians: "i admired august ; i trembled over the results of september ; i carefully considered what the betrayed patience of the people and their justice had produced, and i did not blame a first impulse too inconsiderately; i believe that its further progress should have been prevented, and that those who were seeking to perpetuate it were deceived by their imagination or by cruel and evil-minded men. if the erring brethren recognize that they have been deceived, let them come; my arms are open to them." that was a very prompt amnesty. already the assassins are but erring brethren, and the minister welcomes them to his arms! the gironde kept silence, or, if it spoke, it was to attribute, like vergniaud, the massacres "to the _émigrés_ and the satellites of coblentz." later on, they were horrified by the crimes, but it was when others were to profit by them. each taken by himself, the girondins did not hesitate to condemn the murders; but taken as a whole, they considered merely the interests of their party. were not three of them still in the ministerial council? what had they to complain of, then? the september massacres are the most striking expression of what abominations the ambitious may commit or allow to be committed in order to maintain themselves a few weeks longer in power. but there is a voice in the depths of conscience { } which neither interest nor ambition can succeed in stifling. madame roland could not blind herself. the odious reality appeared to her. at last she saw the yawning gulf beneath her feet, and she uttered a cry of terror. a secret voice warned her that her fate would be like that of the september victims. after the th of that fatal month her imagination was vividly impressed. bloody phantoms rose before her. she wrote on that day to bancal des issarts: "if you knew the frightful details of these expeditions.... you know my enthusiasm for the revolution; well, i am ashamed of it; it has become hideous. in a week ... how do i know what may happen? it is degrading to remain in office, and we are not permitted to leave paris. we are detained so that we may be destroyed at the propitious moment." from that time a rising anger and indignation took possession of the mind and heart of the egeria of the girondins, and constantly increased until the hour when she ascended the steps of the scaffold. she writes in her memoirs, apropos of the september massacres: "all paris witnessed these horrible scenes executed by a small number of wretches (there were but fifteen at the abbey, at the door of which only two national guards were stationed, in spite of the applications made to the commune and the commandant). all paris permitted it to go on. all paris was accursed in my eyes, and i no longer hoped that liberty might be established among cowards, insensible to the worst outrages that could be perpetrated { } against nature and humanity, cold spectators of attempts which the courage of fifty armed men could have prevented with ease.... it is not the first night that astonishes me; but four days!--and inquisitive people going to see this spectacle! no, i know nothing in the annals of the most barbarous peoples which can compare with these atrocities." what a striking lesson for those who play with anarchical passions and end by falling themselves into the snares they have laid for others! nothing is more deserving of study than this retaliatory punishment which is found, one may say, on every page of revolutionary histories. the hour was coming when the girondins and their heroine would repent of the means they had employed to overset the throne. this was when the same means were employed against them, when they recognized their own weapons in the wounds they received. then, when they had no more interest in keeping silence, they sought to escape a complicity that gained them nothing. instead of the luminous heights which in their golden dreams they had aspired to gain, they fell, crushed and overwhelmed, into a dismal gulf, full of tears and blood. how bitter then were their recriminations against men and things! it was only to virtue that the dying brutus said: "thou art but a name." the girondins said it also to glory, to country, and to liberty. those among them who did not succeed in fleeing, disavowed, denounced, and insulted each other before the revolutionary tribunal. at the { } conciergerie they intoned the marseillaise, but parodying the demagogic chant in this wise:-- contre nous de la tyrannie[ ] le _couteau_ sanglant est levé. read the memoirs of louvet, buzot, barbaroux, pétion, and madame roland, and you will see to what extremes of bitterness the language of deceived ambition can go. they are paroxysms of rage, howls of anger, shrieks of despair. consider the difference between philosophy and religion! the philosophers curse, and the christian pardons. yes, as edgar quinet has said, "louis xvi. alone speaks of forgiveness on that scaffold to which the others were to bring thoughts of vengeance and despair. and by that he seems still to reign over those who were to follow him in death with the passions and the furies of earth." louis xvi. will be magnanimous and calm. a celestial sweetness will overspread his royal countenance. an infernal rage will distort the heart and the features of the girondins. what pains, what tortures, in their death-struggle! earth fails them, and they do not look to heaven. what accents of disgust and hatred when they speak of their former accomplices, now become their executioners! "great god!" buzot will say, "if it is only by such men and such infamous means that republics { } can arise and be consolidated, there is no government more frightful on this earth nor more fatal to human happiness." he will address these insults, worthy of the imprecations of camillus, to the city of paris: "i say truly, that france can expect neither liberty nor happiness except from the irreparable destruction of that capital." barbaroux will be still more severe. his anathemas are launched not only at paris, but at all france. "the people," he says, "do not deserve that one should become attached to them, for they are essentially ungrateful. it is the absurdest folly to try to conduct to liberty people without morals, who blaspheme god and adore marat. these people are no more fit for a philosophic government than the lazzaroni of naples or the cannibals of america.... liberty, virtue, sacred rights of men, to-day you are nothing but empty names." pétion, before dying, will write to his son this letter, which is like the testament of the gironde: "my greatest torment will be to think that so many crimes went unpunished; vengeance is here the most sacred of duties.... my son, either the murderers of thy father and thy country will be delivered to the severities of the law and expiate their crimes upon the scaffold, or thou art under obligation to free thy country from them. they have broken all the ties of society; their crimes are of such a nature that they do not fall under ordinary rules. from such monsters every one is authorized to purge the earth." { } madame roland will be not less vehement than buzot, barbaroux, and pétion. she will address these severe but just reproaches to her friends who had not been valiant enough in their own defence: "they temporized with crime, the cowards! they were to fall in their turn, but they succumb shamefully, pitied by nobody, and with nothing to expect from posterity but utter contempt.... rather than obey their tyrants, than descend from the bar and go out of the assembly like a timid flock about to be branded by the butcher, why did they not do justice to themselves by falling on the monsters to annihilate them rather than be sentenced by them?" it is not her friends alone whom her anger will lash, but the sovereign people, the people once so flattered, whom she will pursue with her anathemas. "the people," she will say, "can feel nothing but the cannibal joy of seeing blood flow, in order that they may run no risk of shedding their own. that predicted time has come when, if they ask for bread, dead bodies will be given them; but their degraded nature takes pleasure in the spectacle, and the satisfied instinct of cruelty makes the dearth supportable until it becomes absolute." the egeria of the girondins will comprehend that all is lost, that even her blood will be sterile, and that france is condemned either to anarchy or a dictatorship. "liberty," she will exclaim, "was not made for this corrupt nation, which leaves the bed of debauchery or the dunghill of poverty only to brutalize itself in license, and howl as it { } wallows in the blood streaming from scaffolds." like the damned souls in dante, madame roland will leave all hope behind, and when, a few days after marie antoinette, she ascends the steps of the guillotine, instead of thinking of heaven, like the queen, she will address this sarcastic speech to the plaster statue which has replaced that of louis xv.: "o liberty! how they have betrayed thee!" but let us not anticipate. the girondins are still to have a glimmer of joy. the republic is about to be proclaimed. [ ] the bloody _knife_ of tyranny is lifted against us. { } xxxvii. the proclamation of the republic. "one of the astonishing things in the french revolution," says one of the most eminent writers of the democratic school, edgar quinet, "is the unexpectedness with which the great changes occur. the most important events, the destruction of the monarchy and the advent of the republic, came about without any previous warning." the most ardent republicans were royalists, not merely under the old régime, but after , and even up to august , . marat wrote, in no. of the _ami du peuple_, february , : "i have often been represented as a mortal enemy of royalty, but i claim that the king has no better friend than myself." and he added: "as to louis xvi. personally, i know very well that his defects are chargeable solely to his education, and that by nature he is an excellent sort of man, whom one would have cited as a worthy citizen if he had not had the misfortune to be born on the throne; but, such as he is, he is at all events the king we want. we ought to thank heaven for having given him to us. we ought to pray that he may be spared to us." marat praying, { } marat thanking heaven! and for whom? for the king. does not that prove what deep root royalty had taken in france? april , , the same marat bitterly reproached condorcet with "shamelessly calumniating the jacobin club, and perfidiously accusing it of wishing to destroy the monarchy" (_l' ami du peuple_, no. ). june , he attacked those who violated the oath taken at the time of the federation, and said: "to defend the constitution is the same thing as to be faithful to the nation, the law, and the king" (_l' ami du peuple_, no. ). during the entire continuance of the legislative assembly, when robespierre, having left the tribune, was pretending to educate the people by means of his journal, what he defended to the utmost was the royal constitution. madame roland relates that after the flight to varennes, when the prospect of a republic loomed up, possibly for the first time, at a secret meeting, robespierre, grinning as usual, and biting his nails, asked ironically what a republic might be. in june, , the entire jacobin club was royalist still. it proposed to drop billaud-varennes, because billaud-varennes had dared to put the monarchical principle in question. on the th of july following, two months and a half, that is, before the opening of the convention, at the time of the famous lamourette kiss, all the members of the assembly swore to execrate the republic forever. three weeks after september , danton alleged the paucity and the weakness of the republicans, compared with the royalists, as { } motives for the massacres. pétion has said: "when the insurrection of august was undertaken, there were but five men in france who desired a republic." buzot, madame roland's idol, has written: "a wretched mob, unintelligent and unenlightened, vomited forth insults against royalty; the rest neither desired nor willed anything but the constitution of , and spoke of the republicans just as one speaks of extremely honest fools. this people is republican only through force of the guillotine." and yet, september , , the convention, holding its first sitting in the hall of the manège, began by proclaiming the republic. buzot, in his memoirs, has thus described the deputations that were sent to the bar, and the public that occupied the galleries: "it seemed as if the outlet of every sewer in paris and other great cities had been searched for whatever was most filthy, hideous, and infected. villainously dirty faces, surmounted by shocks of greasy hair, and with eyes half sunk into their heads, they spat out, with their nauseating breath, the grossest insults mingled with the sharp snarls of carnivorous beasts. the galleries were worthy of such legislators: men whose frightful aspect betokened crime and poverty, and women whose shameless faces expressed the filthiest debauchery. when all these with hands and feet and voice made their horrible racket, one seemed to be in an assembly of devils." when the session opened, collot d'herbois was { } the first speaker. he said: "there is a matter which you cannot put off until to-morrow, which you cannot put off until this evening, which you cannot defer for a single instant without being unfaithful to the wishes of the nation; it is the abolition of royalty." quinet having objected that it would be better to present this question when the constitution was to be discussed, grégoire, constitutional bishop of blois, exclaimed: "certainly, no one will ever propose to us to preserve the deadly race of kings in france. all the dynasties have been breeds of ravenous beasts, living on nothing but human flesh; still it is necessary to reassure plainly the friends of liberty; this magic talisman, which still has power to stupefy so many men, must be destroyed." bazire remarked that it would be a frightful example to the people to see an assembly which they had entrusted with their dearest interests, resolve upon anything in a moment of enthusiasm and without thorough discussion. grégoire replied with vehemence: "eh! what need is there of discussion when everybody is of the same mind? kings, in the moral order, are what monsters are in the physical order. courts are the workshop of crime and the lair of tyrants. the history of kings is the martyrology of nations; we are all equally penetrated by this truth. what is the use of discussing it?" then the question, put to vote in these terms: "the national convention declares that royalty is abolished in france," was adopted amidst applause. { } at four in the afternoon of the same day, a municipal officer named lubin, surrounded by mounted gendarmes and a large crowd of people, came to read a proclamation before the temple tower. the trumpets were sounded. a great silence ensued, and lubin, who had a stentorian voice, read loud enough to be heard by the royal family confined in the dungeon, this proclamation, the death knell of monarchy: "royalty is abolished in france. all public acts will be dated from the first year of the republic. the seal of state will be inscribed with this motto: _republique française_. the national seal will represent a woman seated on a sheaf of arms, holding in one hand a pike surmounted by a liberty-cap." hébert (the famous père duchesne) was at this moment on guard near the royal family. sitting on the threshold of their chamber, he sought to discover a movement of vexation or anger, or any other emotion on their faces. he was unsuccessful. while listening to the revolutionary decree which snatched away his throne, the descendant of saint louis, henry iv., and louis xiv. experienced not the slightest trouble. he had a book in his hand, and he quietly went on reading it. as impassive as her spouse, the queen neither made a movement nor uttered a word. when the proclamation was finished, the trumpets sounded again. cléry then went to the window, and the eyes of the crowd turned instantly towards him. as they mistook him for louis xvi., they overwhelmed him with insults. the gendarmes made threatening { } gestures, and he was obliged to withdraw so as to quiet the tumult. while the populace was unchained around the temple prison, one man alone was calm, one man alone seemed a stranger to all anxiety: it was the prisoner. a new era begins. the death-struggle of royalty is over. royalty is dead, and the king is soon to die. grégoire, who had stolen the vote (there were but conventionists present; were absent; that is to say, more than half), is both surprised and enthusiastic about what he has done. he confesses that for several days his excessive joy deprived him of appetite and sleep. such joy will not last very long. m. taine compares revolutionary france to a badly nourished workman, poor, and overdriven with toil, and yet who drinks strong liquors. at first, in his intoxication, he thinks he is a millionnaire, loved and admired; he thinks himself a king. "but soon the radiant visions give place to black and monstrous phantoms.... at present, france has passed through the period of joyous delirium, and is about to enter on another that is sombre; behold it, capable of daring, suffering, and doing all things, whenever its guides, as widely astray as itself, shall point out an enemy or an obstacle to its fury." how quickly the disenchantments come! already lafayette, the man of generous illusions, has had to imitate the conduct of those _émigrés_ on whom he has been so severe. he has fled to a foreign land, and found there not a refuge, but a prison. he will { } remain more than five years in the gloomy fortress of olmutz. the victor of valmy, dumouriez, will hardly be more fortunate. he will go over to the enemy, and live in exile on a pension from foreign powers. how close together deceptions and recantations come! marat, who had already said to the inhabitants of the capital: "eternal cockneys, with what epithets would i not assail you in the transports of my despair, if i knew any more humiliating than that of parisians?"[ ] marat, who had said to all frenchmen: "no, no; liberty is not made for an ignorant, light, and frivolous nation, for cits brought up in fear, dissimulation, knavery, and lying, nourished in cunning, intrigue, sycophancy, avarice, and swindling, subsisting only by theft and rapine, aspiring after nothing but pleasures, titles, and decorations, and always ready to sell themselves for gold!"[ ] marat will write, may th, , that is to say, at the apogee of his favorite political system: "all measures taken up to the present day by the assemblies, constituent, legislative, and conventional, to establish and consolidate liberty, have been thoughtless, vain, and illusory, even supposing them to have been taken in good faith. the greater part seem to have had for their object to perpetuate oppression, bring on anarchy, death, poverty, and famine; to make the people weary of their independence, to make liberty a burden, to cause them to { } detest the revolution, through its excessive disorders, to exhaust them by watching, fatigue, want, and inanition, to reduce them to despair by hunger, and to bring them back to despotism by civil war."[ ] there were six ministers appointed on august . two of them, claviére and roland, will kill themselves; two others, lebrun-tondu and danton, will be guillotined; the remaining two, servan and monge, are destined to become, one a general of division under napoleon, and the other a senator of the empire and count of péluse; and when, at the beginning of his reign, the emperor complains to the latter because there are still partisans of the republic to be found: "sire," the former minister of august will answer, "we had so much trouble to make them republicans! may it please your majesty kindly to allow them at least a few days to become imperialists!" of the two men who had so enthusiastically brought about the proclamation of the republic, one, collot d'herbois, will be transported to guiana by the republicans, and die there in a paroxysm of burning fever; the other, grégoire, will be a senator of the empire, which will not, however, prevent him from promoting the deposition of napoleon as he had promoted that of louis xvi. there are men who will exchange the jacket of the _sans-culotte_ for the gilded livery of an imperial functionary. the conventionists and regicides are { } transformed into dukes and counts and barons. david, the official painter of the empire, napoleon's favorite, will paint with joy the picture of a pope, and be very proud of his great picture of the new charlemagne's coronation. but listen to edgar quinet: "when i see the orators of deputations taking things with such a high hand at the bar, and lording it so proudly over mute and complaisant assemblies, i should like to know what became of them a few years later." and thereupon he sets out to discover their traces. but after considerable investigation he stops. "if i searched any further," he exclaims, "i should be afraid of encountering them among the petty employés of the empire. it was quite enough to see huguenin, the indomitable president of the insurrectionary commune, so quickly tamed, soliciting and obtaining a post as clerk of town gates as soon as absolute power made its reappearance after the th brumaire. the terrible santerre becomes the gentlest of men as soon as he is pensioned by the first consul. hardly had bourdon de l'oise and albitte, those men of iron, felt the rod than you see them the supplest functionaries of the empire. the great king-taker, drouet, thrones it in the sub-prefecture of sainte-menehould. napoleon has related that, on august , he was in a shop in the carrousel, whence he witnessed the taking of the palace. if he had a presentiment then, he must have smiled at the chaos which he was to reduce so easily to its former limits. how many furies, and all to terminate so soon in the accustomed obedience!" { } is not history, with its perpetual alternatives of license and despotism, like a vicious circle? and do not the nations pass their time in producing webs of penelope, whose bloody threads they weave and unweave again with tears? all governments, royalties, empires, republics, ought to be more modest. but all, profoundly forgetful of the lessons of the past, believe themselves immortal. all declare haughtily that they have closed forever the era of revolutions. with the advent of the republic a new calendar had been put in force. the equality of days and nights at the autumnal equinox opened the era of civil equality on september . "who would have believed that this human geometry, so profoundly calculated, was written in the sand, and that in a few years no traces of it would remain? ... the heavens have continued to gravitate, and have brought back the equality of days and nights; but they have allowed the promised liberty and equality to perish, like meteors that vanish in empty space.... the _sans-culottes_ have not been able to make themselves popular among the starry peoples.... an ancient belief which the men of the revolution had neglected through fear or through contempt was again met with; a spectre had appeared; a chilly breath, like that of samuel, had made itself felt; and lo, the edifice so sagely constructed, and leaning on the worlds, has vanished away."[ ] { } there lies at the foundation of history a supreme sadness and melancholy. this never-ending series of illusions and deceptions, errors and afflictions, faults and crimes; this rage, and passion, and folly; so many efforts and fatigues, so many dangers, tortures, and tears, so much blood, such revolutions, catastrophies, cataclysms of every sort,--and all for what? wretched humanity, rolling its stone of sisyphus from age to age, inspires far more compassion than contempt. the painful reflections caused by the annals of all peoples are perhaps more sombre for the french revolution than for any other period. edgar quinet justly laments over the inequality between the sacrifices of the victims and the results obtained by posterity. he affirms that in other histories one thing reconciles us to the fury of men, and that is the speedy fecundity of the blood they shed; for example, when one sees that of the martyrs flow, one also sees christianity spread over the earth from the depth of the catacombs; while amongst us, the blood which streamed most abundantly and from such lofty sources, did not find soil equally well prepared. and the illustrious historian exclaims sadly: "the supreme consolation has been refused to our greatest dead; their blood has not been a seed of virtue and independence for their posterity. if they should reappear once more, they would feel themselves tortured again, and on a worse scaffold, by the denial of their descendants; they would hurl at us again the same adieu: 'o liberty! how they have betrayed thee!'" [ ] _ami du peuple_, no. . [ ] _ami du peuple_, no. . [ ] _la publiciste de la république_, no. . [ ] edgar quinet, _la révolution_, t. . { } index. abbey prison, the, massacre of the prisoners of, . ankarstroem, captain, the assassin of gustavus iii., , . arles, archbishop of, massacre of, . assassins, the, of the september massacres, _et seq._; their fate, . assignats created, . aubier, m. d', on the king's unwar-like disposition, ; with the king in the convent of the feuillants, . barbaroux, visionary schemes of, ; declares the king might have maintained himself, ; anathemas of, on the septembrists, . barry, madame du, her letter to marie antoinette, . beaumarchais compared with dumouriez, . belgium, the invasion of, a failure, . beugnot, count, his description of madame roland, , ; philosophic remarks of, on woman, . billaud-varennes, ; at the abbey, . blanc, m. louis, quoted, . bonne-carrère, director of foreign affairs, portrait of, . bossuet quoted, . bouillé, count de, warns gustavus iii. of the conspiracy against him, ; his judgment on gustavus iii., . bouillé, marquis de, suppresses the insurrection at nancy, , . brissac, duke of, his devotion to royalty, _et seq._; intolerable to the jacobins, ; accused in the assembly, ; assassinated, , . brunswick, duke of, his manifesto, . buzot, madame roland's affection for, ; quoted, . calvet, m., sent to the abbey, . campan, madame, describes the queen's emotion on hearing of her brother's death, ; her account of dumouriez' interview with the queen, ; in peril in the tuileries, . carmelite church, massacre at, . chateaubriand, quotation from, . chateauvieux, the fête of, _et seq._, mutinous soldiers of, punished, ; fêted by the jacobins, , ; admitted to the assembly, . chénier, andré, patriotic conduct of, , ; his ode to david, ; his fate, . clavière made minister of the finances, , . clootz, anacharsis, defends the september massacres, . _comédie-française_, the, in the revolution, . commune, insurrectionary, formed in the hôtel-de-ville, ; refuse to extinguish the fire at the tuileries, , , , ; invites every commune in france to follow the example of massacre in paris, ; terrorize the assembly, ; order the arrest of roland, , . constitutional guard, the composition of, ; disarmed, . cordeliers, club of the, ; chiefs of, ; decide to attack the tuileries, . danjou turns the mob bearing the princess de lamballe's head away from the temple, . danton, cowardice of, , ; his bloodthirsty speech to the assembly, , ; fate of, . dauphin, the, the red cap set on his head, ; his interest in the guard, drouet, , ; his prayer for the king, ; on the morning of august , ; taken from his mother's arms by an insurrectionist, ; in the assembly, ; in the convent of the feuillants, , ; prayer taught him by his mother, . david, his part in the fête of chateauvieux, ; conversation of, ; under the empire, . delorme, the negro assassin, . desilles, killed in the insurrection at nancy, . drouet, the royalist guard, . dumouriez, portrait of, by madame roland, ; minister of foreign affairs, ; "a miserable intriguer," ; his career, ; masson's description of him, ; plays a double part, ; his description of louis xvi., ; made minister of foreign affairs, ; memoirs of, quoted, , , ; urges the king to sign the decree for the transportation of the clergy, ; has an interview with the queen, ; refuses to be madame roland's puppet, ; aids the king to be rid of roland and his faction, ; takes the portfolio of war, ; before the assembly, ; resigns, ; final interview of, with the king, ; entreats him not to veto the decrees, _et seq._; goes to the army, . duranton, made minister of justice, , . elisabeth, madame, letter of, concerning the fête of chateauvieux, ; remains with the king during the invasion of the tuileries, ; mistaken by the mob for marie antoinette, ; rejoins the queen, ; letter of, to madame de raigecourt, ; cherishes false illusions, ; pious maxim of, ; her gentleness, ; prayer of, in the temple, . emigration of the nobility the rule in , . federation, fête of the, _et seq._ fersen, count de, new information concerning, ; his chivalric devotion to marie antoinette, ; their correspondence, ; secret mission of, ; sees the king and queen, ; his melancholy end, , . feuillants, convent of the, royal family imprisoned in, _et seq._ feuillants, club of, . force, the, prison of, . fournier, "the american," . francis ii., warlike acts of, . geoffrey, m., remarks of, on gustavus iii., ; quoted, . girondins, the, ; hesitate to depose the king, ; tacitly approve the massacres, . gouges, olympe de, . gouvion, m. de, protests against admitting the swiss to the assembly, ; death of, . grand châtelet, massacres at, . grave, de, made minister of war, ; replaced by servan, . grégoire urges the abolition of royalty, ; career of, after the revolution, . guadet, hostility of, to lafayette, . guillotine, doctor, and his invention, . guillotine, the, ; diversion of society over, . gustavus iii., his interest in marie antoinette, ; trusted by her, ; letter of, to her, ; at aix-la-chapelle, ; his superstition, ; his promises to louis xvi., ; conspiracy against, _et seq._; assassination of, _et seq._; scenes at his death, ; character of, . hannaches, mademoiselle d', , . hébert, abbé, confesses the king, . hébert (père duchesne) on guard at the temple, . heine, heinrich, quoted, . herbois, collot d', his part in the affair of the regiment of chateauvieux, _et seq._; attacks andre chénier, ; fate of, ; boasts of the d of september, ; urges the abolition of royalty, ; fate of, . hervelly, m. d', brings the order to the swiss to cease firing, . hue, françois, with the king in his captivity, ; receives from the king a lock of his hair, . huguenin, the orator of the insurrectionists of june , ; chief of the commune, . insurrectionists of june , organization of, ; enter the hall of the assembly, ; break into the tuileries, . isle, rouget de l', author of the _marseillaise_, . jacobin club, place of its meeting, ; its affiliations, ; lafayette's remarks on, ; joy of at, the death of gustavus iii., ; the insurrectionary power of, ; of brest and marseilles, send two battalions to paris, ; royalist, in june, , . jourdan, the headsman, . june , insurrection of, _et seq._ la chesnaye commands the force in the tuileries, . lacoste, made minister of the marine, . lafayette, letter of, to the assembly, _et seq._; his letter not published, but referred to a committee, ; his relations to the jacobins, ; before the national assembly, ; distrusted by the king and queen, ; anxious that the king should leave paris, . lalanne, the grenadier, and louis xvi., . lamartine, quoted, ; his observations on lafayette, ; on madame roland, . lamballe, princess of, , , ; not allowed to go to the temple with the queen, ; sent to the force, _et seq._; examination and execution of, _et seq._; her body mutilated and her head carried on a pike to the temple, ; her heart eaten, . lamourette, abbé, his career, ; his speech to the assembly and his proposition for harmony, . laporte burns the countess de la motte's book at the queen's order, . lebel, madame de, . legendre, addresses the king insolently, . leopold ii., his interest in french affairs, ; death of, . lessart, de, report of, disapproved by the assembly, ; impeached, ; massacre of, . lilienhorn, count de, one of the assassins of gustavus iii., , . _logographe_, box of the, _et seq._ louis xvi., despised by the _émigrés_, ; letter of, to gustavus iii., ; appoints a ministry chosen by the gironde, ; his deference to his ministers, _et seq._; declares war on austria, , ; sufferings of, ; not a soldier, , ; has no plan, ; anecdotes of, by m. de vaublanc, , ; sacrifices his guard, ; repents his concessions, ; for several days in a sort of stupor, ; insulted by roland and his faction, ; madame roland's letter to him read in the council, ; asks dumouriez to help rid him of roland's faction, ; refuses to sign the decree against the priests, ; accepts the resignation of dumouriez, ; resists dumouriez' entreaties not to veto the decrees, ; vetoes the decrees, ; permits the gate of the tuileries to be opened to the mob, ; his conduct at the invasion of the tuileries, _et seq._; his reception of the mob in the tuileries, ; addressed by the butcher legendre, ; in bodily peril, ; returns to the bedchamber, ; letter of, to the assembly relative to the invasion of the tuileries, ; interview of, with pétion, ; incident of the red bonnet, ; conversation of, with bertrand de molleville, ; repugnance of, to lafayette, ; address of, to the assembly, ; letter of, to the assembly, ; his plastron, ; takes part in the fête of the federation, _et seq._; too timorous and hesitating to act, ; nominates a new cabinet, ; conciliatory message of, to the assembly, ; declines to entertain any plan of escape, ; consents that the royalist noblemen should defend him, ; unwarlike character of, ; reviews the troops in the tuileries garden and narrowly escapes from them, ; urged by roederer, goes with his family to the assembly, _et seq._; his escort, ; addresses the assembly, ; compelled to remain in the reporters' gallery, ; orders the defenders of the tuileries to cease firing, ; deposition of, proposed in the assembly, ; acts like a disinterested spectator, ; taken to the convent of the feuillants, ; transferred to the temple, , ; his quarters, ; gives lessons to the dauphin in the temple, : deprived of his sword, ; hears the proclamation abolishing royalty without emotion, . louvet, the author of _faublas_, ; editor of the _sentinelle_, and madame roland's confidant, _et seq._ maillard, president of the tribunal at the abbey, . mailly, marshal de, the chief of the two hundred noblemen in the tuileries, . malta, knights of, . mandat, m. de, receives from pétion an order to repel force, ; goes to the hôtel-de-ville and is massacred, . marat incites to the deposition of the king, ; on louis xvi., . marie antoinette, chivalric devotion of count de fersen for, ; her correspondence with him, ; places absolute confidence in gustavus iii., ; letter of, to her brother leopold, ; condition of, in , ; has an interview with dumouriez, ; annoyed and insulted by the populace, , ; during the invasion of the tuileries, _et seq._; opposed to vigorous measures, ; her distrust of lafayette and preference for danton, ; present at the fête of the federation, _et seq._; her alarm at the king's peril, ; midnight alarms of, ; insulted by federates and forced to keep to her apartments, ; her estimate of the king's character, ; on the night of august , ; takes refuge in the assembly, ; her hopes excited by the sound of artillery, ; in the box of the _logographe_, ; in the convent of the feuillante, ; in the temple, ; faints when she hears of the princesse de lamballe's death, . _marseillaise_, the, rouget de l'isle's new hymn, . marseilles, federates of, arrive in paris, ; the scum of the jails, ; at the tuileries, , _et seq._, . masson, m. frédéric, his description of dumouriez, . ministry appointed by the king resign; new, appointed, . mirabeau cautions the queen against lafayette, ; and abbé lamourette, . molleville, bertrand de, conversation of, with the king, ; quoted, . monge, senator of the empire, reply of, to napoleon, . _moniteur_, the, on the fête of chateauvieux, . mortimer-ternaux, m., quoted, , ; his _histoire de la terreur_, . mouchy, marshal de, his devotion to the king and queen, . napoleon, a witness of the invasion of the tuileries, ; asserts the king could have gained the victory, ; a witness of the attack of the marseillais on the tuileries, , ; visits the temple, and has it destroyed, . national assembly, place of meeting of, ; impeach the king's brothers and confiscate the _émigrés'_ property, ; impeach de lessart, ; order the king's guard disbanded, ; decrees of as to the clergy and an army before paris, ; madame roland's letter to the king, read to, ; letter of lafayette read in the, ; receive a deputation from marseilles, ; consider the admission of the resurrectionists to the chamber, ; the place of meeting of, ; deputation from, to the king during the invasion of the tuileries, ; question the queen, ; maintain an equivocal attitude, ; the majority of, royalists and constitutionalists, ; affect not to recognize the king's danger, ; send a deputation to receive the king and his family, ; number of members present when the decree of deposition was voted, ; terrorized by the commune, ; royalty abolished and the republic proclaimed by, . national guard, at the tuileries, ; the choice troops of, broken up, ; royalist, in the tuileries, , . noblemen, royalist, fidelity of, to the king, , ; fate of, . orleans, duke of, and the palais royal, ; and his party clamor for the deposition of the king, . palais royal, the, in , . pan, mallet du, sent to germany by louis xvi., . paris, in , ; the archbishop of, at versailles, in , ; commune of, how organized, ; a hell during the september massacres, . pétion, address of, to the assembly, ; promotes the fête of chateauvieux, ; fate of, _et seq._; favors the insurrectionists, ; his insolent address to the king, ; the hero of the fête of the federation, ; presents an address to the assembly praying for the king's deposition, ; signs an order giving m. de mandat the right to repel force, ; his treachery and hypocrisy, . philipon, the father of madame roland, . prisons of paris, the september massacres at, _et seq._ prudhomme's _révolutions de paris_ quoted, . quinet, edgar, quoted, , ; on louis xvi.'s magnanimity, , ; quoted, , . raigecourt, madame de, letter of, . ramond defends lafayette in the assembly, . republic proclaimed, . revolution, beginning of the organization of, . revolutionists, the, in the tuileries, ; insolence of, to the king, ; refuse to leave the assembly, ; their barbarity and indecency, . robespierre in the jacobin club, ; cowardice of, , ; his defence of the constitution, . rochefoucauld, count de la, describes the appearance of the royal family in the box of the _logographe_, . roederer, remarks of, on lafayette, ; urges the king to seek shelter with the assembly, , ; addresses the mob, ; explains to the assembly the cause of king's taking refuge with them, ; blamed for his advice, . roland de la platière, m., marries mademoiselle philipon, ; deputed to the assembly, ; takes the portfolio of the interior, ; dominated by his wife, ; his plebeian dress at the council, ; driven by his wife to hostility against the king, ; his faction desire to destroy the king, ; dismissed from the council, ; reinstated, ; arrest of, determined, ; writes a letter to the assembly concerning the massacres, ; continues minister, ; fate of, . roland, madame, the distinctive characteristics of the century resumed in her, ; early years of, _et seq._; married to roland de la platière, ; strives to obtain a patent of nobility for her husband, ; letters of, to bosc, ; her description of herself, , ; draws up her husband's reports, ; her infatuation for buzot, ; her hatred of royalty, ; established in paris, ; and marie antoinette, ; the motive of her hatred of marie antoinette, , ; describes her visit to versailles, , ; her part in establishing the republican régime in france, , ; her judgment of louis xvi., ; her character contrasted with that of marie antoinette, ; her arrogant demeanor, ; acts for her husband in public affairs, ; her intimacy with louvet, _et seq._; lemontey's picture of her, ; and dumouriez, , ; creates discord in the council, ; decides to get rid of dumouriez, ; her letter to the king, ; her advice on the dismissal of the ministers, ; on the september massacres, ; feels no pity for the queen, , ; her horror at the murders, ; her apprehensions, ; reproaches her friends with temporizing, ; her last speech, . rousseau, imprisoned in the temple, . saint-antoine, faubourg, citizens of, ask permission to assemble in arms, ; in commotion, . saint-huruge, the rioter, . salpêtrière, the, butchery at, . santerre, at the head of the insurrectionists on june , ; demands admission for the insurrectionists to the assembly, ; violence of, at the tuileries, ; offers to protect the queen, ; forced by westermann to march to the tuileries, . september massacres, the, _et seq._ sergent, m., . servan, made minister of war, ; proposes the formation of an army around paris, ; dismissed from the council, ; his career after the revolution, . staël, madame de, views the fête of the federation, her observations, ; invents a plan of escape for the king, ; quoted, , . sudermania, duke of, brother of gustavus iii., practices of, . sutherland, lady, sends linen for the dauphin to the convent of the feuillants, . swiss regiment, the, go to the tuileries, ; ill provided with ammunition, ; defend the tuileries, but are commanded to retire, ; sweep the carrousel of rioters, ; ordered to go to the king, ; surrender their arms, ; imprisoned in the church of the feuillants, ; fate of the, . taine, on revolutionary france, . temple, the, the royal family taken to, ; description of, ; the order of the, ; destroyed by napoleon, . thiers, quoted, . thorwaldsen's lion at lucerne, . tourzel, pauline de, in peril in the tuileries, . tuileries, the, guard of, ; the invasion of, _et seq._; the, on the night of august , _et seq._; attacked by the marseillais, _et seq._; rioters in, ; on fire, . vaublanc, count de, quoted, ; anecdotes of, concerning louis xvi., , , , , , , , . vergniaud, , ; speech of, with regard to the admission of the insurrectionists to the assembly, ; violent attack of, on the king, ; as president of the assembly, receives louis xvi., ; presents the decree suspending the royal power, . "violet, queen," . voltaire, imprisoned in the temple, . westermann forces santerre to march, ; leader of the marseillais, who attacked the tuileries, , . price, cents. no. the sunset series. by subscription, per year, nine dollars. january , . entered at the new york post office as second-class matter. copyright , by j. s. ogilvie. balsamo, the magician. by alex. dumas. new york: j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street. a wonderful offer! = house plans for $ . .= [illustration] if you are thinking about building a house don't fail to get the new book =palliser's american architecture,= containing pages, × inches in size, consisting of large × plate pages giving plans, elevations, perspective views, descriptions, owners' names, actual cost of construction (=_no guess work_=), and instructions =_how to build_= cottages, villas, double houses, brick block houses, suitable for city suburbs, town and country, houses for the farm, and workingmen's homes for all sections of the country, and costing from $ to $ , , together with specifications, form of contract, and a large amount of information on the erection of buildings and employment of architects, prepared by palliser, palliser & co., the well-known architects. this book will save you hundreds of dollars. there is not a builder, nor anyone intending to build or otherwise interested, that can afford to be without it. it is a practical work, and the best, cheapest and most popular book ever issued on building. nearly four hundred drawings. it is worth $ . to anyone, but we will send it bound in paper cover, by mail, post-paid for only $ . ; bound in handsome cloth, $ . . address all orders to =_j. s. ogilvie publishing co., lock box . rose street, new york._= balsamo the magician; or, the memoirs of a physician. an historical romance of the great french revolution by alex. dumas, _author of "the mesmerist's victim," "the queen's necklace," "taking the bastile," "the hero of the people," "the royal life guard," "the countess of charny," "the knight of redcastle," etc., etc._ an entirely new copyright translation from the latest paris edition, by henry llewellyn williams. new york: j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street. _entered according to act of congress in the year , by a. e. smith & co., in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington._ balsamo the magician. by alex. dumas. chapter i. the grand master of the secret society. on the left bank of the rhine, near the spot where the selz rivulet springs forth, the foothill ranges rise of many mountains, of which the bristling humps seem to rush northerly like herds of frightened buffaloes, disappearing in the haze. these mountains tower over a deserted region, forming a guard around one more lofty than the rest, whose granite brow, crowned with a ruined monastery, defies the skies. it is thunder mount. on the sixth of may, , as the great river wavelets were dyed in the rainbow hues of the setting sun, a man who had ridden from maintz, after a journey through poland, followed the path out of danenfels village until it ended, and, then, alighting and leading his steed, tied it up in the pine woods. "be quiet, my good _djerid_ (javelin)," said the horseman to the animal with this arabian name which bespoke its blood, and its speed; "and good-bye, if we never meet again." he cast a glance round him as if he suspected he were overheard. the barb neighed and pawed with one foot. "right, djerid, the danger is around us." but as if he had made up his mind not to struggle with it, the venturesome stranger drew the charges from a pair of splendid pistols and cast the powder and bullets on the sward before replacing them in the holsters. he wore a steel-hilted sword which he took off with the belt, and fastened it to the stirrup leather so as to hang from the saddle-horn point down. these odd formalities being done, he ungloved, and searching his pockets produced nail-scissors and pocket-knife, which he flung over his shoulder without looking to see whither they went. drawing the longest possible breath, he plunged at random into the thicket, for there was no trace of a path. he was a man about thirty, taller than the average, but so wonderfully well built that the utmost strength and skill seemed to circulate in his supple and nervy limbs. he wore a black velvet overcoat with gilt buttons; the flaps of an embroidered waistcoat showed below its lowest buttons, and the buckskin riding breeches defined legs worthy to be a sculptor's models; the elegant feet were cased in patent leather boots. his countenance was a notable mixture of power and intelligence, with all the play of southern races; his glance, able to display any emotion, seemed to pierce any one on whom it fell with beams that sounded the very soul. his cheeks had been browned by a sun hotter than that of france. his mouth was large but finely shaped, and parted to reveal magnificent teeth, all the whiter from his dark complexion. his hand was small but muscular; his foot long but fine. scarcely had he taken a dozen steps within the glade before he heard faint footsteps. he rose on tiptoe and perceived that unseen hands had unhitched djerid and were leading him away. he frowned slightly, and a faint smile curled his full cheeks and choicely chiseled lips. he continued into the heart of the forest. for a space the twilight guided him, but soon that died out, and he stood in gloom so dense that he had to stop lest he blundered blindly. "i reached danenfels from maintz," he said, aloud, "as there was a road. i reached this forest as there was a path: i am here as there was some light: but i must stop now as i have no sight." scarcely had he spoken, in a dialect part french, part sicilian, than a light flashed out only fifty paces off. "thanks! i will follow the light as long as it leads." the light at once moved onward, regularly and steadily, like a stage lamp managed by the lime-light operator. at a hundred paces, a breath in the adventurer's ear made him wince. "turn and you die!" came this whisper. "all right," answered the stranger. "speak, and you die!" whispered a voice on the left-hand. he bowed without speaking. "but," said a voice seeming to issue from the bowels of the earth, "if you are afraid, go back to the plain, by which it will be clear that you are daunted, and renounce your errand." the traveler waved his hand to imply that he was going ahead, and ahead he went. but it was so late and the shade so deep that he stumbled during the hour the magic light preceded him, but he did not murmur or show any tremor in fear, while he heard not a breath. all of a sudden, the light went out! he had passed through the woodland, for on lifting his eyes, he could see a few stars glitter on the darksome sky. he kept on in the same direction till he saw loom up the somber mass of the ruins of a castle--its spectre. at the same time his foot met its fallen stones. a clammy thing wound itself round his forehead and sealed his eyes. he could no longer see even the shadows. it was a wet linen cloth. it must have been an expected thing, for he made no resistance to being blindfolded. but he put forth his hand silently as a blinded man naturally does to grope. the gesture was understood, for on the instant a cold, dry, bony hand clutched his fingers. he knew it was a skeleton's, but had it possessed feeling, it must have owned that his own hand no more trembled. for a hundred yards the seeker was dragged forward rapidly. all at once the bandage was plucked aloof, and he stopped; he had reached the top of the thunder mount. before him rose the moldy, mossy steps of the portico of the old castle of donnerberg. on the first slab stood the phantom with the osseous hand which had guided him thither. from head to foot a long shroud enwrapped it; through a slit the dead eyes peered without luster. the fleshless hand pointed into the ruins where the goal seemed to be a hall too high up to be viewed, but with the collapsed ceiling flickering with a fickle light. the traveler nodded in consent. slowly the ghost mounted the steps one by one, till amid the ruins. the man followed with the same solemn and tranquil pace regulating his walk, and he also entered. behind him slammed the principal door as noisily as a ringing bronze gate. the phantom guide had paused on the threshold of a round hall hung with black and illumined with greenish hues of three lamps. "open your eyes," said the ghastly guide. "i see," replied the other, stopping ten paces from him. drawing a double-edged sword from his shroud with a swift and haughty gesture, the phantom smote with it a brazen column which boomed a note like a gong. immediately, all around, the slabs of the hall floor rose up, and countless ghosts like the guide, stole in with drawn swords and took posts on steps where they stood like statues on their pedestals, cold and motionless. they stood out against the sable drapery. higher than the steps was a dais for seven chairs; on these six ghosts took place, leaving one seat vacant; they were chiefs. "what is our number, brothers?" challenged one of the six rising in the middle. "three hundred is the right tally," answered the spectres, with one voice thundering through the hall and dying amid the black hangings. "three hundred," said the presiding chief, "representing each ten thousand associates; three hundred swords worth three millions of daggers. what do you want, stranger?" he demanded, turning to the intruder. "to see the light," was the rejoinder. "the paths leading to the mountain of fire are hard and toilsome--fear you not to tread them?" "i fear nothing." "you can not turn back once you start. bear this in mind." "i mean to stop only at the goal." "are you ready to take the oath?" "say it and i will repeat." the president lifted his hand and slowly and solemnly uttered these words: "in the name of the master carpenter, swear to break all carnal bonds tying you to whomsoever, and above all to those to whom you may have pledged faith, obedience or service." the new-comer in a firm voice repeated what was pronounced. "from this out," continued the president, "you are absolved from plights made to native land and rulers. swear to reveal to your new leader what you have seen and done, heard or learned, read or guessed, and further to spy and discover all passing under your eyes." on his ceasing the novice repeated. "honor and respect the water of death," went on the president without a change of voice, "as a prompt means in skilled hands, sure and needful, to purge the globe by the death or insanity of those who strive to stifle the truth or snatch it from our hands." an echo could not more faithfully repeat the vow. "avoid spain, naples, and all accursed lands; and moreover the temptation to let out what you learn and hear--for the lightning is less swift to strike than we with our unseen but inevitable blade, wheresoever you may flee. now, live in the name of the supernal three!" in spite of the final threat, no emotion could be descried on the novice's face, as he reiterated the words with as calm a tone as he used at the outset. "now, deck the applicant with the sacred ribbon," said the president. two shrouded figures placed on the bent brow of the stranger a sky-blue ribbon with silver letters and female figures; the ends of the badge were tied behind on the nape. they stepped aside, leaving him alone again. "what do you want?" asked the chief officer. "three things: the iron hand to strangle tyranny; the fiery sword to drive the impure from earth; and the diamond scales to weigh the destinies of mankind." "are you prepared for the tests?" "who seeks to be accepted, should be ready for everything." "the tests!" shouted the ghosts. "turn round," said the president. the stranger faced a man, pale as death, bound and gagged. "behold a traitor who revealed the secrets of the order after taking such an oath as you did. thus guilty, what think you he deserves?" "death." "death!" cried the three hundred sword-bearers. instantly the unhappy culprit, despite superhuman resistance, was dragged to the back of the hall. the initiated one saw him wrestling and writhing in the torturers' hands and heard his voice hissing past the gag. a poniard flashed in the lamplight like lightning, and after it fell, with a slapping sound of the hilt, the dead body landed heavily on the stone floor. "justice has been executed," observed the stranger, turning round to the terrifying circle, whose greedy eyes had gazed on him out of their grave clothes. "so you approve of the execution?" "yes, if the slain were truly guilty." "and would you drink the downfall of any one who sold the secrets of this ancient association?" "in any beverage." "bring hither the cup," said the arch-officer. one of the two executioners drew near with a skull brimming with a warm and ruddy liquid. the stranger took the goblet by its brass stem and said, as he held it up: "i drink to the death of all false brothers." lowering the cup to his lips, he drained it to the last drop, and calmly returned it to the giver. a murmur of astonishment ran around the assemblage, as the phantoms glanced at one another. "so far well. the pistol," said the chief. a ghost stole up to the speaker holding a pistol in one hand, and powder and ball in the other, without the novice seeming to deign a glance in that direction. "do you promise passive obedience to the brotherhood, even though it were to recoil on yourself?" "whoso enters the household of the faithful is no longer his own property." "hence you will obey any order given you?" "straightway." "take this firearm and load it." "what am i to do with it?" "cock it." the stranger set the hammer, and the click of it going on full cock was plainly heard in the deep stillness. "clap the muzzle to your temple," ordered the president, and the suppliant obeyed without hesitating. the silence deepened over all; the lamps seemed to fade, and the bystanders had no more breath than ghosts. "fire!" exclaimed the president. the hammer fell and the flint emitted sparks in the pan; but it was only the powder there which took fire and no report followed its ephemeral flame. an outcry of admiration burst from nearly every breast, and the president instinctively held out his hand toward the novice. but two tests were not enough for some doubters who called out: "the dagger!" "since you require it, bring the dagger," said the presiding officer. "it is useless," interrupted the stranger, shaking his head disdainfully. "what do you mean?" asked several voices. "useless," repeated the new-comer, in a voice rising above all the others, "for you are wasting precious time. i know all your secrets, and these childish proofs are unworthy the head of sensible beings. that man was not murdered; the stuff i drank was wine hid in a pouch on his chest; the bullet and powder i loaded the trick-pistol with fell into a hollow in the stock when the weapon was cocked. take back the sham arm, only good to frighten cowards. rise, you lying corpse; you cannot frighten the strong-minded." a terrible roar shook the hall. "to know our mysteries, you must be an initiate or a spy," said the president. "who are you?" demanded three hundred voices together, as a score of swords shone in the grip of the nearest and were lowered by the regular movement of trained soldiers toward the intruder's bosom. calm and smiling, he lifted his head, wound round with the sacred fillet, and replied: "i am the man for the time." before his lordly gaze the blades lowered unevenly as they on whom it fell obeyed promptly or tried to resist the influence. "you have made a rash speech," said the president, "but it may have been spoken without your knowing its gravity." "i have replied as i was bound," said the other, shaking his head and smiling. "whence come you, then?" questioned the chief. "from the quarter whence cometh the light," was the response. "that is the east, and we are informed that you come from sweden." "i may have passed through there from the orient," said the stranger. "still we know you not. a second time, who are you?" "i will tell you in a while, since you pretend not to know me; but, meantime, i will tell you who you are." the spectres shuddered and their swords clanked as they shifted them from the left to the right hands again to point them at his breast. "to begin with you," said the stranger, pointing to the chief, "one who fancies himself a god and is but a forerunner--the representative of the swedish circles--i will name you, though i need not name the others. swedenborg, have not the angels, who speak familiarly with you, revealed that the man you expect was on the way?" "true, they told me so," answered the principal, parting his shroud the better to look out. this act, against the rule and habit during the rites, displayed the venerable countenance and snowy beard of an old man of eighty. "and on your left," continued the stranger, "sits the representative of great britain, the chief of the scottish rites. i salute your lordship. if the blood of your forefathers runs in your veins, england may hope not to have the light die out." the swords dropped, for anger was yielding to surprise. "so this is you, captain?" went on the stranger to the last leader on the president's left; "in what port have you left your handsome cruiser, which you love like a lass. the _providence_ is a gallant frigate, and the name brings good luck to america." "now for your turn, prophet of zurich," he said to the man on the right of the chief. "look me in the face, since you have carried the science of physiognomy to divination, and tell me if you do not read my mission in the lines of my face?" the person addressed recoiled a step. "as for you, descendant of pelagius, for a second time the moors must be driven out of spain. it would be an easy matter if the castilians have not lost the sword of the cid." mute and motionless dwelt the fifth chief: the voice seemed to have turned him to stone. "have you nothing to say to me?" inquired the sixth delegate, anticipating the denouncer who seemed to forget him. "yea, to you i have to say what the son of the great architect said to judas, and i will speak it in a while." so replied the traveler, fastening on him one of those glances which pierced to the heart. the hearer became whiter than his shroud, while a murmur ran round the gathering, wishful to call the accused one to account. "you forget the delegate of france," observed the chief. "he is not among you--as you well know, for there is his vacant place," haughtily made answer the stranger. "bear in mind that such tricks make them smile who can see in the dark; who act in spite of the elements, and live though death menaces them." "you are a young man to speak thus with the authority of a divinity," resumed the principal. "reflect, yourself--impudence only stuns the ignorant or the irresolute." "you are all irresolute," retorted the stranger, with a smile of supreme scorn, "or you would have acted against me. you are ignorant, since you do not know me, while i know ye all. with boldness alone i succeed against you, but boldness would be vain against one with irresistible power." "inform us with a proof of this power," said the swedenborg. "what brings ye together?" "the supreme council." "not without intention," went on the visitant, "have you come from all quarters, to gather in the sanctuary of the terrible faith." "surely not," replied the swede; "we come to hail the person who has founded a mystic empire in the orient, uniting the two hemispheres in a commonalty of beliefs, and joining the hands of human brotherhood." "would you know him by any token?" "heaven has been good enough to unveil it by the intermediation of its angels," answered the visionary. "if you hold this secret alone and have not revealed it to a soul, tell it aloud, for the time has come." "on his breast," said the chief of the illuminati, "he wears a diamond star, in the core of which shines the three initials of a phrase known to him alone." "state those initials." "l. p. d." with a rapid stroke the stranger opened his overcoat, coat and waistcoat and showed on the fine linen front, gleaming like flame, a jeweled plate on which flared the three letters in rubies. "he!" ejaculated the swede: "can this be he?" "whom all await?" added the other leaders, anxiously. "the hierophant of memphis--the grand copt?" muttered the three hundred voices. "will you deny me now?" demanded the man from the east, triumphantly. "no," cried the phantoms, bowing to the ground. "speak, master," said the president and the five chiefs, bowing, "and we obey." the visitor seemed to reflect during the silence, some instants long. "brothers," he finally said, "you may lay aside your swords uselessly fatiguing your arms, and lend me an attentive ear, for you will learn much in the few words i address you. the source of great rivers is generally unknown, like most divine things: i know whither i go, but not my origin. when i first opened my eyes to consciousness, i was in the sacred city of medina, playing about the gardens of the mufti suleyman. i loved this venerable old man like a father, but he was none of mine, and he addressed me with respect though he held me in affection. three times a day he stood aside to let another old man come to me whose name i ever utter with gratitude mixed with awe. this august receptacle of all human wisdom, instructed in all things by the seven superior spirits, bore the name of althotas. he was my tutor and master, and venerable friend, for he is twice the age of the oldest here." long shivers of anxiety hailed this speech, spoken in solemnity, with majestic gesticulation and in a voice severe while smooth. "one day in my fifteenth year, in the midst of my studies, my old master came to me with a phial in hand. 'acharat,' he said--it was my name--'i have always told you that nothing is born to die forever in this world. man only lacks clearness of mind to be immortal. i have found the beverage to scatter the clouds, and next will discover that to dispel death. yesterday i drank of this distillation: i want you to drink the rest to-day.' "i had extreme trust in my teacher but my hand trembled in taking this phial, like eve's in taking the apple of life. "'drink,' he said, smiling. and i drank. "'sleep,' he said, laying his hands on my head. and i slept. "then all that was material about me faded away, and the soul that solitarily remained lived again, like pythagoras, for centuries through which it had passed. in the panorama unfolded before it, i beheld myself in previous existence, and, awaking, comprehended that i was more than man." he spoke with so strong a conviction, and his eyes were fixed heavenward with so sublime an expression that a murmur of admiration hailed him: astonishment had yielded to wonder, as wrath had to astonishment. "thereupon," continued the enlightened one, "i determined to devote my existence at present, as well as the fruit of all my previous ones, to the welfare of mankind. next day, as though he divined my plan, althotas came to me and said: "'my son, your mother died twenty years ago as she gave birth to you; for twenty years your sire has kept hidden by some invincible obstacle; we will resume our travels and if we meet him, you may embrace him--but not knowing him.' you see that all was to be mysterious about me, as with all the elect of heaven. "at the end of our journeys, i was a theosophist. the many cities had not roused my wonderment. nothing was new to me under the sun. i had been in every place formerly in one or more of my several existences. the only thing striking me was the changes in the peoples. following the march of progress, i saw that all were proceeding toward freedom. all the prophets had been sent to prop the tottering steps of mankind, which, though blind at birth, staggers step by step toward light. each century is an age for the people. now you understand that i come not from the orient to practice simply the masonic rites, but to say: brothers, we must give light to the world. france is chosen to be the torch-bearer. it may consume, but it will be a wholesome conflagration, for it will enlighten the world. that is why france has no delegate here; he may have shrunk from his duty. we want one who will recoil from nothing--and so i shall go into france. it is the most important post, the most perilous, and i undertake it." "yet you know what goes on there?" questioned the president. smiling, the man called acharat replied: "i ought to know, for i have been preparing matters. the king is old, timid, corrupt, but less antiquated and hopeless of cure than the monarchy he represents. only a few years further will he sit on the throne. we must have the future laid out from when he dies. france is the keystone of the arch. let that stone be wrenched forth by the six millions of hands which will be raised at a sign from the inner circle, and down will fall the monarchical system. on the day when there shall be no longer a king in france, the most insolently enthroned ruler in europe will turn giddy, and spring of his own accord into the gulf left by the disappearance of the throne of saint louis." "forgive the doubt, most venerated master," interrupted the chief on the right, with the swiss accent, "but have you taken all into calculation?" "everything," replied the grand copt, laconically. "in my studies, master, i was convinced of one truth--that the characteristics of a man were written on their faces. now, i fear that the french people will love the new rulers of the country you speak of--the sweet, clement king, and the lovely amiable queen. the bride of the prince royal, marie antoinette, is even now crossing the border. the altar and the nuptial bed are being made ready at versailles. is this the moment to begin your reformation?" "most illustrious brother," said the supreme chief to the prophet of zurich, "if you read the faces of man, i read the features of the future. marie antoinette is proud and will obstinately continue the conflict, in which she will fall beneath our attacks. the dauphin, louis auguste, is good and mild; he will weaken in the strife and perish like his wife, and with her. but each will fall and perish by the opposite virtue and fault. they esteem each other now--we will not give them time to love one another, and in a year they will entertain mutual contempt. besides, brothers, why should we debate on the point whence cometh the light, since it is shown to me? i come from out of the east, like the shepherds guided by the star, announcing a new birth of man. to-morrow, i set to work, and with your help i ask but twenty years to kill not a mere king but a principle. you may think twenty years long to efface the idea of royalty from the hearts of those who would sacrifice their children's lives for the little king louis xv. you believe it an easy matter to make odious the lilyflowers, emblem of the bourbon line, but it would take you ages to do it. "you are scattered and tremble in your ignorance of one another's aspirations. i am the master-ring which links you all in one grand fraternal tie. i tell you that the principles which now you mutter at the fireside; scribble in the shadows of your old towers; confide to one another under the rose and the dagger for the traitor or the imprudent friend who utters them louder than you dare--these principles may be shouted on the housetops in broad day, printed throughout europe and disseminated by peaceful messengers, or on the points of the bayonets of five hundred soldiers of liberty, whose colors will have them inscribed on their folds. you tremble at the name of newgate prison; at that of the inquisition's dungeon; or of the bastile, which i go to flout at--hark ye! we shall all laugh pity for ourselves on that day when we shall trample on the ruins of the jails, while our wives and children dance for joy. this can come to pass only after the death of monarchy as well as of the king, after religious powers are scorned, after social inferiority is completely forgotten, and after the extinction of aristocratic castes and the division of noblemen's property. i ask for a generation to destroy an old world and rear a new one, twenty seconds in eternity, and you think it is too much!" a long greeting in admiration and assent hailed the somber prophet's speech. it was clear that he had won all the sympathy of the mysterious mandatories of european intellect. enjoying his victory just a space, the grand copt resumed: "let us see now, brothers, since i am going to beard the lion in his den, what you will do for the cause for which you pledged life, liberty and fortune? i come to learn this." silence, dreadful from its solemnity, followed these words. the immobile phantoms were absorbed in the thoughts which were to overthrow a score of thrones. the six chiefs conferred with the groups and returned to the president to consult with him before he was the first to speak. "i stand for sweden," he said. "i offer in her name the miners who raised the vasas to the throne--now to upset it, together with a hundred thousand silver crown pieces." drawing out tablets, the hierophant wrote this offer. on the president's left spoke another: "i am sent by the lodges of england and scotland. i can promise nothing for the former country, which is burning to fight us scots. but in the name of poor erin and poor scotia, i promise three thousand men, and three thousand crowns yearly." "i," said the third speaker, whose vigor and rough activity was betrayed beneath the winding sheet fettering such a form. "i represent america, where every stick and stone, tree and running brook, and drop of blood belong to rebellion. as long as we have gold in our hills, we will send it ye; as long as blood to shed, we will risk it; but we cannot act till we ourselves are out of the yoke. we are so divided as to be broken strands of a cable. let a mighty hand unite but two of the strands, and the rest will twist up with them into a hawser to pull down the crowned evils from their pride of place. begin with us, most venerable master. if you want the french to be delivered from royalty, make us free of british domination." "well spoken," said the hierophant of memphis. "you americans shall be free, and france will lend a helping hand. in all languages, the grand architect hath said: 'help each other!' wait a while. you will not have long to bide, my brother." turning to the switzer, he drew these words from him: "i can promise only my private contribution. the sons of our republic have long supplied troops to the french monarchy. they are faithful bargainers, and will carry out their contracts. for the first time, most venerated master, i am ashamed of their loyalty." "be it so, we must win without them and in their teeth. speak, spain!" "i am poor," said the grandee, "and have but three thousand brothers to supply. but each will furnish a thousand _reals_ a year. spain is an indolent land, where man would doze though a bed of thorns." "be it so," said the grand master. "speak, you, brother." "i speak for russia and the polish clubs. our brothers are discontented rich men, or serfs doomed to restless labor and untimely death. in the name of the latter, owning nothing, not even life, i can promise nothing; but three thousand rich men will pay twenty louis a head every year." the other deputies came forward by turns, and had their offers set down in the copt's memorandum book as they bound themselves to fulfill their plight. "the word of command," said the leader, "already spread in one part of the world, is to be dispensed through the others. it is symbolized by the three letters which you have seen. let each one wear them in the heart as well as on it, for we, the sovereign master of the shrines of the orient and the west, we order the ruin of the lilies. l. p. d. signifies _lilia pedibus destrue_--trample lilies under! i order you of spain, sweden, scotland, switzerland and america, to trample down the lilies of the bourbon race." the cheering was like the roar of the sea, under the vault, escaping by gusts down the mountain gorges. "in the name of the architect, begone," said the master. "by stream and strand and valley, begone by the rising of the sun. you will see me once more, and that will be on the day of triumph. go!" he terminated his address with a masonic sign which was understood solely by the six chiefs, who remained after the inferiors had departed. then the grand copt took the swede aside. "swedenborg, you are really an inspired man, and heaven thanks you by my voice. send the cash into france to the address i shall give you." the president bowed humbly, and went away amazed by the second sight which had unveiled his name. "brave fairfax," said the master to another, "i hail you as the worthy son of your sire. remind me to general washington when next you write to him." fairfax retired on the heels of swedenborg. "paul jones," went on the copt to the american deputy, "you have spoken to the mark, as i expected of you. you will be one of the heroes of the american republic. be both of you ready when the signal is flying." quivering as though inspired by a holy breath, the future capturer of the _serapis_ likewise retired. "lavater," said the master to the swiss, "drop your theories for it is high time to take up practice; no longer study what man is, but what he may become. go, and woe to your fellow countrymen who take up arms against us, for the wrath of the people is swift and devouring even as that of the god on high!" trembling, the physiognomist bowed and went his way. "list to me, ximenes," said the copt to the spaniard; "you are zealous, but you distrust yourself. you say, spain dozes. that is because no one rouses her. go and awake her; castile is still the land of the cid." the last chief was skulking forward when the head of the masons checked him with a wave of the hand. "schieffort, of russia, you are a traitor who will betray our cause before the month is over; but before the month is out, you will be dead." the muscovite envoy fell on his knees; but the other made him rise with a threatening gesture, and the doomed one reeled out of the hall. left by himself in the deserted and silent hall, the strange man buttoned up his overcoat, settled his hat on his head, pushed the spring of the bronze door to make it open, and went forth. he strode down the mountain defiles as if they had long been known to him, and without light or guide in the woods, went to the further edge. he listened, and hearing a distant neigh, he proceeded thither. whistling peculiarly, he brought his faithful djerid to his hand. he leaped lightly into the saddle, and the two, darting away headlong, were enwrapped in the fogs rising between danenfels and the top of the thunder mountain. chapter ii. the living-wagon in the storm. a week after the events depicted, a living-wagon drawn by four horses and conducted by two postboys, left pont-a-mousson, a pretty town between nancy and metz. nothing like this caravan, as show people style the kind, had ever crossed the bridge, though the good folks see theatrical carts of queer aspect. the body was large and painted blue, with a baron's insignia, surmounting a j. and a b., artistically interlaced. this box was lighted by two windows, curtained with muslin, but they were in the front, where a sort of driver's cab hid them from the vulgar eye. by these apertures the inmate of the coach could talk with outsiders. ventilation was given this case by a glazed skylight in the "dickey," or hind box of the vehicle, where grooms usually sit. another orifice completed the oddity of the affair by presenting a stovepipe, which belched smoke, to fade away in the wake as the whole rushed on. in our times one would have simply imagined that it was a steam conveyance and applauded the mechanician who had done away with horses. the machine was followed by a led horse of arab extraction, ready saddled, indicating that one of the passengers sometimes gave himself the pleasure and change of riding alongside the vehicle. at st. mihiel the mountain ascent was reached. forced to go at a walk, the quarter of a league took half an hour. toward evening the weather turned from mild and clear to tempestuous. a cloud spread over the skies with frightful rapidity and intercepted the setting sunbeams. all of a sudden the cloud was stripped by a lightning flash, and the startled eye could plunge into the immensity of the firmament, blazing like the infernal regions. the vehicle was on the mountain side when a second clap of thunder flung the rain out of the cloud; after falling in large drops, it poured hard. the postboys pulled up. "hello!" demanded a man's voice from inside the conveyance, "what are you stopping for?" "we are asking one another if we ought to go on," answered one postillion with the deference to a master who had paid handsomely. "it seems to me that i ought to be asked about that. go ahead!" but the rain had already made the road downward slippery. "please, sir, the horses won't go," said the elder postillion. "what have you got spurs for?" "they might be plunged rowels deep without making the balky creatures budge; may heaven exterminate me if----" the blasphemy was not finished, as a dreadful lightning stroke cut him short. the coach was started and ran upon the horses, which had to race to save themselves from being crushed. the equipage flew down the sloping road like an arrow, skimming the precipice. instead of the traveler's voice coming from the vehicle, it was his head. "you clumsy fellows will kill us all!" he said. "bear to the left, deuce take ye!" "oh, joseph," screamed a woman's voice inside, "help! holy madonna, help us!" it was time to invoke the queen of heaven, for the heavy carriage was skirting the abysm; one wheel seemed to be in the air and a horse was nearly over when the traveler, springing out on the pole, grasped the postboy nearest by the collar and slack of the breeches. he raised him out of his boots as if he were a child, flung him a dozen feet clear, and taking his place in the saddle, gathered up the reins, and said in a terrifying voice to the second rider: "keep to the left, rascal, or i shall blow out your brains!" the order had a magical effect. the foremost rider, haunted by the shriek of his luckless comrade, followed the substitute impulse and bore the horses toward the firm land. "gallop!" shouted the traveler. "if you falter, i shall run right over you and your horses." the chariot seemed an infernal machine drawn by nightmares and pursued by a whirlwind. but they had eluded one danger only to fall into another. as they reached the foot of the declivity, the cloud split with an awful roar in which was blended the flame and the thunder. a fire enwrapped the leaders, and the wheelers and the leaders were brought to their haunches as if the ground gave way under them. but the fore pair, rising quickly and feeling that the traces had snapped, carried away their man in the darkness. the vehicle, rolling on a few paces, stopped on the dead body of the stricken horse. the whole event had been accompanied by the screams of the woman. for a moment of confusion, none knew who was living or dead. the traveler was safe and sound, on feeling himself; but the lady had swooned. although he guessed this was the case, it was elsewhere that he ran to aid--to the rear of the vehicle. the led horse was rearing with bristling mane, and shaking the door, to the handle of which his halter was hitched. "hang the confounded beast again!" muttered a broken voice within; "a curse on him for shaking the wall of my laboratory." becoming louder, the same voice added in arabic: "i bid you keep quiet, devil!" "do not wax angry with djerid, master," said the traveler, untying the steed and fastening it to the hind wheel; "he is frightened, and for sound reasons." so saying, he opened a door, let down the steps, and stepped inside the vehicle, closing the door behind him. he faced a very aged man, with hooked nose, gray eyes, and shaking yet active hands. sunken in a huge armchair, he was following the lines of a manuscript book on vellum, entitled "the secret key to the cabinet of magic," while holding a silver skimmer in his other hand. the three walls--for this old man had called the sides of the living-wagon "walls"--held bookcases, with shelves of bottles, jars and brass-bound boxes, set in wooden cases like utensils on shipboard so as to stand up without upsetting. the old man could reach these articles by rolling the easy chair to them; a crank enabled him to screw up the seat to the level of the highest. the compartment was, in feet, eight by six and six in height. facing the door was a furnace with hood and bellows. it was now boiling a crucible at a white heat, whence issued the smoke by the pipe overhead exciting the mystery of the villagers wherever the wagon went through. the whole emitted an odor which in a less grotesque laboratory would have been called a perfume. the occupant seemed to be in bad humor, for he grumbled: "the cursed animal is frightened: but what has he got to disturb him, i want to know? he has shaken my door, cracked my furnace, and spilt a quarter of my elixir in the fire. acharat, in heaven's name, drop the beast in the first desert we cross." "in the first place, master," returned the other smiling, "we are not crossing deserts, for we are in france; and next, i would not abandon a horse worth a thousand louis, or rather priceless, as he is of the breed of al borach." "i will give you a thousand over and over again. he has lost me more than a million, to say nothing of the days he has robbed me of. the liquor would have boiled up without loss of a drop, in a little longer, which neither zoroaster nor paracelsus stated, but it is positively advised by borri." "never mind, it will soon be boiling again." "but that is not all--something is dropping down my chimney." "merely water--it is raining." "water? then my elixir is spoilt. i must renew the work--as if i had any time to spare!" "it is pure water from above. it was pouring, as you might have noticed." "do i notice anything when busy? on my poor soul, acharat, this is exasperating. for six months i have been begging for a cowl to my chimney--i mean this year. you never think of it, though you are young and have lots of leisure. what will your negligence bring about? the rain to-day or the wind to-morrow confound my calculations and ruin all my operations. yet i must hurry, by jove! for my hundredth year commences on the fifteenth of july, at eleven at night precisely, and if my elixir of life is not then ready, good-night to the sage althotas." "but you are getting on well with it, my dear master, i think." "yes, by my tests by absorption, i have restored vitality to my paralyzed arm. i only want the plant mentioned by pliny, which we have perhaps passed a hundred times or crushed under the wheels. by the way, what rumbling is that? are we still going?" "no; that is thunder. the lightning has been playing the mischief with us, but i was safe enough, being clothed in silk." "lightning? pooh! wait till i renew my life and can attend to other matters. i will put a steel bridle on your electric fluid and make it light this study and cook my meals. i wish i were as sure of making my elixir perfect----" "and our great work--how comes it on?" "making diamonds? that is done. look there in the glass dish." joseph balsamo greedily caught up the crystal saucer, and saw a small brilliant amid some dust. "small, and with flaws," he said, disappointed. "because the fire was put out, acharat, from there being no cowl to the chimney." "you shall have it; but do take some food." "i took some elixir a couple of hours ago." "nay, that was at six this morning, and it is now the afternoon." "another day gone, fled and lost," moaned the alchemist, wringing his hands; "are they not growing shorter? have they less than four-and-twenty hours?" "if you will not eat, at least take a nap." "when i sleep, i am afraid i shall never wake. if i lie down for two hours, you will come and call me, acharat," said the old man in a coaxing voice. "i swear i will, master." at this point they heard the gallop of a horse and a scream of astonishment and disquiet. "what does that mean?" questioned the traveler, quickly opening the door, and leaping out on the road without using the steps. chapter iii. the lovely lorenza. the woman who was in the fore part of the coach, in the cab, remained for a time deprived of sense. as fear alone had caused the swoon, she came to consciousness. "heavens!" she cried, "am i abandoned helpless here, with no human being to take pity upon me?" "lady," said a timid voice at hand, "i am here, and i may be some help to you." passing her head and both arms out of the cab by the leather curtains, the young woman, rising, faced a youth who stood on the steps. "is it you offered me help? what has happened?" "the thunderbolt nearly struck you, and the traces were broken of the leading pair, which have run off with the postboy." "what has become of the person who was riding the other pair?" she asked, with an anxious look round. "he got off the horses as if all right and went inside the other part of this coach." "heaven be praised," said she, breathing more freely. "but who are you to offer me assistance so timely?" "surprised by the storm, i was in that dark hole which is a quarry outlet, when i suddenly saw a large wagon coming down at a gallop. i thought it a runaway, but soon saw it was guided by a mighty hand, but the lightning fell with such an uproar that i feared i was struck and was stunned. all seemed to have happened in a dream." the lady nodded as if this satisfied her, but rested her head on her hand in deep thought. he had time to examine her. she was in her twenty-third year, and of dark complexion, but richly colored with the loveliest pink. her blue eyes sparkled like stars as she appealed to heaven, and her hair fell in curls of jet, unpowdered contrary to the fashion, on her opal neck. "where are we?" she suddenly inquired. "on the strasburg to paris highway, near pierrefittes, a village. bar-le-duc is the next town, with some five thousand population." "is there a short cut to it?" "none i ever heard of." "what a pity!" she said in italian. as she kept silent toward him, the youth was going away, when this drew her from her reverie, for she called him for another question. "is there a horse still attached to the coach?" "the gentleman who entered, tied it to the wheel." "it is a valuable animal, and i should like to be sure it is unhurt; but how can i go through this mud?" "i can bring it here," proposed the stripling. "do so, i prithee, and i shall be most grateful to you." but the barb reared and neighed when he went up. "do not be afraid," said the lady: "it is gentle as a lamb. djerid," she called in a low voice. the steed recognized the mistress's voice, for it extended its intelligent head toward the speaker, while the youth unfastened it. but it was scarcely loose before it jerked the reins away and bounded up to the vehicle. the woman came forth, and almost as quickly leaped on the saddle, with the dexterity of those sylphs in german ballads who cling to riders while seated on the crupper. the youth sprang toward her but she stopped him with an imperative wave of the hand. "list to me. though but a boy, or because you are young, you have humane feelings. do not oppose my flight. i am fleeing from a man i love, but i am above all a good catholic. this man would destroy my soul were i to stay by him, as he is a magician whom god sent a warning to by the lighting. may he profit by it! tell him this, and bless you for the help given me. farewell!" light as the marsh mist, she was carried away by the gallop of djerid. on seeing this, the youth could not restrain a cry of surprise, which was the one heard inside the coach. chapter iv. gilbert. the alarmed traveler closed the coach door behind him carefully, and looked wistfully round. first he saw the young man, frightened. a flash of lighting enabled him to examine him from head to foot, an operation habitual to him on seeing any new person or thing. this was a springald of sixteen, small, thin and agile; his bold black eyes lacked sweetness but not charm: shrewdness and observation were revealed in his thin, hooked nose, fine lip and projecting cheek bones, while the rounded chin stuck out in token of resolution. "was that you screamed just now,--what for?" queried the gentleman. "the lady from the cab there rode off on the led horse." the traveler did not make any remark at this hesitating reply; not a word; he rushed to the fore part and saw by the lightning that it was empty. "sblood!" he roared in italian, almost like the thunder peal accompanying the oath. he looked round for means of pursuit, but one of the coach-horses in chase of djerid would be a tortoise after a gazelle. "still i can find out where she is," he muttered, "unless----" quickly and anxiously he drew a small book from his vest pocket, and in a folded paper found a tress of raven hair. his features became serene, and apparently he was calmed. "all is well," he said, wiping his streaming face. "did she say nothing when she started?" "yes, that she quitted you not through hate but fear, as she is a christian, while you--you are an atheist, and miscreant, to whom god sought to give a final warning by this storm." "if that is all, let us drop the subject." the last traces of disquiet and discontent fled the man's brow. the youth noticed all this with curiosity mingled with keen observation. "what is your name, my young friend?" inquired the traveler. "gilbert." "your christian name, but----" "it is my whole name." "my dear gilbert, providence placed you on my road to save me from bother. i know your youth compels you to be obliging: but i am not going to ask anything hard of you--only a night's lodging." "this rock was my shelter." "i should like a dwelling better where i could get a good meal and bed." "we are a league and a half from pierrefitte, the next village." "with only two horses that would take two hours. just think if there is no refuge nearer." "taverney castle is at hand, but it is not an inn." "not lived in?" "baron taverney lives there----" "what is he?" "father of mademoiselle andrea de taverney----" "delighted to hear it," smilingly said the other: "but i want to know the kind of man he is." "an old nobleman who used to be wealthy." "an old story. my friend, please take me to baron taverney's." "he does not receive company," said the youth, in apprehension. "not welcome a stray gentleman? he must be a bear." "much like it. i do not advise your risking it." "pooh! the bear will not eat me up alive." "but he may keep the door closed." "i will break it in; and unless you refuse to be my guide----" "i do not; i will show the way." the traveler took off the carriage lamp, which gilbert held curiously in his hands. "it has no light," he said. "i have fire in my pocket." "pretty hard to get fire from flint and steel this weather," observed the youth. but the other drew a silver case from his pocket, and opening the lid plunged a match into it; a flame sprang up and he drew out the match aflame. this was so sudden and unexpected by the youth, who only knew of tinder and the spark, and not of phosphorus, the toy of science at this period, that he started. he watched the magician restore the case to his pocket with greed. he would have given much to have the instrument. he went on before with the lighted lamp, while his companion forced the horses to come by his hand on the bridle. "you appear to know all about this baron of taverney, my lad!" he began the dialogue. "i have lived on his estate since a child." "oh, your kinsman, tutor, master?" at this word the youth's cheek colored up, though usually pale, and he quivered. "i am no man's servant, sir," he retorted. "i am son of one who was a farmer for the baron, and my mother nursed mademoiselle andrea." "i understand; you belong to the household as foster-brother of the young lady--i suppose she is young?" "she is sixteen." he had answered only one of the two questions, and not the one personal to him. "how did you chance to be on the road in such weather?" inquired the other, making the same reflection as our own. "i was not on the road, but in the cave, reading a book called 'the social contract,' by one rousseau." "oh, found the book in the lord's library?" asked the gentleman with some astonishment. "no, i bought it of a peddler who, like others of his trade, has been hawking good books hereabouts." "who told you 'the contract' was a good book?" "i found that out by reading it, in comparison with some infamous ones in the baron's library." "the baron gets indecent books, always costly, in this hole?" "he does not spend money on them as they are sent him from paris by his friend the marshal duke of richelieu." "oh! of course he does not let his daughter see such stuff?" "he leaves them about, but mademoiselle andrea does not read them," rejoined the youth, drily. the mocking traveler was briefly silent. he was interested in this singular character, in whom was blended good and evil, shame and boldness. "how came you to read bad books?" "i did not know what they were until read; but i kept on as they taught me what i was unaware of. but 'the contract' told me what i had guessed, that all men are brothers, society badly arranged, and that instead of being serfs and slaves, individuals are equal." "whew!" whistled the gentleman, as they went on. "you seem to be hungry to learn?" "yes, it is my greatest wish to know everything, so as to rise----" "to what station?" gilbert paused, for having a goal in his mind, he wanted to keep it hidden. "as far as man may go," he answered. "so you have studied?" "how study when i was not rich and was cooped up in taverney? i can read and write; but i shall learn the rest somehow one of these days." "an odd boy," thought the stranger. during the quarter of an hour they had trudged on, the rain had ceased, and the earth sent up the sharp tang replacing the sulphurous breath of the thunderstorms. "do you know what storms are?" questioned gilbert, after deep musing. "thunder and lightning are the result of a shock between the electricity in the air and in the earth," he said, smiling. "i do not follow you," sighed gilbert. the traveler might have supplied a more lucid explanation but a light glimmered through the trees. "that is the carriage-gateway of taverney," said the guide. "open it." "taverney gate does not open so easily as that." "is it a fort? knock, and louder than that!" thus emboldened, the boy dropped the knocker and hung on to the bell, which clanged so lustily that it might be heard afar. "that is mahon barking," said the youth. "mahon? he names his watchdog after a victory of his friend my lord richelieu, i see," remarked the traveler. "i did not know that. you see how ignorant i am," sighed gilbert. these sighs summed up the disappointments and repressed ambition of the youth. "that is the goodman labrie coming," said the latter at the sound of footsteps within. the door opened, but at the sight of the stranger the old servant wanted to slam it. "excuse me, friend," interposed the traveler; "don't shut the door in my face. i will risk my travel-stained garb, and i warrant you that i shall not be expelled before i have warmed myself and had a meal. _i_ hear you keep good wine, eh? you ought to know that?" labrie tried still to resist, but the other was determined and led the horses right in with the coach, while gilbert closed the gates in a trice. vanquished, the servant ran to announce his own defeat. he rushed toward the house, shouting: "nicole legay!" "nicole is mademoiselle andrea's maid," explained the boy, as the gentleman advanced with his usual tranquility. a light appeared among the shrubbery, showing a pretty girl. "what is all this riot; what's wanted of me?" she challenged. "quick, my lass," faltered the old domestic, "announce to master that a stranger, overtaken by the storm, seeks hospitality for the night." nicole darted so swiftly toward the building as to be lost instantly to sight. labrie took breath, as he might be sure that his lord would not be taken by surprise. "announce baron joseph balsamo," said the traveler; "the similarity in rank will disarm your lord." at the first step of the portal he looked round for gilbert, but he had disappeared. chapter v. taverney and his daughter. though forewarned by gilbert of baron taverney's poverty, baron balsamo was not the less astonished by the meanness of the dwelling which the youth had dubbed the castle. on the paltry threshold stood the master in a dressing gown and holding a candle. taverney was a little, old gentleman of five-and-sixty, with bright eye and high but retreating forehead. his wretched wig had lost by burning at the candles what the rats had spared of its curls. in his hands was held a dubiously white napkin, which proved that he had been disturbed at table. his spiteful face had a likeness to voltaire's, and was divided between politeness to the guest and distaste to being disturbed. in the flickering light he looked ugly. "who was it pointed out my house as a shelter?" queried the baron, holding up the light to spy the pilot to whom he was eager to show his gratitude, of course. "the youth bore the name of gilbert, i believe." "ugh! i might have guessed that. i doubted, though, he was good enough for that. gilbert, the idler, the philosopher!" this flow of epithets, emphasized threateningly, showed the visitor that little sympathy existed between the lord and his vassal. "be pleased to come in," said the baron, after a short silence more expressive than his speech. "allow me to see to my coach, which contains valuable property," returned the foreign nobleman. "labrie," said lord taverney, "put my lord's carriage under the shed, where it will be less uncovered than in the open yard, for some shingles stick to the roof. as for the horses, that is different, for i cannot answer for their supper; still, as they are not yours, but the post's, i daresay it makes no odds." "believe me, i shall be ever grateful to your lordship----" "oh, do not deceive yourself," said the baron, holding up the candle again to light labrie executing the work with the aid of the foreign noble; "taverney is a poor place and a sad one." when the vehicle was under cover, after a fashion, the guest slipped a gold coin into the servant's hand. he thought it a silver piece, and thanked heaven for the boon. "lord forbid i should think the ill of your house that you speak," said balsamo, returning and bowing as the baron began leading him through a broad, damp antechamber, grumbling: "nay, nay, i know what i am talking about; my means are limited. were you french--though your accent is german, in spite of your italian title--but never mind--you would be reminded of the rich taverney." "philosophy," muttered balsamo, for he had expected the speaker would sigh. the master opened the dining-room door. "labrie, serve us as if you were a hundred men in one. i have no other lackey, and he is bad. but i cannot afford another. this dolt has lived with me nigh twenty years without taking a penny of wages, and he is worth it. you will see he is stupid." "heartless," balsamo continued his studies; "unless he is putting it on." the dining-room was the large main room of a farmhouse which had been converted into the manor. it was so plainly furnished as to seem empty. a small, round table was placed in the midst, on which reeked one dish, a stew of game and cabbage. the wine was in a stone jar; the battered, worn and tarnished plate was composed of three plates, a goblet and a salt dish; the last, of great weight and exquisite work, seemed a jewel of price amid the rubbish. "ah, you let your gaze linger on my salt dish?" said the host. "you have good taste to admire it. you notice the sole object presentable here. no, i have another gem, my daughter----" "mademoiselle andrea?" "yes," said taverney, astonished at the name being known; "i shall present you. come, andrea, my child, and don't be alarmed." "i am not, father," said a sonorous but melodious voice as a maiden appeared, who seemed a lovely pagan statue animated. though of the utmost plainness, her dress was so tasteful and suitable that a complete outfit from a royal wardrobe would have appeared less rich and elegant. "you are right," he whispered to his host, "she is a precious beauty." "do not pay my poor girl too many compliments," said the old frenchman carelessly, "for she comes from the nunnery school and may credit them. not that i fear that she will be a coquette," he continued; "just the other way, for the dear girl does not think enough of herself, and i am a good father, who tries to make her know that coquetry is a woman's first power." andrea cast down her eyes and blushed; whatever her endeavor she could not but overhear this singular theory. "was that told to the lady at convent, and is that a rule in religious education?" queried the foreigner, laughing. "my lord, i have my own ideas, as you may have noticed. i do not imitate those fathers who bid a daughter play the prude and be inflexible and obtuse; go mad about honor, delicacy and disinterestedness. fools! they are like seconds who lead their champion into the lists with all the armor removed and pit him against a man armed at all points. no, my daughter andrea will not be that sort, though reared in a rural den at taverney." though agreeing with the master about his place, the baron deemed it duty to suggest a polite reproof. "that is all very well, but i know taverney; still, be that as it may, and far though we are from the sunshine of versailles palace, my daughter is going to enter the society where i once flourished. she will enter with a complete arsenal of weapons forged in my experience and recollections. but i fear, my lord, that the convent has blunted them. just my luck! my daughter is the only pupil who took the instructions as in earnest and is following the gospel. am i not ill-fated?" "the young lady is an angel," returned balsamo, "and really i am not surprised at what i hear." andrea nodded her thanks, and they sat down at table. "eat away, if hungry. that is a beastly mess which labrie has hashed up." "call you partridges so? you slander your feast. game-birds in may? shot on your preserves?" "mine? my good father left me some, but i got rid of them long ago. i have not a yard of land. that lazybones gilbert, only good for mooning about, stole a gun somewhere and done a bit of poaching. he will go to jail for it, and a good riddance. but andrea likes game, and so far, i forgive the boy." balsamo contemplated the lovely face without perceiving a twinge, wrinkle or color, as she helped them to the dish, cooked by labrie, furnished by gilbert, and maligned by the baron. "are you admiring the salt dish again, baron?" "no, the arm of your daughter." "capital! the reply is worthy the gallant richelieu. that piece of plate was ordered of goldsmith lucas by the regent of orleans. subject: the amours of the bacchantes and satyrs--rather free." more than free, obscene--but balsamo admired the calm unconcern of andrea, not blenching as she presented the plate. "do eat," said the host; "do not fancy that another dish is coming, for you will be dreadfully disappointed." "excuse me, father," interrupted the girl with habitual coolness, "but if nicole has understood me, she will have made a cake of which i told her the recipe." "you gave nicole the recipe of a cake? your waiting maid does the cooking now, eh? the next thing will be your doing it yourself. do you find duchesses and countesses playing the kitchen-wench? on the contrary, the king makes omelets for them. gracious! that i have lived to see women-cooks under my roof. pray excuse my daughter, baron." "we must eat, father," rebuked andrea tranquilly. "dish up, legay!" she called out, and the girl brought in a pancake of appetizing smell. "i know one who won't touch the stuff," cried taverney, furiously dashing his plate to pieces. "but the gentleman, perhaps, will," said the lady coldly. "by the way, father, that leaves only seventeen pieces in that set, which comes to me from my mother." the guest's spirit of observation found plenty of food in this corner of life in the country. the salt dish alone revealed a facet of taverney's character or rather all its sides. from curiosity or otherwise, he stared at andrea with such perseverance that she tried to frown him down; but finally she gave way and yielded to his mesmeric influence and command. meanwhile the baron was storming, grumbling, snarling and nipping the arm of labrie, who happened to get into his way. he would have done the same to nicole's when the baron's gaze fell on her hands. "just look at what pretty fingers this lass has," he exclaimed. "they would be supremely pretty only for her kitchen work having made corns at the tips. that is right; perk up, my girl! i can tell you, my dear guest, that nicole legay is not a prude like her mistress and compliments do not frighten her." watching the baron's daughter, balsamo noticed the highest disdain on her beauteous face. he harmonized his features with hers and this pleased her, spite of herself, for she looked at him with less harshness, or, better, with less disquiet. "this girl, only think," continued the poor noble, chucking the girl's chin with the back of his hand, "was at the nunnery with my daughter and picked up as much schooling. she does not leave her mistress a moment. this devotion would rejoice the philosophers, who grant souls to her class." "father, nicole stays with me because i order her to do so," observed andrea, discontented. by the curl of the servant's lip, balsamo saw that she was not insensible to the humiliations from her proud superior. but the expression flitted; and to hide a tear, perhaps, the girl looked aside to a window on the yard. everything interested the visitor, and he perceived a man's face at the panes. each in this curious abode had a secret, he thought; "i hope not to be an hour here without learning andrea's. already i know her father's, and i guess nicole's." taverney perceived his short absence of mind. "what! are you dreaming?" he questioned. "we are all at it, here; but you might have waited for bedtime. reverie is a catching complaint. my daughter broods; nicole is wool-gathering; and i get puzzling about that dawdler who killed these birds--and dreams when he kills them. gilbert is a philosopher, like labrie. i hope you are not friendly with them? i forewarn you that philosophers do not go down with me." "they are neither friends nor foes to me," replied the visitor; "i do not have anything to do with them." "very good. zounds, they are scoundrelly vermin, more venomous than ugly. they will ruin the monarchy with their maxims, like 'people can hardly be virtuous under a monarchy;' or, 'genuine monarchy is an institution devised to corrupt popular manners, and make slaves;' or yet, 'royal authority may come by the grace of god, but so do plagues and miseries of mankind.' pretty flummery, all this! what good would a virtuous people be, i beg? things are going to the bad, since his majesty spoke to voltaire and read diderot's book." at this balsamo fancied again to spy the pale face at the window, but it vanished as soon as he fixed his eyes upon it. "is your daughter a philosopher?" he asked, smiling. "i do not know what philosophy is; i only know that i like serious matters," was andrea's reply. "the most serious thing is to live; stick to that," said her father. "but the young lady cannot hate life," said the stranger. "all depends," she said. "another stupid saying," interrupted taverney. "that is just the nonsense my son talks. i have the misfortune to have a son. the viscount of taverney is cornet in the dauphin's horse-guards--a nice boy; another philosopher! the other day he talked to me about doing away with negro slavery. 'what are we to do for sugar?' i retorted, for i like my coffee heavily sweetened, as does louis xv. 'we must do without sugar to benefit a suffering race.' 'suffering monkeys!' i returned, 'and that is paying them a compliment.' whereupon he asserted that all men were brothers! madness must be in the air. i, brother of a blackamoor!" "this is going too far," observed balsamo. "of course. i told you i was in luck. my children are--one an angel, the other an apostle. drink, though my wine is detestable." "i think it exquisite," said the guest, watching andrea. "then you are a philosopher! in my time we learnt pleasant things; we played cards, fought duels, though against the law; and wasted our time on duchesses and money on opera dancers. that is my story in a nutshell. taverney went wholly into the opera-house; which is all i sorrow for, since a poor noble is nothing of a man. i look aged, do i not? only because i am impoverished and dwell in a kennel, with a tattered wig, and gothic coat; but my friend the marshal duke, with his house in town and two hundred thousand a year--he is young, in his new clothes and brushed up perukes--he is still alert, brisk and pleasure-seeking, though ten years my senior, my dear sir, ten years." "i am astonished that, with powerful friends like the duke of richelieu, you quitted the court." "only a temporary retreat, and i am going back one day," said the lord, darting a strange glance on his daughter, which the visitor intercepted. "but, i suppose, the duke befriends your son?" "he holds the son of his friend in horror, for he is a philosopher, and he execrates them." "the feeling is reciprocal," observed andrea with perfect calm. "clear away, legay!" startled from her vigilant watch on the window, the maid ran back to the table. "we used to stay at the board to two a. m. we had luxuries for supper, then, that's why! and we drank when we could eat no more. but how can one drink vinegar when there is nothing to eat? legay, let us have the maraschino, provided there is any." "liqueurs," said andrea to the maid, who took her orders from the baron thus second-hand. her master sank back in his armchair and sighed with grotesque melancholy while keeping his eyes closed. "albeit the duke may execrate your son--quite right, too, as he is a philosopher," said balsamo, "he ought to preserve his liking for you, who are nothing of the kind. i presume you have claims on the king, whom you must have served?" "fifteen years in the army. i was the marshal's aid-de-camp, and we went through the mahon campaign together. our friendship dates from--let me see! the famous siege of philipsburg, to ." "yes, i was there, and remember you----" "you remember me at the siege? why, what is your age?" "oh, i am no particular age," replied the guest, holding up his glass to be filled by andrea's fair hand. the host interpreted that his guest did not care to tell his years. "my lord, allow me to say that you do not seem to have been a soldier, then, as it is twenty-eight years ago, and you are hardly over thirty." andrea regarded the stranger with the steadfastness of deep curiosity; he came out in a different light every instant. "i know what i am talking about the famous siege, where the duke of richelieu killed in a duel his cousin the prince of lixen. the encounter came off on the highway, by my fay! on our return from the outposts; on the embankment, to the left, he ran him through the body. i came up as prince deux-ponts held the dying man in his arms. he was seated on the ditch bank, while richelieu tranquilly wiped his steel." "on my honor, my lord, you astound me. things passed as you describe." "stay, you wore a captain's uniform then, in the queen's light horse guards, so badly cut up at fontenoy?" "were you in that battle, too?" jeered the baron. "no, i was dead at that time," replied the stranger, calmly. the baron stared, andrea shuddered, and nicole made the sign of the cross. "to resume the subject, i recall you clearly now, as you held your horse and the duke's while he fought. i went up to you for an account and you gave it. they called you the little chevalier. excuse me not remembering before, but thirty years change a man. to the health of marshal richelieu, my dear baron!" "but, according to this, you would be upward of fifty." "i am of the age to have witnessed that affair." the baron dropped back in the chair so vexed that nicole could not help laughing. but andrea, instead of laughing, mused with her looks on the mysterious guest. he seemed to await this chance to dart two or three flaming glances at her, which thrilled her like an electrical discharge. her arms stiffened, her neck bent, she smiled against her will on the hypnotizer, and closed her eyes. he managed to touch her arm, and again she quivered. "do you think i tell a fib in asserting i was at philipsburg?" he demanded. "no, i believe you," she replied with a great effort. "i am in my dotage," muttered taverney, "unless we have a ghost here." "who can tell?" returned balsamo, with so grave an accent that he subjugated the lady and made nicole stare. "but if you were living at the siege, you were a child of four or five." "i was over forty." the baron laughed and nicole echoed him. "you do not believe me. it is plain, though, for i was not the man i am." "this is a bit of antiquity," said the french noble. "was there not a greek philosopher--these vile philosophers seem to be of all ages--who would not eat beans because they contained souls, like the negress, according to my son? what the deuse was his name?" "that is the gentleman." "why may i not be pythagoras?" "pythagoras," prompted andrea. "i do not deny that, but he was not at philipsburg; or, at any rate, i did not see him there." "but you saw viscount jean barreaux, one of the black horse musketeers?" "rather; the musketeers and the light cavalry took turns in guarding the trenches." "the day after the richelieu duel, barreaux and you were in the trenches when he asked you for a pinch of snuff, which you offered in a gold box, ornamented with the portrait of a belle, but in the act a cannon ball hit him in the throat, as happened the duke of berwick aforetimes, and carried away his head." "gad! just so! poor barreaux!" "this proves that we were acquainted there, for i am barreaux," said the foreigner. the host shrank back in fright or stupefaction. "this is magic," he gasped; "you would have been burnt at the stake a hundred years ago, my dear guest. i seem to smell brimstone!" "my dear baron, note that a true magician is never burnt or hanged. only fools are led to the gibbet or pyre. but here is your daughter sent to sleep by our discussions on metaphysics and occult sciences, not calculated to interest a lady." indeed, andrea nodded under irresistible force like a lily on the stalk. at these words she made an effort to repel the subtle fluid which overwhelmed her; she shook her head energetically, rose and tottered out of the room, sustained by nicole. at the same time disappeared the face glued so often to the window glass on the outside, which balsamo had recognized as gilbert's. "_eureka!_" exclaimed balsamo triumphantly, as she vanished. "i can say it like archimedes." "who is he?" inquired the baron. "a very good fellow for a wizard, whom i knew over two thousand years ago," replied the guest. whether the baron thought this boast rather too preposterous, or he did not hear it, or hearing it, wanted the more to be rid of his odd guest, he proposed lending him a horse to get to the nearest posting house. "what, force me to ride when i am dying to stretch my legs in bed? do not exaggerate your mediocrity so as to make me believe in a personal ill will." "on the contrary, i treat you as a friend, knowing what you will incur here. but since you put it this way, remain. labrie, is the red-room habitable?" "certainly, my lord, as it is master philip's when he is here." "give it to the gentleman, since he is bent on being disgusted with taverney." "i want to be here to-morrow to testify to my gratitude." "you can do that easily, as you are so friendly with old nick that you can ask him for the stone which turns all things to gold." "if that is what you want, apply to me direct." "labrie, you old rogue, get a candle and light the gentleman to bed," said the baron, beginning to find such a dialogue dangerous at the late hour. labrie ordered nicole to air the red room while he hastened to obey. nicole left andrea alone, the latter eager for the solitude to nurse her thoughts. taverney bade the guest good-night, and went to bed. balsamo took out his watch, for he recalled his promise to awake althotas after two hours, and it was a half-hour more. he asked the servant if his coach was still out in the yard, and labrie answered in the affirmative--unless it had run off of its own volition. as for gilbert, he had been abed most likely since an hour. balsamo went to althotas after studying the way to the red room. labrie was tidying up the sordid apartment, after nicole had aired it, when the guest returned. he had paused at andrea's room to listen at her door to her playing on the harpsichord to dispel the burden of the influence the stranger had imposed upon her. in a while he waved his hands as in throwing a magic spell, and so it was, for andrea slowly stopped playing, let her hands drop by her sides, and turned rigidly and slowly toward the door, like one who obeys an influence foreign to will. balsamo smiled in the darkness as though he could see through the panels. this was all he wanted to do, for he groped for the banister rail, and went up stairs to his room. as he departed, andrea turned away from the door and resumed playing, so that the mesmerist heard the air again from where she had been made to leave off. entering the red room, he dismissed labrie; but the latter lingered, feeling in the depths of his pocket till at last he managed to say: "my lord, you made a mistake this evening, in giving me gold for the piece of silver you intended." balsamo looked on the old servingman with admiration, showing that he had not a high opinion of the honesty of most men. "'and honest,'" he muttered in the words of hamlet, as he took out a second gold coin to place it beside the other in the old man's hand. the latter's delight at this splendid generosity may be imagined, for he had not seen so much gold in twenty years. he was retiring, bowing to the floor, when the donor checked him. "what are the morning habits of the house?" he asked. "my lord stays abed late, my lord; but mademoiselle andrea is up betimes, about six." "who sleeps overhead?" "i, my lord; but nobody beneath, as the vestibule is under us." "oh, by the way, do not be alarmed if you see a light in my coach, as an old impotent servant inhabits it. ask master gilbert to let me see him in the morning." "is my lord going away so soon?" "it depends," replied balsamo, with a smile. "i ought to be at bar-le-duc tomorrow evening." labrie sighed with resignation, and was about to set fire to some old papers to warm the room, which was damp and there was no wood, when balsamo stayed him. "no, let them be; i might want to read them, for i may not sleep." balsamo went to the door to listen to the servant's departing steps making the stairs creak till they sounded overhead; labrie was in his own room. then he went to the window. in the other wing was a lighted window, with half-drawn curtains, facing him. legay was leisurely taking off her neckerchief, often peeping down into the yard. "striking resemblance," muttered the baron. the light went out though the girl had not gone to rest. the watcher stood up against the wall. the harpsichord still sounded, with no other noise. he opened his door, went down stairs with caution, and opened the door of andrea's sitting-room. suddenly she stopped in the melancholy strain, although she had not heard the intruder. as she was trying to recall the thrill which had mastered her, it came anew. she shivered all over. in the mirror she saw movement. the shadow in the doorway could only be her father or a servant. nothing more natural. but she saw with spiritual eyes that it was none of these. "my lord," she faltered, "in heaven's name, what want you?" it was the stranger, in the black velvet riding coat, for he had discarded his silken suit, in which a mesmerist cannot well work his power. she tried to rise, but could not; she tried to open her mouth to scream, but with a pass of both hands balsamo froze the sound on her lips. with no strength or will, andrea let her head sink on her shoulder. at this juncture balsamo believed he heard a noise at the window. quickly turning, he caught sight of a man's face beyond. he frowned, and, strangely enough, the same impression flitted across the medium's face. "sleep!" he commanded, lowering the hands he had held above her head with a smooth gesture, and persevering in filling her with the mesmeric fluid in crushing columns. "i will you to sleep." all yielded to this mighty will. andrea leaned her elbow on the musical-instrument case, her head on her hand, and slept. the mesmerist retired backward, drew the door to, and went back to his room. as soon as the door closed, the face he had seen reappeared at the window; it was gilbert's. excluded from the parlor by his inferior position in taverney castle, he had watched all the persons through the evening whose rank allowed them to figure in it. during the supper he had noticed baron balsamo gesticulate and smile, and his peculiar attention bestowed on the lady of the house; the master's unheard-of affability to him, and labrie's respectful eagerness. later on, when they rose from table, he hid in a clump of lilacs and snowballs, for fear that nicole, closing the blinds or in going to her room, should catch him eavesdropping. but gilbert had other designs this evening than spying. he waited, without clearly knowing for what. when he saw the light in the maid's window, he crossed the yard on tiptoe and crouched down in the gloom to peer in at the window at andrea playing the harpsichord. this was the moment when the mesmerist entered the room. at this sight, gilbert started and his ardent gaze covered the magician and his victim. but he imagined that balsamo complimented the lady on her musical talent, to which she replied with her customary coldness; but he had persisted with a smile so that she suspended her practice and answered. he admired the grace with which the visitor retired. of all the interview which he fancied he read aright, he had understood nothing, for what really happened was in the mind, in silence. however keen an observer he was, he could not divine a mystery, where everything had passed quite naturally. balsamo gone, gilbert remained, not watching, but contemplating andrea, lovely in her thoughtful pose, till he perceived with astonishment that she was slumbering. when convinced of this, he grasped his head between his hands like one who fears his brain will burst from the overflow of emotions. "oh, to kiss her hand!" he murmured, in a gush of fury. "oh, gilbert, let us approach her--i so long to do it." hardly had he entered the room than he felt the importance of his intrusion. the timid if not respectful son of a farmer to dare to raise his eyes on that proud daughter of the peers. if he should touch the hem of her dress she would blast him with a glance. the floor boards creaked under his wary tread, but she did not move, though he was bathed in cold perspiration. "she sleeps--oh, happiness, she sleeps!" he panted, drawing with irresistible attraction within a yard of the statue, of which he took the sleeve and kissed it. holding his breath, slowly he raised his eyes, seeking hers. they were wide open, but still saw not. intoxicated by the delusion that she expected his visit and her silence was consent, her quiet a favor, he lifted her hand to his lips and impressed a long and feverish kiss. she shuddered and repulsed him. "i am lost!" he gasped, dropping the hand and beating the floor with his forehead. andrea rose as though moved by a spring under her feet, passed by gilbert, crushed by shame and terror and with no power to crave pardon, and proceeded to the door. with high-held head and outstretched neck, as if drawn by a secret power toward an invisible goal, she opened the door and walked out on the landing. the youth rose partly and watched her take the stairs. he crawled after her, pale, trembling and astonished. "she is going to tell the baron and have me scourged out of the house--no, she goes up to where the guest is lodged. for she would have rung, or called, if she wanted labrie." he clenched his fists at the bare idea that andrea was going into the strange gentleman's room. all this seemed monstrous. and yet that was her end. that door was ajar. she pushed it open without knocking; the lamplight streamed on her pure profile and whirled golden reflections into her wildly open eyes. in the center of the room gilbert saw the baron standing, with fixed gaze and wrinkled brow, and his hand extended in gesture of command, ere the door swung to. gilbert's forces failed him; he wheeled round on the stairs, clinging to the rail, but slid down, with his eyes fastened to the last on the cursed panel, behind which was sealed up all his vanished dream, present happiness and future hope. chapter vi. the clairvoyant. balsamo had gone up to the young lady, whose appearance in his chamber was not strange to him. "i bade you sleep. do you sleep?" andrea sighed and nodded with an effort. "it is well. sit here," and he led her by the hand the youth had kissed to a chair, which she took. "now, see!" her eyes dilated as though to collect all the luminous rays in the room. "i did not tell you to see with your eyes," said he, "but with those of the soul." he touched her with a steel rod which he drew from under his waistcoat. she started as though a fiery dart had transfixed her and her eyes closed instantly; her darkening face expressed the sharpest astonishment. "tell me where you are." "in the red room, with you, and i am ashamed and afraid." "what of? are we not in sympathy, and do you not know that my intentions are pure, and that i respect you like a sister?" "you may not mean evil to me, but it is not so as regards others." "possibly," said the magician; "but do not heed that," he added in a tone of command. "are all asleep under this roof?" "all, save my father who is reading one of those bad books, which he pesters me to read, but i will not." "good; we are safe in that quarter. look where nicole is." "she is in her room, in the dark, but i need not the light to see that she is slipping out of it to go and hide behind the yard door to watch." "to watch you?" "no." "then, it matters not. when a girl is safe from her father and her attendant, she has nothing to fear, unless she is in love----" "i, love?" she said sneeringly. and shaking her head, she added sadly: "my heart is free." such an expression of candor and virginal modesty embellished her features that balsamo radiantly muttered: "a lily--a pupil--a seer!" clasping his hands in delight. "but, without loving, you may be loved?" "i know not; and yet, since i returned from school, a youth has watched me, and even now he is weeping at the foot of the stairs." "see his face!" "he hides it in his hands." "see through them." "gilbert!" she uttered with an effort. "impossible that he would presume to love me!" balsamo smiled at her deep disdain, like one who knew that love will leap any distance. "what is he doing now?" "he puts down his hands, he musters up courage to mount hither--no, he has not the courage--he flees." she smiled with scorn. "cease to look that way. speak of the baron of taverney. he is too poor to give you any amusements?" "none." "you are dying of tedium here; for you have ambition?" "no." "love for your father?" "yes; though i bear him a grudge for squandering my mother's fortune so that poor redcastle pines in the garrison and cannot wear our name handsomely." "who is redcastle?" "my brother philip is called the knight of redcastle from a property of the eldest son, and will wear it till father's death entitles him to be 'taverney.'" "do you love your brother?" "dearly, above all else; because he has a noble heart, and would give his life for me." "more than your father would. where is redcastle?" "at strasburg in the garrison; no, he has gone--oh, dear philip!" continued the medium with sparkling eyes in joy. "i see him riding through a town i know. it is nancy, where i was at the convent school. the torches round him light up his darling face." "why torches?" asked balsamo in amaze. "they are around him on horseback, and a handsome gilded carriage." balsamo appeared to have a guess at this, for he only said: "who is in the coach?" "a lovely, graceful, majestic woman, but i seem to have seen her before--how strange! no, i am wrong--she looks like our nicole; but as the lily is like the jessamine. she leans out of the coach window and beckons philip to draw near. he takes his hat off with respect as she orders him, with a smile, to hurry on the horses. she says that the escort must be ready at six in the morning, as she wishes to take a rest in the daytime--oh, it is at taverney that she means to stop. she wants to see my father! so grand a princess stop at our shabby house! what shall we do without linen or plate?" "be of good cheer. we will provide all that." "oh, thank you!" the girl, who had partly risen, fell back in the chair, uttering a profound sigh. "regain your strength," said the magician, drawing the excess of magnetism from the beautiful body, which bent as if broken, and the fair head heavily resting on the heaving bosom. "i shall require all your lucidity presently. o, science! you alone never deceive man. to none other ought man sacrifice his all. this is a lovely woman, a pure angel as thou knowest who created angels. but what is this beauty and this innocence to me now?--only worth what information they afford. i care not though this fair darling dies, as long as she tells me what i seek. let all worldly delights perish--love, passion and ecstasy, if i may tread the path surely and well lighted. now, maiden, that, in a few seconds, my power has given you the repose of ages, plunge once more into your mesmeric slumber. this time, speak for myself alone." he made the passes which replaced andrea in repose. from his bosom he drew the folded paper containing the tress of black hair, from which the perfume had made the paper transparent. he laid it in andrea's hand, saying: "see!" "yes, a woman!" "joy!" cried balsamo. "science is not a mere name like virtue. mesmer has vanquished brutus. depict this woman, that i may recognize her." "tall, dark, but with blue eyes, her hair like this, her arms sinewy." "what is she doing?" "racing as though carried off on a fine black horse, flecked with foam. she takes the road yonder to chalons." "good! my own road," said balsamo. "i was going to paris, and there we shall meet. you may repose now," and he took back the lock of hair. andrea's arms fell motionless again along her body. "recover strength, and go back to your harpsichord," said the mesmerist, enveloping her, as she rose, with a fresh supply of magnetism. andrea acted like the racehorse which overtaxes itself to accomplish the master's will, however unfair. she walked through the doorway, where he had opened the door, and, still asleep, descended the stairs slowly. chapter vii. the maid and the mistress. gilbert had passed this time in unspeakable anguish. balsamo was but a man, but he was a strong one, and the youth was weak: he had attempted twenty times to mount to the assault of the guest room, but his trembling limbs gave way under him and he fell on his knees. then the idea struck him to get the gardener's ladder and by its means climb up outside to the window, and listen and spy. but as he stooped to pick up this ladder, lying on the grass where he remembered, he heard a rustling noise by the house, and he turned. he let the ladder fall, for he fancied he saw a shade flit across the doorway. his terror made him believe it, not a ghost--he was a budding philosopher who did not credit them--but baron taverney. his conscience whispered another name, and he looked up to the second floor. but nicole had put out her light, and not another, or a sound came from all over the house--the guest's room excepted. seeing and hearing nothing, convinced that he had deluded himself, gilbert took up the ladder and had set foot on it to climb where he placed it, when andrea came down from balsamo's room. with a lacerated heart, gilbert forgot all to follow her into the parlor where again she sat at the instrument; her candle still burned beside it. gilbert tore his bosom with his nails to think that here he had kissed the hem of her robe with such reverence. her condescension must spring from one of those fits of corruption recorded in the vile books which he had read--some freak of the senses. but as he was going to invade the room again, a hand came out of the darkness and energetically grasped him by the arm. "so i have caught you, base deceiver! try to deny again that you love her and have an appointment with her!" gilbert had not the power to break from the clutch, though he might readily have done so, for it was only a girl's. nicole legay held him a prisoner. "what do you want?" he said testily. "do you want me to speak out aloud?" "no, no; be quiet," he stammered, dragging her out of the antechamber. "then follow me!" which was what gilbert wanted, as this was removing nicole from her mistress. he could with a word have proved that while he might be guilty of loving the lady, the latter was not an accomplice; but the secret of andrea was one that enriches a man, whether with love or lucre. "come to my room," she said; "who would surprise us there! not my young lady, though she may well be jealous of her fine gallant! but folks in the secret are not to be dreaded. the honorable lady jealous of the servant,--i never expected such an honor! it is i who am jealous, for you love me no more." in plainness, nicole's bedroom did not differ from the others in that dwelling. she sat on the edge of the bed, and gilbert on the dressing-case, which andrea had given her maid. coming up the stairs, nicole had calmed herself, but the youth felt anger rise as it cooled in the girl. "so you love our young lady," began nicole with a kindling eye. "you have love-trysts with her; or will you pretend you went only to consult the magician?" "perhaps so, for you know i feel ambition----" "greed, you mean?" "it is the same thing, as you take it." "don't let us bandy words: you avoid me lately." "i seek solitude----" "and you want to go up into solitude by a ladder? beg pardon, i did not know that was the way to it." gilbert was beaten in the first defenses. "you had better out with it, that you love me no longer, or love us both." "that would only be an error of society, for in some countries men have several wives." "savages!" exclaimed the servant, testily. "philosophers!" retorted gilbert. "but you would not like me to have two beaux on my string?" "i do not wish tyrannically and unjustly to restrain the impulses of your heart. liberty consists in respecting free will. so, change your affection, for fidelity is not natural--to some." discussion was the youth's strong point; he knew little, but more than the girl. so he began to regain coolness. "have you a good memory, master philosopher?" said nicole. "do you remember when i came back from the nunnery with mistress, and you consoled me, and taking me in your arms, said: 'you are an orphan like me; let us be brother and sister through similar misfortune.' did you mean what you said?" "yes, then; but five months have changed me; i think otherwise at present." "you mean you will not wed me? yet nicole legay is worth a gilbert, it seems to me." "all men are equal; but nature or education improves or depreciates them. as their faculties or acquirements expand, they part from one another." "i understand that we must part, and that you are a scamp. how ever could i fancy such a fellow?" "nicole, i am never going to marry, but be a learned man or a philosopher. learning requires the isolation of the mind; philosophy that of the body." "master gilbert, you are a scoundrel, and not worth a girl like me. but you laugh," she continued, with a dry smile more ominous than his satirical laugh; "do not make war with me; for i shall do such deeds that you will be sorry, for they will fall on your head, for having turned me astray." "you are growing wiser; and i am convinced now that you would refuse me if i sued you." nicole reflected, clenching her hands and gritting her teeth. "i believe you are right, gilbert," she said; "i, too, see my horizon enlarge, and believe i am fated for better things than to be so mean as a philosopher's wife. go back to your ladder, sirrah, and try not to break your neck, though i believe it would be a blessing to others, and may be for yourself." gilbert hesitated for a space in indecision, for nicole, excited by love and spite, was a ravishing creature; but he had determined to break with her, as she hampered his passion and his aspirations. "gone," murmured nicole in a few seconds. she ran to the window, but all was dark. she went to her mistress' door, where she listened. "she is asleep; but i will know all about it to-morrow." it was broad day when andrea de taverney awoke. in trying to rise, she felt such lassitude and sharp pain that she fell back on the pillow uttering a groan. "goodness, what is the matter?" cried nicole, who had opened the curtains. "i do not know. i feel lame all over; my chest seems broken in." "it is the outbreak of the cold you caught last night," said the maid. "last night?" repeated the surprised lady; but she remarked the disorder of her room, and added: "stay, i remember that i felt very tired--exhausted--it must have been the storm. i fell to sleep over my music. i recall nothing further. i went up hither half asleep, and must have thrown myself on the bed without undressing properly." "you must have stayed very late at the music, then," observed nicole, "for, before you retired to your bedroom i came down, having heard steps about----" "but i did not stir from the parlor." "oh, of course, you know better than me," said nicole. "you must mistake," replied the other with the utmost sweetness: "i never left the seat; but i remember that i was cold, for i walked quite swiftly." "when i saw you in the garden, however, you walked very freely." "i, in the grounds?--you know i never go out after dark." "i should think i knew my mistress by sight," said the maid, doubling her scrutiny; "i thought that you were taking a stroll with somebody." "with whom would i be taking a stroll?" demanded andrea, without seeing that her servant was putting her to an examination. nicole did not think it prudent to proceed, for the coolness of the hypocrite, as she considered her, frightened her. so she changed the subject. "i hope you are not going to be sick, either with fatigue or sorrow. both have the same effect. ah, well i know how sorrows undermine!" "you do? have you sorrows, nicole?" "indeed; i was coming to tell my mistress, when i was frightened to see how queer you looked; no doubt, we both are upset." "really!" queried andrea, offended at the "we both." "i am thinking of getting married." "why, you are not yet seventeen----" "but you are sixteen and----" she was going to say something saucy, but she knew andrea too well to risk it, and cut short the explanation. "indeed, i cannot know what my mistress thinks, but i am low-born and i act according to my nature. it is natural to have a sweetheart." "oh, you have a lover then! you seem to make good use of your time here." "i must look forward. you are a lady and have expectations from rich kinsfolks going off; but i have no family and must get into one." as all this seemed straightforward enough, andrea forgot what had been offensive in tone, and said, with her kindness taking the reins: "is it any one i know? speak out, as it is the duty of masters to interest themselves in the fate of their servants, and i am pleased with you." "that is very kind. it is--gilbert!" to her high amaze, andrea did not wince. "as he loves you, marry him," she replied, easily. "he is an orphan, too, so you are both your own masters. only, you are both rather young." "we shall have the longer life together." "you are penniless." "we can work." "what can he do, who is good for nothing?" "he is good to catch game for master's table, anyway; you slander poor gilbert, who is full of attention for you." "he does his duty as a servant----" "nay; he is not a servant; he is never paid." "he is son of a farmer of ours; he is kept and does nothing for it; so, he steals his support. but what are you aiming at to defend so warmly a boy whom nobody attacks?" "i never thought you would attack him! it is just the other way about!" with a bitter smile. "something more i do not understand." "because you do not want to." "enough! i have no leisure for your riddles. you want my consent to this marriage?" "if you please; and i hope you will bear gilbert no ill will." "what is it to me whether he loves you or not? you burden me, miss." "i daresay," said nicole, bursting out in anger at last; "you have said the same thing to gilbert." "i speak to your gilbert! you are mad, girl; leave me in peace." "if you do not speak to him now, i believe the silence will not last long." "lord forgive her--the silly jade is jealous!" exclaimed andrea, covering her with a disdainful look, and laughing. "cheer up, little legay! i never looked at your pretty gilbert, and i do not so much as know the color of his eyes." andrea was quite ready to overlook what seemed folly and not pertness; but nicole felt offended, and did not want pardon. "i can quite believe that--for one cannot get a good look in the nighttime." "take care to make yourself clear at once," said andrea, very pale. "last night, i saw----" "andrea!" came a voice from below, in the garden. "my lord your father," said nicole, "with the stranger who passed the night here." "go down, and say that i cannot answer, as i am not well. i have a stiff neck; and return to finish this odd debate." nicole obeyed, as andrea was always obeyed when commanding, without reply or wavering. her mistress felt something unusual; though resolved not to show herself, she was constrained to go to the window left open by legay, through a superior and resistless power. chapter viii. the harbinger. the traveler had risen early to look to his coach and learn how althotas was faring. all were still sleeping but gilbert, who peeped through a window of his room over the doorway and spied all the stranger's movements. the latter was struck by the change which day brought on the scene so gloomy overnight. the domain of taverney did not lack dignity or grace. the old house resembled a cavern which nature embellishes with flowers, creepers and capricious rookeries, although at night it would daunt a traveler seeking shelter. when balsamo returned after an hour's stroll to the red castle ruins, he saw the lord of it all leave the house by a side door to cull roses and crush snails. his slender person was wrapped in his flowered dressing-gown. "my lord," said balsamo, with the more courtesy as he had been sounding his host's poverty, "allow my excuses with my respects. i ought to wait your coming down, but the aspect of taverney tempted me, and i yearned to view the imposing ruins and pretty garden." "the ruins are rather fine," returned the baron; "about all here worth looking at. the castle was my ancestors'; it is called the red castle, and we long have borne its name together with taverney, it being the same barony. oh, my lord, as you are a magician," continued the nobleman, "you ought with a wave of your wand uprear again the old red castle, as well as restore the two thousand odd acres around it. but i suppose you wanted all your art to make that beastly bed comfortable. it is my son's, and he growled enough at it." "i protest it is excellent, and i want to prove it by doing you some service in return." labrie was bringing to his master a glass of spring water on a splendid china platter. "here's your chance," said the baron, always jeering; "turn that into wine as the greatest service of all." balsamo smiling, the old lord thought it was backing out and took the glass, swallowing the contents at a gulp. "excellent specific," said the mesmerist. "water is the noblest of the elements, baron. nothing resists it; it pierces stone now, and one of these days will dissolve diamonds." "it is dissolving me. will you drink with me. it has the advantage over wine of running freely here. not like my liquor." "i might make one useful to you." "labrie, a glass of water for the baron. how can the water which i drink daily comprise properties never suspected by me? as the fellow in the play talked prose all his life without knowing it, have i been practising magic for ten years without an idea of it?" "i do not know about your lordship, but i do know about myself," was the other's grave reply. taking the glass from labrie, who had displayed marvelous celerity, he looked at it steadily. "what do you see in it, my dear guest?" the baron continued to mock. "i am dying with eagerness. come, come! a windfall to me, another red castle to set me on my legs again." "i see the advice here to prepare for a visit. a personage of high distinction is coming, self-invited, conducted by your son philip, who is even now near us." "my dear lord, my son is on military duty at strasburg, and he will not be bringing guests at the risk of being punished as a deserter." "he is none the less bringing a lady, a mighty dame--and, by the way, you had better keep that pretty abigail of yours at a distance while she stays, as there is a close likeness between them." "the promised lady guest bears a likeness to my servant legay? what contradiction!" "why not? once i bought a slave so like cleopatra that the romans talked of palming her off for the genuine queen in the triumph in their capital." "so you are at your old tricks again?" laughed the baron. "how would you like it, were you a princess, for instance, to see behind your chair a maid who looked your picture, in short petticoats and linen neckerchief." "well, we will protect her against that. but i am very pleased with this boy of mine who brings guests without forewarning us!" "i am glad my forecast affords you pleasure, my dear baron; and, if you meant to properly greet the coming guest, you have not a minute to lose." the baron shook his head like the most incredulous of beings, and as the two were near the dwelling part of the baron's daughter, he called out to her to impart the stranger's predictions. this was the call which brought her to the window despite herself, and she saw balsamo. he bowed deeply to her while fixing his eyes upon her. she reeled and had to catch the sill not to fall. "good-morning, my lord," she answered. she uttered these words at the very moment when nicole, telling the baron that his daughter would not come, stopped stupefied and with gaping mouth at this capricious contradiction. instantly andrea fell on a chair, all her powers quitting her. balsamo had gazed on her to the last. "this is deusedly hard to believe," remarked the baron, "and seeing is believing----" "then, see!" said the wonder-worker, pointing up the avenue, from the end of which came galloping at full speed a rider whose steed made the stones rattle under its hoofs. "oh, it is indeed----" began the baron. "master philip!" screamed nicole, standing on tiptoe, while labrie grunted in pleasure. "my brother!" cried out andrea, thrusting her hands through the window. "this is the commencement," said balsamo. "decidedly you are a magician," said the baron. a smile of triumph appeared on the mesmerist's lips. soon the horse approached plainly, reeking with sweat and smoking, and the rider, a young man in an officer's uniform, splashed with mud up to the countenance, animated by the speed, leaped off and hurried to embrace his father. "it is i," said philip of taverney, seeing the doubt. "i bear a great honor for our house. in an hour marie antoinette, archduchess of austria and bride of the dauphin of france, will be here." the baron dropped his arms with as much humility as he had shown sarcasm and irony, and turned to balsamo for his forgiveness. "my lord," said the latter, bowing, "i leave you with your son, from whom you have been long separated and to whom you must have a great deal to say." saluting andrea, who rushed to meet her brother in high delight, balsamo drew off, beckoning nicole and labrie, who disappeared with him under the trees. chapter ix. the knight of redcastle. philip of taverney, knight of redcastle, did not resemble his sister, albeit he was as handsome for a man as she was lovely for a woman. andrea's embrace of him was accompanied by sobs revealing all the importance of this union to her chaste heart. he took her hand and his father's, and led them into the parlor, where he sat by their sides. "you are incredulous, father, and you, sister, surprised. but nothing can be more true than that this illustrious princess will be here shortly. you know that the archduchess made her entry into our realm at strasburg? as we did not know the exact hour of her arrival, the troops were under arms early, and i was sent out to scout. when i came up with the royal party, the lady herself put her head out of the coach window, and hailed me. my fatigue vanished as by enchantment. the dauphiness is young like you, dear, and beautiful as the angels." "tell me, you enthusiast," interrupted the baron, "does she resemble any one you have seen here before?" "no one could resemble her--stay, come to think of it--why, nicole has a faint likeness--but what led you to suggest that?" "i had it from a magician, who at the same time foretold your coming." "the guest?" timidly inquired andrea. "is he the stranger who discreetly withdrew when i arrived?" "the same; but continue your story, philip." "perhaps we had better make something ready," hinted the lady. "no," said her father, staying her; "the more we do, the more ridiculous we shall appear." "i returned to the city with the news, and all the military marched to receive the new princess. she listened absently to the governor's speech and said suddenly: 'what is the name of this young gentleman who was sent to meet me?' and her governess wrote on her tablets my name, chevalier philip taverney redcastle. 'sir,' she said, 'if you have no repugnance to accompany me to paris, your superior will oblige me by relieving you of your military duties here, for i made a vow to attach to my service the first french gentleman met by me in setting foot in france; and to make him happy, and his family the same, in case princes have the power to do so.'" "what delightful words!" said andrea, rubbing her hands. "hence, i rode at the princess's coach door to nancy, through which we marched by torchlight. she called me to her to say that she meant to stop a while at taverney, though i said our house was not fit to receive so mighty a princess. "'the sweeter will be the welcome, then, the more plain but the more cordial,' she replied. 'poor though taverney may be, it can supply a bowl of milk to the friend who wishes to forget for a time that she is the princess of austria and the bride of france.' respect prevented me debating further. so i have ridden ahead." "impossible," said andrea; "however kind the princess may be, she would never be content with a glass of milk and a bunch of flowers." "and if she were," went on taverney, "she would not tolerate my chairs which break one's back, and my ragged tapestry offending the sight. devil take capricious women! france will be prettily governed by a featherbrain, who has such whims. plague take such a token of a singular reign!" "oh, father! how can you talk so of a princess who floods our house with favors?" "who dishonors me!" returned the old noble. "who was thinking about taverney?--not a soul. my name slept under redcastle ruins not to come forth till i arranged the fit time; and here comes the freak of a royal babe to pull us out into public, dusty, tattered and beggarly. the newspapers, always on the lookout for food for fun, will make a pretty comic talk of the brilliant princess's visit to the taverney hovel. but, death of my life! an idea strikes me. i know history, and of the count of medina setting fire to his palace to win a queen's attention. i will burn down my kennel for a bonfire to the dauphin's bride." as nimble as though twenty once more, the old peer ran into the kitchen and plucking a brand, hurried out and over to the barn, but as he was nearing the trusses of forage, balsamo sprang forth and clutched his arm. "what are you about, my lord?" he asked, wrenching away the flambeau. "the archduchess of austria is no constable of bourbon, a traitor, whose presence so fouls a dwelling that it must be purified by fire." the old noble paused, pale and trembling and not smiling as usual. "go and change your gown, my lord, for something more seemly," continued the mysterious guest. "when i knew the baron of taverney at philipsburg siege, he wore the grand cross of st. louis. i know not of any suit that does not become rich and stylish under the ribbon of that order. take it coolly: her highness will be kept so busy that she will not notice whether your house be new or old, dull or dazzling. be hospitable, as a noble is bound to be. never forestall vexations, my lord. every dog has his day." taverney obeyed with the resignation he had previously shown and went to join his children, who were hunting for him, uneasy at his absence. the magician silently retired like one engaged in a piece of work. chapter x. marie antoinette. as balsamo had warned them, there was no time to lose. on the high road, commonly so peaceful, resounded a great tumult of coaches, horses and voices. three carriages stopped at the door, held open by gilbert, whose distended eyes and feverish tremor denoted the sharpest emotion at so much magnificence. the principal coach, loaded with gilding and mythological carvings, was no less mud-spattered and dusty than the others. a score of brilliant young noblemen ranked themselves near this coach, out of which was assisted a girl of sixteen by a gentleman clad in black, with the grand sash of the st. louis order under his coat. she wore no hair powder, but this plainness had not prevented the hairdresser building up her tresses a foot above her forehead. marie antoinette josepha, for it was she, brought into france a fame for beauty not always owned by princesses destined to share the throne of that realm. without being fine, her eyes took any expression she liked; but particularly those so opposite as mildness and scorn; her nose was well shaped; her upper lip pretty; but the lower one, the aristocratic inheritance of seventeen kaisers, too thick and protruding, even drooping, did not suit the pretty visage, except when it wanted to show ire or indignation. on this occasion, marie antoinette wore her womanly look and womanly smile, more, that of a happy woman. if possible, she did not mean to be the royal princess till the following day. the sweetest calm reigned on her face; the most charming kindness enlivened her eyes. she was robed in white silk, and her handsome bare arms supported a heavy lace mantle. she refused the arm of the gentleman in black, and freely advanced, snuffing the air, and casting glances around as though wishful to enjoy brief liberty. "oh, the lovely site! what fine old trees! and the pretty little house!" she ejaculated. "how happy they must dwell in this nice air and under these trees which hide us in so well." philip taverney appeared, followed by andrea, giving her arm to her father, wearing a fine royal blue velvet coat, last vestige of former splendor. andrea wore a ruddy gray silk dress and had her hair in long plaits. following balsamo's hint, the baron had donned the insignia of the knightly order. "your highness," said philip, pale with emotion and noble in his sorrow, "allow me the honor to present baron de taverney, red castle, my sire, and mademoiselle claire andrea, my sister." the old noble bowed low with the style of one who knew how queens should be saluted; his daughter displayed all the grace of elegant timidity, and the most flattering politeness of sincere respect. regarding the pair, and recalling what philip had stated on their poverty, marie antoinette felt with them in their suffering. "your highness does taverney castle too much honor," said the baron; "so humble a place is nowise worthy to harbor such beauty and nobility." "i know that i am at the doors of an old soldier of france," was the royal response, "and my mother, the empress maria theresa, who often went to the wars, says that in your kingdom the richest in glory are oft the poorest in gold." with ineffable grace she held out her hand to andrea, who knelt to kiss it. the dauphiness suddenly extricated the baron from his terror about harboring the great number of the retinue. "my lords and gentlemen," she said, "it is not for you to bear the fatigue of my whims or enjoy the privileges of a royal princess. pray, await me here; in half an hour i shall return. come with me, langenshausen," she said to the countess of that house who was her duenna. "follow me, my lord," she added to the gentleman in black. his plain attire was of remarkable style; he was a handsome person of thirty years and smooth manners; he stood aside to let the princess go by. she took andrea to her side and motioned philip to follow. the baron fell into place next the fashionable gentleman. "so you are a taverney of redcastle?" queried this fop, as he preened his fine honiton lace ruffles with aristocratic impertinence. "am i to answer a gentleman or a nobleman?" returned the baron with equal sauciness. "prince will do," said the other, "or eminence." "well, yes, your eminence, i am a real taverney," replied the poor nobleman, without dropping the insolent tone he usually kept. the prince had the tact of great lords, for he readily perceived that he was not dealing with a rustic hobbledehoy. "i suppose this is your summer residence?" he continued. "my residence in all seasons," replied the baron, desiring to finish with this examination, but accompanying his answers with deep bows. philip kept turning round to his father with uneasiness; the house seemed towering up to exhibit more and more of their penury. the baron was just holding his hand toward the sill, deserted by visitors, when the dauphiness turned to him, saying: "excuse me not going indoors, but these shady spots are so pleasant that i could pass my life beneath them. i am rather weary of interiors. for a fortnight i have been received under roofs--and i like open air, flowers and the shade of foliage. might i not have a drink of milk in this bower?" "what a mean refreshment, your highness!" faltered the baron. "i prefer it, with new-laid eggs, my lord. such formed my feasts at schoenbrunn." all of a sudden, labrie, puffed up with pride in a showy livery, and holding a damask napkin, appeared in the jessamine hung arbor which the archduchess was eyeing covetously. "the refreshment is ready for your royal highness," he said with a neat mingling of respect and serenity. "am i housed by an enchanter?" exclaimed the princess, darting into the bower. the perturbed baron forgot etiquette to leave the gentleman in black and run after his guest. philip and andrea looked at each other with even more anxiety than astonishment. under the twining clematis, jessamine and honeysuckle an oval table was set, dazzling from the whiteness of the damask cloth and the carved bullion plate upon it. ten sets of silver awaited as many guests. a choice but strange collation attracted the visitor's gaze. foreign fruit preserved in sugar; cake and crackers from aleppo and madeira, oranges and melons of uncommon size, set in large vases. the richest and noblest wines glittered in all hues of ruby and topaz in four cut-glass persian decanters. the milk asked for filled a crystal cup. "but you must have expected me, since in no ten minutes which i have been here could this sumptuous spread be placed." and the princess glanced at labrie as much as to say: "with only one servant, too?" "i did expect your royal highness," faltered the baron; "of your coming being apprised." "if your son did not inform you by letter, then it must have been some fairy--i suppose, the godmother of your daughter." "it was not so much a fairy, as a magician," said taverney, offering a seat to the princess. "i do not know anything about how he has done this, as i do not dabble in magic, but i owe it to him that i am fitly entertaining your highness." "then i will have none of it. it is contrary to the faith--but his eminence is going to sin, with that liver-pie!" "we are rather too worldly, we princes of the church," replied the gentleman in black, "to believe the celestial wrath poisons victuals, and we are too human to visit ill on magicians who provide such good things." "but i assure your eminence that this is a real sorcerer who conjured up this board ready spread, and who may have produced the gold of this service in the same manner." "does he know of the stone which changes all into gold?" questioned the churchman, with his eyes kindling with covetousness. "this pleases the cardinal, who has passed his life seeking the philosopher's stone," said the princess. "i own that i find nothing more interesting than supernatural things," returned the prince; "nothing more curious than what's impossible." "so i have hit the vital spot, have i?" said the archduchess. "every great man has a mystery, particularly when he is a diplomatist. let me warn your eminence that i also am a witch, and that i can see into matters--if not curious and impossible--incredible." this was an incomprehensible enigma to all but the cardinal, for he was plainly embarrassed. the gentle eye of the austrian had flared with one of those fires denoting a storm gathering. but there was no thunderous outbreak, for she went on, restraining herself: "come my lord of taverney, make the feast complete by producing your magician. where is he? in what box have you put old hocus pocus?" "labrie, notify baron joseph balsamo that her royal highness the dauphiness desires to see him." "balsamo?" repeated the high lady, as the valet started off. "what an odd name!" "i fancy i have heard it before," murmured the cardinal. five minutes passed with none thinking of breaking the stillness, when andrea shuddered, for she heard before any other the step beneath the foliage. the branches were parted and right in front of marie antoinette, joseph balsamo appeared. chapter xi. a marvel of magic. humble was balsamo's bow; but immediately raising his intelligent and expressive brow, he fixed his clear eye, though with respect, on the chief guest, silently waiting for her to question him. "if you are the person baron taverney has mentioned, pray draw nigh that we may see what a magician is like." balsamo came a step nearer and bowed to marie antoinette. "so you make a business of foretelling?" said the latter, sipping the milk while regarding the new comer with more curiosity than she liked to betray. "i make no business of it, but i do foretell, please your royal highness?" was the answer. "educated in an enlightened faith, we place faith solely in the mysteries of our religion." "undoubtedly they are worthy of veneration," responded the other dialoguist with a profound congé. "but the cardinal de rohan here, though prince of the church, will tell you that they are not the only ones worthy of respect." the cardinal started, for his title had not been announced. not appearing to notice this revelation, marie antoinette pursued: "but you must allow that they alone cannot be controverted." "there can be fact as well as faith," replied balsamo, with the same respect but with the same firmness. "you speak a trifle darkly, my lord baron of magic. i am at heart a good frenchwoman, but not in mind, and do not yet understand all the fineness of the language. they say i shall soon pick it up, even to the puns. meanwhile, i must urge you to speak more plainly if you want my comprehension." "i ask your highness to let me dwell obscure," said the baron, with a melancholy smile. "i should feel too much regret to reveal to so great a princess a future not equal to her hopes." "dear me, this is becoming serious," said marie antoinette, "and abracadabra whets my curiosity in order to make me beg my fortune to be told." "heaven forbid my being forced into it," observed balsamo coldly. "of course, for you would be put to much pains for little result," laughed the princess. but her merriment died away without a courtier's echoing it; all suffered the influence of the mystic man who claimed the whole attention. "still it was you foretold my coming to taverney?" said the mighty lady, to which balsamo silently bowed. "how was the trick done, my lord baron?" "simply by looking into a glass of water, my liege lady," was the old noble's answer. "if that be truly your magic mirror, it is guileless at any rate; may your words be as clear!" the cardinal smiled, and the master of the place said: "your highness will not have to take lessons in punning." "nay, my dear host, do not flatter me, or flatter me better. it seems to me it was a mild quip; but, my lord," she resumed, turning toward balsamo by that irresistible attraction drawing us to a danger, "if you can read the future in a glass for a gentleman, may you not read it for a lady in a decanter?" "perfectly; but the future is uncertain, and i should shrink from saddening your royal highness if a cloud veiled it, as i have already had the honor to say." "do you know me beforetimes? where did you first see me?" "i saw you as a child beside your august mother, that mighty queen." "empress, my lord." "queen by heart and mind, but such have weaknesses when they think they act for their daughters' happiness." "i hope history will not record one single weakness in maria theresa," retorted the other. "because it does not know what is known solely to your highness, her mother and myself." "is there a secret among us three?" sneered the lady. "i must hear it." "in schoenbrunn palace is the saxony cabinet, where the empress sits in private. one morning, about seven, the empress not being up, your highness entered this study, and perceived a letter of hers, open, on the writing-table." the hearer blushed. "reading it, your highness took up a pen and struck out the three words beginning it." "speak them aloud!" "'my dear friend.'" marie antoinette bit her lips as she turned pale. "am i to tell to whom the letter was addressed?" inquired the seer. "no, no, but you may write it." the soothsayer took out his memorandum book fastening with a gilt clasp, and with a kind of pencil from which flowed ink, wrote on a leaf. detaching this page, he presented it to the princess, who read: "the letter was addressed to the marchioness of pompadour, mistress of king louis xv." the dauphiness' astounded look rose upon this clearly speaking man, with pure and steady voice, who appeared to tower over her although he bowed lowly. "all this is quite true," she admitted, "and though i am unaware how you could learn this secret, i am bound to allow, before all, that you speak true." "then i may retire upon this innocent proof of my science." "not so, my lord baron," said the princess, nettled; "the wiser you are, the more i long for your forecast. you have only spoken of the past, and i demand the future." her feverish agitation could not escape the bystanders. "let me at least consult the oracle, to learn whether the prediction may be revealed." "good or bad, i must hear it!" cried marie antoinette with growing irritation. "i shall not believe it if good, taking it for flattery; but bad, i shall regard it as a warning, and i promise any way not to bear you ill will. begin your witchcraft." balsamo took up the decanter with a broad mouth and stood it in a golden saucer. he raised it thus high up, and, after looking at it shook his head. "i cannot speak. some things must not be told to princes," he said. "because you have nothing to say?" and she smiled scornfully. balsamo appeared embarrassed, so that the cardinal began to laugh in his face and the baron grumbled. "my wizard is worn out," he said. "nothing is to follow but the gold turning into dry leaves, as in the arabian tale." "i would have preferred the leaves to all this show; for there is no shame in drinking from a nobleman's pewter goblet, while a dauphiness of france ought not to have to use the thimble-rigging cup of a charlatan." balsamo started erect as if a viper had bitten him. "your highness shall know your fate, since your blindness drives you to it." these words were uttered in a voice so steady but so threatening that the hearers felt icy chills in their veins. the lady turned pale visibly. "do not listen to him, my daughter," whispered the old governess in german to her ward. "let her hear, for since she wanted to know, know she shall!" said balsamo in the same language, which doubled the mystery over the incident. "but to you alone, lady." "be it so," said the latter. "stand back!" "i suppose this is just an artifice to get a private audience?" sneered she, turning again to the magician. "do not try to irritate me," said he; "i am but the instrument of a higher power, used to enlighten you. insult fate and it will revenge itself, well knowing how. i merely interpret its moves. do not fling at me the wrath which will recoil on yourself, for you can not visit on me the woes of which i am the sinister herald." "then there are woes?" said the princess, softened by his respectfulness and disarmed by his apparent resignation. "very great ones." "tell me all. first, will my family live happy?" "your misfortunes will not reach those you leave at home. they are personal to you and your new family. this royal family has three members, the duke of berry, the count of provence, and the count of artois. they will all three reign." "am i to have no son?" "sons will be among your offspring, but you will deplore that one should live and the other die." "will not my husband love me?" "too well. but his love and your family's support will fail you." "those of the people will yet be mine." "popular love and support--the ocean in a calm. have you seen it in a storm?" "i will prevent it rising, or ride upon the billows." "the higher its crest, the deeper the abyss." "heaven remains to me." "heaven does not save the heads it dooms." "my head in danger? shall i not reign a queen?" "yes--but would to god you never did." the princess smiled disdainfully. "hearken, and remember," proceeded balsamo. "did you remark the subject on the tapestry of the first room you entered on french ground? the massacre of the innocents; the ominous figures must have remained in your mind. during that storm, did you see that the lightning felled a tree on your left, almost to crush your coach? such presages are not to be interpreted but as fatal ones." letting her head fall upon her bosom, the princess reflected for a space before asking: "how will those three die?" "your husband the king will die headless; count provence, legless; and artois heartless." "but myself? i command you to speak, or i shall hold all this as a paltry trick. take care, my lord, for the daughter of maria theresa is not to be sported with--a woman who holds in hand the destinies of thirty millions of souls. you know no more, or your imagination is exhausted." balsamo placed the saucer and the decanter on a bench in the darkest nook of the arbor, which thus resembled a pythoness' cave; he led her within the gloom. "down on your knees," he said, alarming her by the action; "for you will seem to be imploring god to spare you the terrible outcome which you are to view." mechanically the princess obeyed, but as balsamo touched the crystal with his magic wand, some frightful picture no doubt appeared in it, for the princess tried to rise, reeled, and screamed as she fell in a swoon. they ran to her. "that decanter?" she cried, when revived. the water was limpid and stainless. the wonder-worker had disappeared! chapter xii. taverney's prospects brighten. the first to perceive the archduchess's fainting fit, was baron taverney who was on the lookout from being most uneasy about the interview. hearing the scream and seeing balsamo dart out of the bower he ran up. the first word of the dauphiness was to call for the bewitched decanter: her second to bid no harm to be done the sorcerer. it was time to say it, for philip taverney had rushed after the latter. she attributed the swoon to fever from the journey. she talked of sleeping for some hours, in andrea's room, but the governor of strasburg arrived in hot haste with a dispatch from versailles, and she had to receive lord stainville, who was brother in-law of the prime minister. opening this missive, the princess read: "the court presentation of lady dubarry is fixed on, if she can find a patroness, which we hope will not be. but the surest method of blocking the project is to have your royal highness here, in whose presence none will dare suggest such an offense." "very good. my horses must be put to. we depart at once." cardinal rohan looked at lord stainville as if for an explanation of this abrupt change. "the dauphin is in a hurry to see his wife," whispered the latter with such cunning that the churchman thought it had slipped his tongue and was satisfied with it. andrea had been trained by her father to understand royal freaks; she was not surprised at the contradiction. so the lady saw only smoothness on her face as she turned to her, saying: "thank you; your welcome has deeply touched me. baron, you are aware that i made the vow to benefit the first french gentleman and his family, whom i should meet on the frontier. but i am not going to stop at this point, and mademoiselle andrea is not to be forgotten. yes, i wish her to be my maid of honor. the brother will defend the king in the army, the sister will serve me; the father will instruct the first in loyalty, the other in virtue. i shall have enviable servitors, do you not agree?" she continued to philip, who was kneeling. "i will leave one of my carriages to bring you in my train. governor, name somebody to accompany my carriage for the taverneys, and notify that it is of my household." "beausire," called out the governor, "come forward." a sharp-eyed cavalier, some twenty-four years old, rode out from the escort and saluted. "set a guard over baron taverney's coach, and escort it." "we shall meet soon again, then," said the princess with a smile. "let us be off, my lords and gentlemen." in a quarter of an hour, all remaining of the whirling cavalcade was the carriage left in the avenue and the guardsman whose horse was cropping the dandelions. "where is the magician?" inquired taverney. "gone, too, my lord." "i never heard of the like--leaving all that valuable plate." "he left a note which gilbert is fretting to deliver." "father," said andrea, "i know what is tormenting you. you know i have thirty gold pieces, and the diamond-set watch queen maria leczinska gave my mother." "that is well," said the baron, "but keep it, though we must hunt up means for a handsome robe for your court presentation. hush! here is labrie." "the note, my lord, which was given gilbert by the strange gentleman." the baron snatched it from the servant and read in an undertone: "my lord: since an august hand touched this service of plate under your roof, it belongs to your lordship, and i pray you to keep it as a memento, and sometimes to remember, your grateful guest, balsamo." "labrie, is there a good goldsmith at bar-le-duc?" "yes, my lord, the one who mended our young lady's jewelry." "put aside the cup the princess used, and pack up the rest of the plate in our carriage. and then, haste to the cellar and serve that officer with all the liquor left. come, come, andrea, courage! we are going to court, a splendid place where the sun never fails. you are naturally lovely and have only to set the gem becomingly to outshine them all." nicole followed andrea to her room. "i am off to arrange my titles of nobility and proofs of service," continued the baron, trotting to his room briskly. "we shall be off from this den in an hour; do you hear, andrea? and we leave by the golden gates, too. what a trump that magician is! really, i have become as superstitious as the devil's own. but make haste, labrie!" he cried to his man groping about in the cellar. "i can't get on faster, master--we have not a candle left." "it is plain that we are getting out in the right time," thought the baron. chapter xiii. nicole's dower. nicole aided her young mistress in her traveling preparations with ardor which speedily dissipated the cloud risen that morning between maid and mistress. the latter smiled as she found that she would have no need to scold her. "she is a good, devoted girl and grateful," she mused; "only she has weaknesses, like all womankind. let us forget." on her part, nicole was not the girl not to watch her mistress' face, and she saw the kindliness increasing. "i was a fool nearly to get into a scrape with her for that rascal gilbert, when she is going to town, where everybody makes a fortune." "put my lace in my box. stop! i gave you that box, i remember; and you will want it, as you are going to set up housekeeping." "oh, my lady," said nicole, reddening, and replying merrily, "my wedding garments will be easily kept in no great space." "how so? i want you to be well off when you wed." "have you found me a rich match?" "no, but a dower of twenty-five gold pieces." "you would give me such a treasure!" emotion followed her surprise, and tears gushed into her eyes as she kissed andrea's hand. nicole began to think that gilbert had rejected her from fear of poverty, and that now she had funds, she had better marry the ambitious spark to whom she would appear more desirable. but a germ of pride mingled with the generosity, as she wanted to humble one who had jilted her. "it looks as though you really loved your gilbert," observed the lady. "how incredible for something in the lad to please you. i must have a look at this lady-killer next time i see him." nicole eyed her with lingering doubt. was this deep hypocrisy or perfect ignorance? "is gilbert coming to paris with us?" she inquired, to be settled on the point. "what for? he is not a domestic and is not fitted for a parisian establishment. the loungers about taverney are like the birds which can pick up a living on their own ground; but in paris a hanger-on would cost too much, and we cannot tolerate that. if you marry him, you must stay here. i give you an hour to decide between my household or your husband's. i detest these connubial details and will not have a married servant. in any case, here is the money; marry, and have it as dower; follow me, and it is your first two years' wages, in advance." nicole took the purse from her hand and kissed it. the lady watched her go away and muttered: "she is happy, for she loves." nicole in five minutes was at the window of gilbert's room, at the back of which he was turning over his things. "i have come to tell you that my mistress wants me to go with her to paris." "good!" said the young man. "unless i get married and settled here." "are you thinking still of that?" he asked, without any feeling. "particularly, since i am rich from my lady dowering me," and she showed the bright gold. "a pretty sum," he said drily. "that is not all. my lord is going to be rich. he will rebuild the castle, and the house will have to be guarded----" "by the happy mate of nicole," suggested gilbert with irony, not sufficiently wrapped up not to wound the girl, though she contained herself. "i refuse the offer, for i am not going to bury myself here when paris is open to me also. paris is my stage, do you understand?" "and mine, and i understand you. you may not regret me; but you will fear me, and blush to see to what you drive me. i longed to be an honest woman, but, when i was leaning over the verge, you repulsed me instead of pulling me back. i am slipping and i shall fall, and heaven will ask you to account for the loss. farewell, gilbert!" the proud girl spun round without anger now, or impatience, having exhausted all her generosity of soul. gilbert quietly closed the window and resumed the mysterious business which nicole's coming had interrupted. she returned to her mistress with a deliberate air. "i shall not marry," she said. "but your great love?" "it is not worth the kindness your ladyship has done me. i belong to you and shall ever so belong. i know the mistress which heaven gave me; but i might never know the master whom i give myself." andrea was touched by this display of emotion, which she was far from expecting in the maid. she was of course ignorant that nicole was making her a pillow to fall back upon. she smiled to believe a human creature was better than she estimated. "you are doing right," she said. "if bliss befalls me, you shall have your share. but did you settle with your sweetheart?" "i told him that i would have no more to do with him." she was restored to her former suspicions, and it was fated that the two should never understand each other--one with her diamond purity and the other with her tendency to evil. meanwhile, the baron had packed up his scanty valuables, and labrie shouldered the half-empty trunk, containing them, to accompany his master out to where the corporal of guards was finishing the wine to the last drop. this soldier gallant had remarked the fine waist and pretty limbs of nicole, and he was prowling round the pool to see her again. he was drawn from his reverie by the baron calling for his carriage. saluting him, he called in a ringing voice for the driver to come up the avenue. labrie put the trunk on the rack behind with unspeakable pride and delight. "i am going to ride in the royal coaches," he muttered. "but up behind, my old boy," corrected beausire, with a patronizing smile. "who is to keep taverney if you take labrie, father?" inquired andrea. "that lazy philosopher, gilbert; with his gun he will have ample to eat, i warrant, for there is plenty of game at taverney." andrea looked at nicole, who laughed and added: "he is a sly dog; he will not starve." "leave him a trifle," suggested andrea. "it will spoil him. he is bad enough now. if he wants anything we will send him help." "he would not accept money, my lord." "your gilbert must be pretty proud, then?" "thank heaven, he is no longer my gilbert!" "deuse take gilbert, whoever's property he is," said taverney, to cut short what annoyed his selfishness. "the coach is stopping the way; get in, daughter." andrea gave the house a farewell glance and stepped into the vehicle. the baron installed himself next her; labrie in his glorious livery and nicole got upon the box, for the driver turned himself into a postillion and bestrode one of the horses. "but the corporal?" queried the baron. "i ride my charger," responded beausire, ogling nicole, who colored up with pleasure at having so soon replaced the rustic lad with a stylish cavalier. gilbert stood with his hat off at the gate, and, without seeming to see, looked on andrea alone. she was bending out of the opposite window to watch the house to the last. "stop a bit," ordered baron taverney; "hark you, master idler," he said to gilbert, "you ought to be a happy dog to be left by yourself, as suits a true philosopher, with nobody to bother you or upbraid you. don't let the house catch afire while you brood, and take care of the watchdog. go ahead, coachman!" gilbert slammed the gates, groaning for want of oil, and ran back to his little room, where he had his little bundle ready. it also contained his savings in a silver piece. mahon was howling when he came out, and straining at his chain. "am i not cast off like a dog? why should not a dog be cast off like a man? no, you shall at least be free to seek your livelihood like myself." the liberated dog ran round the house, but finding all the doors closed, he bounded the ruins. "now we are going to see who fares the better--man or dog," said gilbert. "farewell, mansion where i have suffered and where all despised me! where bread was cast to me with the reproach that i was stealing it by making no return. farewell--no, curses on you! my heart leaps with joy at no longer being jailed up in your walls. forever be accursed, prison, hell, lair of tyrants!" chapter xiv. the outcast's luck. but in his long journey to paris he had often to regret this abode which he had cursed. sore, wearied, famished--for he had lost his coin--he fell in the dusty highway, but with clenched fists and eyes glaring with rage. "out of the way, there!" yelled a hoarse voice, amid cracking of a whip. he did not hear, for his senses left him. he remained before the hoofs of the horses, drawing a postchaise up a side road between vauclere and thieblemont, which he had not perceived. a scream pealed from inside the carriage, which the horses were whirling along like a feather on the gale. the postboy made a superhuman effort and managed to keep his horses from trampling on the boy, though one of the leaders gave him a kick. "good god!" screamed a woman again; "you have crushed the unhappy child." the lady traveler got out, and the postillion alighted to lift gilbert's body from under the wheel. "what luck!" said the man; "dashed if he be hurted--only swooned." "with fright, i suppose." "i'll drag him to the roadside, and let us go on, since your ladyship is in hot haste." "i cannot possibly leave this poor boy in such a plight. so young, poor little thing! it is some truant scholar undertaking a journey beyond his powers. how pale he is--he will die. no, no! i will not abandon him. put him inside, on the front seat." the postboy obeyed the lady, who had already got in the berlin, as were called such carriages. gilbert was put on a good cushion with his back supported by the padded sides. "away you go again," said the lady. "ten minutes lost, for which you must make up, while i will pay you the more." when gilbert came to his senses he found himself in the coach, swept along by three posthorses. he was not a little surprised, too, to be almost in the lap of a young woman who attentively studied him. she was not more than twenty-five. she had cheeks scorched by the southern sun, with a turn-up nose and gray eyes. a clear character of cunning and circumspection was given to her open and jovial countenance by the little mouth of delicate and fanciful design. her arms, the finest in the world, were molded in violet velvet sleeves adorned with gilt buttons. nearly the whole vehicle was filled up by the wavy folds of her large flower-patterned gray silk dress. as the countenance was smiling and expressed interest, gilbert stared for fear he was in a dream. "well, are you better, my little man?" asked she. "where am i?" counter-queried gilbert, who had learned this phrase from novels, where alone it is used. "in safety, my dear little fellow," replied the lady in a southern accent. "a while ago you ran great risk of being smashed under my carriage wheels. what happened you, to drop on the highroad right in the middle?" "i swooned from having walked some eighteen leagues since four yesterday afternoon, or, rather, run." "whither are you bound?" "to versailles, lady. i come from taverney, a castle between pierrefitte and bar-le-duc." "did you not give yourself time to eat?" "i had neither the time nor the means, for i lost a bit of money, and i soon ate the crusts i carried." "poor boy! but you might have asked for more bread." "i am too proud, lady," said gilbert, smiling loftily. "pride is all very well, but not when it lets one die of hunger." "death before disgrace!" "hello! where did you learn such talk?" "not at home, for i am an orphan. my name is gilbert, and no more." "some by-blow of a country squire," thought the woman. "you are very young to roam the highway," she continued. "i was not roaming," said the youth, who thought the truth would recommend him to a woman. "i was following a carriage." "with your lady love in it? dear me! there is a romance in your adventure?" gilbert was not enough his own master not to redden. "what was the carriage, my little cato?" "one of the dauphiness' retinue." "what, is she ahead of us?" exclaimed the woman. "are they not making a fuss over her along the route?" "they wanted to, but she pressed on after having talked of staying for rest at taverney castle, for a letter came from versailles, they said, and she was off in three-quarters of an hour." "a letter?" "brought by the governor of strasburg." "lord stainville? duke choiseul's brother? the mischief! whip on, postillion! faster, faster!" the whip snapped and gilbert felt the vehicle jump with more velocity. "we may outstrip her if she stops for breakfast, or at night," meditated the woman. "postillion, which is the next town of any account?" "vitry." "where do we change horses?" "vauclere." "go on; but tell me if you see a string of carriages on the main road. poor child!" she continued, seeing how pale gilbert was; "it is my fault for making him chatter when he is dying of hunger and thirst." to make up for the lost time, she took out a traveling flask with a silver cap as stopper, into which she poured a cordial. "drink that and eat a cake," she said, "until you can have a substantial breakfast in an hour or two. now, as you are a whit refreshed, tell me, if you have any trust in me, what interest you have in following the carriage belonging to the dauphiness' train?" he related his story with much clearness. "cheer up," she said. "i congratulate you. but you must know that one cannot live on courage at versailles or paris." "but one can by toil." "that's so. but you have not the hands of a craftsman or laborer." "i will work with my head." "yes, you appear rather knowing." "i know i am ignorant," said gilbert, recalling socrates. "you will make a good doctor, then, since a doctor is one who administers drugs of which he knows little into a body of which he knows less. in ten years i promise you my custom." "i shall try to deserve the honor, lady," replied gilbert. the horses were changed without their having overtaken the royal party, which had stopped for the same and to breakfast at vitry. the lady offered bounteously for the distance between to be covered, but the postillion dared not outstrip the princess--a crime for which he would be sent to prison for life. "if i might suggest," observed gilbert, "you could cut ahead by a by-road." the vehicle therefore turned off to the right and came out on the main road at chalons. the princess had breakfasted at vitry, but was so tired that she was reposing, having ordered the horses to be ready to start again at three or four p. m. this so delighted the lady traveler that she paid the postboy lavishly and said to gilbert: "we shall have a feast at the next posting house." but it was decreed that gilbert should not dine there. the change of horses was to be at chaussee village. the most remarkable object here was a man who stood in the mid-road, as if on duty there. he looked along it and on a long-tailed barb which was hitched to a window shutter and neighed fretfully for its master to come out of the cottage. at length the man knocked on the shutter, and called. "i say, sir," he demanded of the man who showed his head at the window, "if you want to sell that horse, here is the customer." "not for sale," replied the peasant, banging the shutter to. this did not satisfy the stranger, who was a lusty man of forty, tall and ruddy, with coarse hands in lace ruffles. he wore a laced cocked hat crosswise, like soldiers who want to scare rustics. "you are not polite," he said, hammering on the shutter. "if you do not open, i shall smash in the blind." the panel opened at this menace and the clown reappeared. "who does this arab belong to?" "a lady lodging here, who is very fond of it." "let me speak with her." "can't; she is sleeping." "ask her if she wants five hundred pistoles for the barb." "that is a right royal price." and the rustic opened his eyes widely. "just, so; the king wants the creature." "you are not the king." "but i represent him, and he is in a hurry." "i must not wake her." "then i shall!" and he swung up a cane with a gold head in his herculean fist. but he lowered it without hitting, for at the same instant he caught sight of a carriage tearing up the slope behind three fagged horses. the skilled eye of the would-be buyer recognized the vehicle, for he rushed toward it with a speed the arabian might have envied. it was the post carriage of gilbert's guardian angel, which the postboy was enchanted to stop, on seeing the man wave him to do so, for he knew the nags would never reach the post house. "chon, my dear chon," said the stranger. "what joy that you turn up, at last!" "it is i, jean," replied the lady to whom was given this odd name; "what are you doing here?" "a pretty question, by jove! i was waiting for you." the hercules stepped on the folding-step, and kissed the lady through the window. suddenly he caught sight of gilbert, and turned as black as a dog from which is snatched a bone, from not knowing the terms between the pair in the berlin. "it is a most amusing little philosopher whom i picked up," returned chon, caring little whether she wounded the pet's feelings or not, "on the road--but never mind him." "another matter indeed worries us. what about the old countess of bearn?" asked jean. "i have done the job, and she will come. i said i was her lawyer's daughter, mademoiselle flageot, and that, passing through verdun, i repeated from my father that her case was coming on. i added that she must appear in person, whereupon she opened her gray eyes, took a pinch of snuff, and saying lawyer flageot was the first of business men, she gave orders for her departure." "splendid, chon! i appoint you my ambassador extraordinary. come and have breakfast!" "only too glad, for this poor boy is dying of hunger. but we must make haste, for the dauphiness is only three leagues off." "plague! that changes the tune. go on to the posting house, with me hanging on as i am." in five minutes the coach was at the inn door, where chon ordered cutlets, fowl, wine and eggs, as they had to be off forthwith. "excuse me, lady, but it will have to be with your own horses, for all mine are out. if you find one at the manger, i will eat it." "you ought to have some, for the regulations require it. let me tell you," thundered jean with a hectoring air, "i am not the man to jest." "if i had fifty in the stable it would be the same as none, for they are all held on the dauphiness' service." "fifty, and you would not let us have three?" said jean; "i do not ask for eight, to which number royal highnesses are entitled, but three." "you shall not have one," returned the post master, springing in between the stables and the obstinate gentleman. "blunderhead, do you know who i am?" cried the other, pale with rage. "viscount," interposed chon, "in heaven's name, no disorder." "you are right, my dear; no more words; only deeds." he turned to the innkeeper, saying, "i shall shield you from responsibility by taking three horses myself." "it must not be done, i tell 'ee." "do not help him harness," said the posting house keeper to the grooms. "jean," said chon, "don't get into a scrape. on an errand one must put up with anything." "except delay," replied viscount jean with the utmost ease. and he began taking down three sets of harness, which he threw on three horses' backs. "mind, master," said the post master, as he followed jean, leading the horses out to the coach, "this is high treason." "i am not stealing the royal horses but taking them on loan." the innkeeper rushed at the reins but the strong man sent him spinning. "brother, oh, brother!" screamed chon. "only her brother!" muttered gilbert. chapter xv. taverney to the rescue. at this period a window in the cottage opened and a lovely woman's face appeared, above the arabian courser, the uproar having aroused her. "the very person wanted," cried jean. "fair lady, i offer you five hundred pistoles for your horse." "my horse?" questioned the lady in bad french. "yes, the barb hitched there." "not for sale," and the lady slammed the window. "come, come, i am not in luck this day," said jean, "for folk will neither sell nor hire. confound it all! i shall take the arab, if not for sale, and the coach horses if not for hire, and run them to their last legs. put the horses to," he concluded to the lady traveler's lackey, who was on the coach. "help me, boys?" shouted the post master to his hostlers. "oh, don't," cried chon to her brother; "you will only be massacred." "massacred, with three to three? for i count on your philosopher," said jean, shouting to gilbert, who was stupefied. "get out and pitch in with a cane, or a rock, or the fist. and don't look like a plaster image!" here the burlesque battle began, with the horses pulled between jean and their owner. the stronger man hurled the latter into the duckpond, where he floundered among the frightened ducks and geese. "help! murder!" he shrieked, while the viscount hastened to get the fresh horses into the traces. "help, in the king's name!" yelled the innkeeper, rallying his two grooms. "who claims help in the royal name?" challenged a horseman who suddenly galloped into the inn yard and pulled up his reeking steed amid the fighting party. "lieutenant philip de taverney!" exclaimed gilbert, sinking back deeper than ever in the carriage corner. chon, who let nothing slip her, caught this name. the young officer of the dauphin's dragoon guards leaped off his horse amid the scene, which was attracting all the villagers. the innkeeper ran up to him imploringly as the saver. "officer, this gentleman is trying to take away the horses kept for her royal highness," he faltered. "gentleman?" queried philip. "yes, this gentleman;" retorted jean. "you mistake, you are mad--or no gentleman," replied the chevalier of redcastle. "my dear lieutenant, you are wrong on both points," said the viscount; "i have my senses, and i am entitled to ride in the royal carriages." "how dare you, then, lay hands on the horses for the royal princess?" "because there are fifty here and the _royals_ are entitled to but eight. am i to go afoot when lackeys have four nags to draw them?" "if it is the order of his majesty, they may have what they like. so be good enough to make your fellow take back those horses." "yes, if you are on duty to guard them, lieutenant," replied jean; "but i did not know that the dauphiness' dragoons were set to guard grooms. better shut your eyes, tell your squad to do the same, and i wish you a pleasant journey!" "you are wrong, sir; i am on duty, as the dauphiness has sent me forward to look after the relays." "that is different. but allow the remark that you are on paltry duty, and the young bonnibel is shamefully treating the army----" "of whom are you speaking in such terms?" interrupted philip. "oh, only of that austrian beauty." taverney turned pale as his cravat, but in his usual calm voice he said, as he caught hold of the bridle: "do me the pleasure to acquaint me with your name?" "if you are bent upon that--i am viscount jean dubarry." "what, brother of that notorious----" "who will send you to rot in the bastille prison, if you add a word to the adjective." the viscount sprang into the coach, up to the door of which went the baron's son. "if you do not come forth in a second i give you my word of honor that i shall run my sword through your body." having hold of the door with his left hand, pulling against the viscount, he drew his sword with the other. "the idea!" said chon; "this is murder. give up the horses, jean." "oh, you threaten me, do you?" hissed the viscount, exasperated, and snatching his sword from the cushion. "we shall never get away at this rate," whispered chon; "do smooth the officer down." "neither violence nor gentleness will stay me in my duty," observed taverney, politely bowing to the young woman. "advise obedience to the gentleman, or in the name of the king, whom i represent, i shall kill him if he will fight me, or arrest him if he refuses." "shall i lug him out, lieutenant?" asked the corporal, who had taverney's half-dozen men as escort. "no, this is a personal quarrel," said his superior. "you need not interfere." there was truly no need; for, after three minutes, jean dubarry drew back from the conflict with redcastle, his sleeve dyed with blood. "go, sir," said the victor, "and do not play such pranks any more." "tush, i pay for them," grumbled the viscount. luckily three horses came in which would do for the change, and the innkeeper was only too glad to get rid of the turbulent viscount at their price. as he mounted the carriage steps, he grumbled at gilbert's being in the way. "hush, brother," said chon; "he knows the man who wounded you. he is philip of taverney." "then we shall be even yet," said the viscount, with a gleam of gladness. "you are on the high horse at present, my little dragoon," he shouted out to taverney; "but turn about is fair play." "to the return, if you please," replied the officer. "yes, chevalier philip de taverney!" called jean, watching for the effect of the sudden declaration of his name. indeed, his hearer raised his head with sharp surprise, in which entered some unease, but recovering himself and lifting his hat, he rejoined with the utmost grace: "a pleasant journey, chevalier jean dubarry!" "a thousand thunders," swore the viscount, grinning horribly as the coach started. "i am in acute pain, chon, and shall want a surgeon sooner than breakfast." "we will get one at the first stop while this youth has his meal." "excuse me," said gilbert, as the invalid expressed a desire to drink. "but strong drink is bad for you at present." "what, are you a doctor as well as philosopher?" queried jean. "not yet, my lord; though i hope to be one some day. but i read that wounded patients must not take anything heated. but if you will let me have your handkerchief, i will dip it in water at the first spring and cool the wound by bandaging it." the carriage was stopped for gilbert to get out and wet the cambric. "this youngster is dreadfully in the way for us to talk business," said dubarry. "pshaw! we will talk in the southern dialect," said chon; and it was thanks to this precaution that the two communed to the puzzlement of the youth on the rest of the journey. but he had the consolation of thinking that he had comforted a viscount who stood in the king's favor. if andrea only saw him now! he did not think of nicole. "hello!" broke off the viscount, as he looked behind out of the window. "here comes that arab with the strange woman on its back. i would give a thousand pistoles for that steed, and a fortune for the beauty." the black-eyed woman wrapped in a white cloak, with her brow shaded by a broad-brimmed felt hat with long feathers, flew by like an arrow along the roadside, crying: "_avanti_, djerid!" "she says 'forward!' in italian," said the viscount. "oh, the lovely creature. if i were not in such pain, i would jump out and after her." "you could not catch her, on that horse. it is the magician, and she is his wife." "magician?" questioned the dubarrys together. "yes, baron joseph balsamo." the sister looked at the brother as much as to say: "was i not right to keep him?" and he nodded emphatically. chapter xvi. the king's favorite. in the apartments of princess adelaide, daughter of king louis x., he had housed the countess jeanne dubarry, his favorite since a year, not without studying the effect it would have on the realm. the jolly, mirthful, devil-may-care mad-cap had transformed the silent palace into a monkey-house, where any one was tolerated who kept the fun alive. at about nine in the morning, the hour of her reception, jeanne vaubernier, to give her her true name, stepped out of her couch, wrapped in an embroidered gauze gown which allowed a glimpse through the floating lace of her alabaster arms. this seductive statue, awakening more and more, drew a lace mantle over her shoulders and held out her little foot for a slipper which, with its jewels, would enrich a woodcutter in her native woods had he found it. "any news of chon, or the viscount jean?" she asked at once of her chambermaid. "none, and no letters, my lady." "what a bore to be kept waiting!" pouted the royal pet, with a pretty wry face. "will they never invent a method of corresponding a hundred miles apart? faith, i pity anybody i visit with my vexation this day. but i suppose that, as this star the dauphiness is coming, i, the poor glowworm, will be left alone. who is waiting, tell me?" "duke daiguillon, prince soubise, count sartines and president maupeou." "but the duke of richelieu?" "he has not yet come." "no more than yesterday. that political weathercock has turned from me. he is afraid to be injured, doris. you must send to his house to ask after him." "yes, my lady; but the king is here." "very well; i am ready." the fifteenth louis entered the room with a smile on his lips and his head upright. he was accompanied solely by a gentleman in black, who tried by a smile to counteract the baleful effect of thin, hard lips and severe gray eyes. it was lieutenant of police sartines. the waiting maid and a little negro boy were in the room; but they were not counted. "good-morning, countess," hailed the monarch; "how fresh we are looking to-day. don't be afraid of sartines; he is not going to talk business, i trust. oh, how magnificent zamore is looking!" the blackamoor was appareled with the barbaric splendor in which othello was attired at that period. "sire, he has a favor to crave of your majesty." "he seems to me very ambitious, after having been granted by you the greatest boon one can desire--being your slave, like myself." sartines bowed, smiling, but bit his lips at the same time. "how delightful you are, sire," said the countess. "i adore you, france!" she whispered in the royal ear, and set him smiling. "well, what do you desire for zamore?" "recompense for his long service----" "he is only twelve years old!" "you will be paying him in advance; that is a good way of not being treated with ingratitude." "capital idea! what do you think, sartines?" asked the king. "i support it, as all devoted subjects will gain by it." "well, sire, i want zamore to be appointed governor of my summer residence, luciennes, which shall be created a royal place." "it would be a parody and make all the governors of the royal places protest, and with reason." "a good thing, for they are always making a noise for nothing. zamore, kneel down and thank his majesty for the favor. sire, you have another royal property from this time forward. get up, zamore. you are appointed." "sartines, do you know the way to refuse this witch anything?" "if there is one, it is not yet out into practice, sire." "when found, i wager it will be by chief of police sartines. i am expecting him to find me something--and i have been on thorns about it for three months. i want a magician." "to have him burnt alive?" asked the sovereign, while sartines breathed again. "it is warm weather, now; wait for winter." "not to burn him, but to give him a golden rod, sire." "oh, did he predict some ill which has not happened?" "nay, a blessing which came to pass." "tell us, countess," said louis, settling down in an easy chair, like one who is not sure he will be pleased or oppressed but will risk it. "i am agreeable, sire, only you must share in rewarding him." "i must make the present entirely." "that is right royal." "i listen." "it begins like a fairy tale. once upon a time, a poor girl was walking the streets of paris, what time she had neither pages, carriages, negro boy to hold up her train and enrage the dowagers, or parrot or monkey. crossing the tuileries gardens, she suddenly perceived that she was pursued." "deuce take it! thereupon she stopped," said the king. "fie! it is clear that your experience has been in following duchesses or marchionesses. she was the more alarmed as a thick fog came on, and the chaser emerged from it upon her. she screamed." "for the rogue was ugly?" "no, he was a bright and handsome young man; but still she sued him to spare her from harm. he smiled charmingly and called heaven as witness that he had no such intention. he only wanted her pledge to grant him a favor when--when she should be a queen. she thought she was not binding herself much with such a promise, and the man disappeared." "sartines is very wrong in not finding him." "sire, i do not refuse, but i cannot." "cannot ought not to be in the police dictionary," said dubarry. "we have a clew." "ha, ha! that is the old story." "it is the truth. the fault is that your description is so slight." "slight? she painted him so brightly that i forbid you to find the dog." "i only want to ask a piece of information." "what for, when his prophecy is accomplished?" "if i am almost a queen, i want to ask him when i shall be placed in the court." "presented formally?" "it is not enough to reign in the night; i want to reign a little in the daytime." "that is not the magician's business, but mine," said louis, frowning at the conversation getting upon delicate ground. "or rather yours, for all that is wanted is an introductress." "among the court prudes--all sold to choiseul or praslin?" "pray let us have no politics here." "if i am not to speak, i shall act without speaking, and upset the ministers without any further notice." at this juncture the maid doris entered and spoke a word to her mistress. "it is chon, who comes from traveling and begs to present her respects to your majesty." "let us have chon in, for i have missed something lately, and it may be her." "i thank your majesty," said chon, coming in, and hastening to whisper to her sister in kissing her: "i have done it." the countess could not repress an outcry of delight. "i am so glad to see her." "quite so; go on and chat with her while i confer with sartines to learn whence you come, chon." "sire," said sartines, eager to avoid the pinch, "may i have a moment for the most important matter?--about these seers, illuminati, miracle workers----" "quacks? make them take out licenses as conjurers at a high figure, and they will not be any cause of fear." "sire, the situation is more serious than most believe. new masonic lodges are being opened. this society has become a sect to which is affiliated all the foes of the monarchy, the idealists, encyclopedists and philosophers. voltaire has been received at court." "a dying man." "only his pretense. all are agitating, writing, speaking, corresponding, plotting and threatening. from some words dropped, they are expecting a leader." "when he turns up, sartines, we will turn him down, in the bastille." "these philosophers whom you despise will destroy the monarchy." "in what space of time, my lord?" "how can i tell?" said the chief of police, looking astonished. "ten, fifteen or more years." "my dear friend, in that time i shall be no more; tell this to my successor." he turned away, and this was the opportunity that the favorite was waiting for, since she heaved a sigh, and said: "oh, gracious, chon, what are you telling me? my poor brother jean so badly wounded that his arm will have to be amputated!" "oh, wounded in some street affray or in a drinking-saloon quarrel?" "no, sire! attacked on the king's highway and nearly murdered." "murdered?" repeated the ruler, who had no feelings, but could finely feign them. "this is in your province, sartines." "can such a thing have happened?" said the chief of police, apparently less concerned than the king, but in reality more so. "i saw a man spring on my brother," said chon, "force him to draw his sword and cut him grievously." "was the ruffian alone?" "he had half a dozen bullies with him." "poor viscount forced to fight," sighed the monarch, trying to regulate the amount of his grief by the countess'; but he saw that she was not pretending. "and wounded?" he went on, in a heartbroken tone. "but what was the scuffle about?" asked the police lieutenant, trying to see into the affair. "most frivolous; about posthorses, disputed for with the viscount, who was in a hurry to help me home to my sister, whom i had promised to join this morning." "this requires retaliation, eh, sartines?" said the king. "it looks so, but i will inquire into it. the aggressor's name and rank?" "i believe he is a military officer, in the dauphiness' dragoon guards, and named something like baverne, or faver--stop--it is taverney." "to-morrow he will sleep in prison," said the chief of police. "oh, dear, no," interrupted the countess out of deep silence; "that is not likely, for he is but an instrument and you will not punish the real instigators of the outrage. it is the work of the duke of choiseul. i shall leave the field free for my foes, and quit a realm where the ruler is daunted by his ministers." "how dare you?" cried louis, offended. chon understood that her sister was going too far, and she struck in. she plucked her sister by the dress and said: "sire, my sister's love for our poor brother carries her away. i committed the fault and i must repair it. as the most humble subject of your majesty, i merely apply for justice." "that is good; i only ask to deal justice. if the man has done wrong, let him be chastised." "am i asking anything else?" said the countess, glancing pityingly at the monarch, who was so worried elsewhere and seldom tormented in her rooms. "but i do not like my suspicions snubbed." "your suspicions shall be changed to certainty by a very simple course. we will have the duke of choiseul here. we will confront the parties at odds, as the lawyers say." at this moment the usher opened the door and announced that the prince royal was waiting in the king's apartments to see him. "it is written i shall have no peace," grumbled louis. but he was not sorry to avoid the wrangle with choiseul, and he brightened up. "i am going, countess. farewell! you see how miserable i am with everybody pulling me about. ah, if the philosophers only knew what a dog's life a king has--especially when he is king of france." "but what am i say to the duke of choiseul?" "send him to me, countess." kissing her hand, trembling with fury, he hastened away as usual, fearing every time to lose the fruit of a battle won by palliatives and common cunning. "alas! he escapes us again!" wailed the courtesan, clenching her plump hands in vexation. chapter xvii. a royal clock-repairer. in the hall of the clocks, in versailles palace, a pink-cheeked and meek-eyed young gentleman was walking about with a somewhat vulgar step. his arms were pendent and his head sunk forward. he was in his seventeenth year. he was recognizable as the king's heir by being the living image of the bourbon race, most exaggerated. louis auguste, duke of berry and heir to the throne as the dauphin, soon wearied of his lounge and stopped to gaze with the air of one who understood horology, on the great clock in the back of the hall. it was a universal machine, which told of time to the century, with the lunar phases and the courses of the planets, and was always the prince's admiration. suddenly the hands on which his eyes were fastened came to a standstill. a grain of sand had checked the mechanism, and the master-piece was dead. on seeing this misfortune, the royal one forgot what he had come to do. he opened the clock-case glazed door, and put his head inside to see what was the matter. all at once he uttered a cry of joy, for he had spied a screw loose, of which the head had worked up and caught another part of the machinery. with a tortoise shell pick in one hand, and holding the wheel with the other, he began to fix the screw, with his head in the box. thus absorbed he never heard the usher at the door, cry out: "the king!" louis was some time glancing about before he spied the prince's legs as he stood half eclipsed before the clock. "what the deuse are you doing there?" he asked, as he tapped his son on the shoulder. the amateur clockmaker drew himself out with the proper precautions for so noble a timepiece. "oh, your majesty, i was just _killing time_ while you were not present." "by murdering my clock! pretty amusement!" "oh, no, only setting it to rights. a screw was loose and----" "never mind mechanics! what do you want of me? i am eager to be off to marly." he started for the door, always trying to avoid awkward situations. "is it money you are after? i will send you some." "nay, i have savings out of my last quarter's money." "what a miser, and yet a spendthrift was his tutor! i believe he has all the virtues missing in me." "sire, is not the bride near at hand yet?" "your bride? i should say fifty leagues off. are you in a hurry." the prince royal blushed. "i am not eager for the motive you think." "no? so much the worse. hang it all! you are sixteen and the princess very pretty. you are warranted in being impatient." "cannot the ceremonies be curtailed, for at this rate she will be an age coming. i don't think the traveling arrangements are well made." "the mischief! thirty thousand horses placed along the route, with men and carts and coaches--how can you believe there is bad management when i have made all these arrangements?" "sire, in spite of these, i am bound to say that i think, as in the case of your clock, there is a screw loose. the progress has been right royally arranged, but did your majesty make it fully understood that all the horses, men and vehicles were to be employed by the dauphiness?" a vague suspicion annoyed the monarch, who looked hard at his heir; this suggestion agreed with another idea fretting him. "certainly," he replied. "of course you are satisfied, then? the bride will arrive on time, and she is properly attended to. you are rich with your savings, and you can wind up my clock and set it going again. i have a good mind to appoint you clockmaker extraordinary to the royal household, do you hear?" and, laughing, he was going to snatch the opportunity to slip away, when, as he opened the door, he faced a man on the sill. louis drew back a step. "choiseul!" he exclaimed. "i had forgotten she was to send him to me. never mind, he shall pay for my son irritating me. so you have come, my lord? you heard i wanted you?" "yes, sire," replied the prime minister, coldly. "i was dressing to come, any way." "good; i have serious matters to discuss," said the sovereign, frowning to intimidate the minister, who was, unfortunately, the hardest man to browbeat in the kingdom. "very serious matters i have to discuss, too," he replied, with a glance for the dauphin, who was skulking behind the clock. "oho!" thought the king; "my son is my foe, too. i am in a triangle with woman, minister and son, and cannot escape." "i come to say that the viscount jean----" "was nearly murdered in an ambush?" "nay, that he was wounded in the forearm in a duel. i know it perfectly." "so do i, and i will tell you the true story." "we listen," responded choiseul. "for the prince is concerned in the affray, so far as it was on account of the dauphiness." "the dauphiness and jean dubarry in some way connected?" questioned the king. "this is getting curious. pray explain, my lord, and conceal nothing. was it the princess who gave the swordthrust to dubarry?" "not her highness, but one of the officers of her escort," replied choiseul, as calm as ever. "one whom you know?" "no, sire; but your majesty ought to know him, if your majesty remembers all his old servants; for his father fought for you at fontenoy, philipsburg and mahon--he is a taverney redcastle." the dauphin mutely repeated the title to engrave it on his mind. "certainly, i know the redcastles," returned louis. "why did he fight against jean, whom i like--unless because i like him? absurd jealousy, outbreaks of discontent, and partial sedition!" "does the defender of the royal princess deserve this reproach?" said the duke. "i must say," said the prince, rising erect and folding his arms, "i am grateful to the young gentleman who risked his life for a lady who will shortly be my wife." "what did he risk his life for?" queried the king. "because the chevalier jean in a hurry wanted to take the horses set aside by your majesty for the royal bride." the king bit his lips and changed color, for the new way of presenting the case was again a menacing phantom. "yes, chevalier dubarry was putting the insult on the royal house of taking the reserved royal horses, when up came the chevalier redcastle, sent onward by her highness, and after much civil remonstrance----" "oh!" protested the king. "civil--a military man?" "it was so," interposed the dauphin. "i have been fully informed. dubarry whipped out his sword----" "was he the first to draw?" demanded the king. the prince blushed and looked to choiseul for support. "the fact is, the two crossed swords," the latter hastened to say, "one having insulted the lady, the other defending her and your majesty's property." "but who was the aggressor, for jean is mild as a lamb," said the monarch, glad that things were getting equalized. "the officer must have been malapert." "impertinent to a man who was dragging away the horses reserved for your majesty's destined daughter?" exclaimed choiseul. "is this possible?" "hasty, anyway," said the king, as the dauphin stood pale without a word. "a zealous servitor can never do wrong," remarked the duke, receding a step. "come, now, how did you get the news?" asked the king of his son, without losing sight of the minister, who was troubled by this abrupt question. "i had an advice from one who was offended by the insult to the lady of my choice." "secret correspondence, eh?" exclaimed the sovereign. "plots, plots! here you are, beginning to worry me again, as in the days of pompadour." "no, this is only a secondary matter. let the culprit be punished, and that will end the affair." at the suggestion of punishment, louis saw jeanne furious and chon up in arms. "punish, without hearing the case?" he said. "i have signed quite enough blank committals to jail. a pretty mess you are dragging me into, duke." "but what a scandal, if the first outrage to the princess is allowed to go unpunished, sire." "i entreat your majesty," said the dauphin. "what, don't you think the sword cut was enough punishment?" "no, sire, for he might have wounded lieutenant taverney. in that case i should have asked for his head." "nay," said the dauphin, "i only ask for his banishment." "exile, for an alehouse scuffle," said the king. "in spite of your philosophical notions, you are harsh, louis. it is true that you are a mathematician, and such are hard as--well, they would sacrifice the world to have their ciphering come out correct." "sire, i am not angry with chevalier dubarry personally, but as he insulted the dauphiness." "what a model husband!" sneered the king. "but i am not to be gulled in this way. i see that i am attacked under all these blinds. it is odd that you cannot let me live in my own way, but must hate all whom i like, and like all i dislike! am i mad, or sane? am i the master, or not!" the prince went back to the clock. choiseul bowed as before. "no answer, eh? why don't you say something? do you want to worry me into the grave with your petty hints and strange silence, your paltry spites and minute dreads?" "i do not hate chevalier dubarry," said the prince. "i do not dread him," added choiseul. "you are both bad at heart," went on the sovereign, trying to be furious but only showing spite. "do you want me to realize the fable with which my cousin of prussia jeers me, that mine is the court of king petaud? no, i shall do nothing of the kind. i stand on my honor in my own style and will defend it similarly." "sire," said the prince with his inexhaustible meekness but eternal persistency, "your majesty's honor is not affected--it is the dignity of the royal princess which is struck at." "let chevalier jean make excuses, then, as he is free to do. but he is free to do the other thing." "i warn your majesty that the affair will be talked of, if thus dropped," said the prime minister. "who cares? do as i do. let the public chatter, and heed them not--unless you like to laugh at them. i shall be deaf to all. the sooner they make such a noise as to deafen me, the sooner i shall cease to hear them. think over what i say, for i am sick of this. i am going to marly, where i can get a little quiet--if i am not followed out there. at least, i shall not meet your sister the lady louise there, for she has retired to the nunnery of st. denis." but the dauphin was not listening to this news of the breaking up of his family. "it is going," he exclaimed in delight, real or feigned, as the clock resumed its regular tickings. the minister frowned and bowed himself out backward from the hall, where the heir to the throne was left alone. the king going into his study, paced it with long strides. "i can clearly see that choiseul is railing at me. the prince looks on himself as half the master, and believes he will be entirely so when he mounts with this austrian on the throne. my daughter louise loves me, but she preaches morality and she gives me the go-by to live in the nunnery. my three other girls sing songs against me and poor jeanne. the count of provence is translating lucretius. his brother of artois is running wild about the streets. decidedly none but this poor countess loves me. devil take those who try to displease her!" sitting at the table where his father signed papers, his treaties and grandiloquent epistles, the son of the great king took up the pen. "i understand why they are all hastening the arrival of the archduchess. but i am not going to be perturbed by her sooner than can be helped," and he wrote an order for governor stainville to stop three days at one city and three at another. with the same pen he wrote: "dear countess: this day we install zamore in his new government. i am off for marly, but i will come over to luciennes this evening to tell you all i am thinking about at present. france." "lebel," he said to his confidential valet, "away with this to the countess, and my advice is for you to keep in her good graces." chapter xviii. the countess of bearn. a hackney coach stopping at the doorway of chancellor maupeou, president of parliament, induced the porter to deign to stalk out to the door of the vehicle and see why the way was thus blocked. he saw an old lady in an antiquated costume. she was thin and bony but active, with cat's eyes rolling under gray brows. but poverty stricken though she appeared, the porter showed respect as he asked her name. "i am the countess of bearn," she replied; "but i fear that i shall not have the fortune to find his lordship at home." "my lord is receiving," answered the janitor. "that is, he will receive your ladyship." the old lady stepped out of the carriage, wondering if she did not dream, while the porter gave two jerks to a bellrope. an usher came to the portals, where the first servant motioned that the visitor might enter. "if your ladyship desires speech with the lord high chancellor," said the usher, "step this way, please." "they do speak ill of this official," uttered the lady; "but he has the good trait that he is easily accessible. but it is strange that so high an officer of the law should have open doors." chancellor maupeou, buried in an enormous wig and clad in black velvet, was writing in his study, where the door was open. on entering, the old countess threw a rapid glance around, but to her surprise there was no other face than hers and that of the law lord, thin, yellow and busy, reflected in the mirrors. he rose in one piece and placed himself with his back to the fireplace. the lady made the three courtesies according to rule. her little compliment was rather unsteady; she had not expected the honor; she never could have believed that a cabinet minister would give her some time out of his business or his repose. maupeou replied that time was no less precious to subject than his majesty's ministers, although preference had to be given to persons with urgent affairs, consequently, he gave what leisure he had to such clients. "my lord," said the old lady, with fresh courtesies, "i beg most humbly to speak to your excellency of a grave matter on which depends my fortune. you know that my all depends, or rather my son's, on the case sustained by me against the saluces family. you are a friend of that family, but your lordship's equity is so well known that i have not hesitated to apply to you." the chancellor was fondling his chin, but he could not help a smile to hear his fair play extolled. "my lady, you are right in calling me friend of the saluces; but i laid aside friendship when i took the seals of office up. i look into your business simply as a juris consultus. the case is soon coming on?" "in another week i should beg your lordship to look over my papers." "i have done so already." "oh! what do you think of it?" "i beg to say that you ought to be prepared to go home and get the money together to pay the costs--for you will infallibly lose the case." "then my son and i are ruined!" "unless you have friends at court to counterbalance the influence of the saluces brothers, who are linked with three parts of the courtiers. in fact, i know not if they have an enemy." "i am sorry to hear your excellency say this." "i am sorry to say so, for i really wanted to be useful to your ladyship." the countess shuddered at the tone of feigned kindness, for she seemed to catch a glimpse of something dark in the mind, if not the speech of the chancellor; if that obscurity could be swept away she fancied she would see something favorable to her. "do you know nobody at court?" he insisted. "only some old noblemen, probably retired, who would blush to see their old friend so poor. i have my right of entry to the palace, but what is the good? better to have the right to enter into enjoyment of my two hundred thousand livres. work that miracle, my lord." "judges cannot be led astray by private influence," he said, forgetting that he was contradicting himself. "why not, however, apply to the new powers, eager to make recruits? you must have known the royal princesses?" "they have grown out of remembrance." "the prince royal?" "i never knew him." "besides, he is dwelling too much on his bride, who is on the road hither, to do any one a good turn. oh! why not address the favorites?" "the duke of choiseul?" "no, the other, the countess----" "dubarry?" said the prude, opening her fan. "yes, she is goodhearted and she likes to do kindnesses to her friends." "i am of too old a line for her to like me." "that is where you are wrong; for she is trying to ally herself with the old families." "but i have never seen her." "what a pity! or her sister, chon, the other sister bischi, her brother jean, or her negro boy zamore?" "what! is her negro a power at court?" "indeed he is." "a black who looks like a pug dog, for they sell his picture in the streets. how was i to meet this blackamoor, my lord?" and the dame drew herself up, offended. "it is a pity you did not, for zamore would win your suit for you. ask the dukes and peers of the realm who take candies to him at marly or luciennes. i am the lord high chancellor, but what do you think i was about when your ladyship called? drawing up the instructions for him as governor of luciennes, to which zamore has been appointed." "the count of bearn was recompensed for his services of twenty years with merely the same title. what degradation! is the monarchy indeed going to the dogs?" cried the indignant lady. "i do not know about the government, but the crumbs are going to them, and, faith! we must scramble among them to get the tidbits away from them. if you wanted to be welcomed by lady dubarry, you could not do better than carry these papers for her pet to her." "it is plain that fate is against me; for, though your lordship has kindly greeted me, the next step is out of the question. not only am i to pay court to a dubarry, but i must carry her negro-boy's appointment--a black whom i would not have deigned to kick out of my way on the street----" suddenly the usher interrupted: "viscount jean dubarry." the chancellor dropped his hands in stupor, while the old petitioner sank back in an armchair without pulse or breath. our old acquaintance pranced in, with his arm in a sling: "oh, engaged? pray, do not disturb yourself, my lady; i want only a couple of minutes to make a complaint, a couple of his precious minutes. they have tried to murder me! i did not mind their making fun at us, singing lewd ballads, slandering and libeling us; but it is too much of a vile thing to waylay and murder. but i am interrupting the lady." "this is the countess of bearn," said the chancellor. dubarry drew back gracefully to make a proper bow, and the lady did the same for her courtesy, and they saluted as ceremoniously as though they had been in court. "after you, viscount," she said; "my case is about property; yours about honor, and so takes the lead." profiting by her obligingness dubarry unfolded his complaint. "you will want witnesses on your side," observed the chancellor. "that is awkward, for everybody there seems to be on the other side." "not everybody," interrupted the countess, "for if the affray was the one that happened in chaussee village, i can be your witness. i came through there a couple of hours after, and all were talking of it!" "have a care, my lady," said the viscount; "for if you speak in my favor, you will make an enemy of choiseul." "she ought to lean on your arm, then; though one is wounded, it will soon be healed, and the other is still formidable," said the law lord, while the old dame rolled from one gulf into another. "ah, but i know another, whose arms are perfect," said jean, merrily; "and service for service, she will offer your ladyship hers. i am going straight to my sister, and i offer you a seat in my carriage." "but without motive, without preparations," faltered the countess. "here is your excuse," whispered maupeou, slipping zamore's governmental instructions into her sallow, wrinkled hand. "my lord chancellor, you are my deliverer," she gasped. "and the viscount is the flower of the chivalry." indeed, a splendid coach in the royal colors was waiting at the doors. the countess placed herself in it, swelling with pride. jean entered likewise, and gave the word for the departure. in her joy at this smooth sailing, the countess forgot that she had wanted to lay a private complaint before the chancellor as head of the legal fraternity. it may be remembered that chon had decoyed her into traveling to paris by pretending to be the daughter of her lawyer flageot. what was her amazement, therefore, on calling on that gentleman, to learn that not only was he a bachelor without a daughter, but that he had no good news to impart to her on her suit. burning with disappointment, she had sought a remedy against this lawyer or this woman who had hoaxed her. chapter xix. chon spoils all. after the king's departure from the short and unpleasant call, as he termed it to the courtiers, the countess dubarry remained closeted with chon and her brother, who had kept in the background for fear that his wound would be found to be but a scratch. the outcome of this family council was that the countess, instead of going to luciennes, went to a private house of hers in valois street, paris. jeanne read a book while zamore, at the window, watched for the carriage to return. when the viscount brought the old countess he left her in the anteroom while he ran to tell his sister of his success. "where is chon?" he asked. "at versailles, where i bade her keep close." "then go in, my princess." lady dubarry opened the boudoir door and walked into her visitor's presence. "i have already thanked my brother," she said, "for having procured me the honor of your ladyship's visit; but i must thank you at present for making it." "i cannot find expressions," said the delighted suitor, "to show my gratitude for the kind reception granted me." "allow me," said jean, as the ladies took seats; "the countess must not seem to be applying to you for a favor. the chancellor has confided a commission for you, that is all." the visitor gave the speaker a thankful look, and handed the letters patent from the chancellor which created luciennes a royal castle and intrusted zamore with the governership. "it is i who am obliged," said the younger countess, "and i shall consider myself happy when the chance comes for me to do something in my turn." "that will be easy," cried the other with a quickness delighting the pair of plotters. "you will not be ignorant of my name?" "how could we? the name of the princess to whom we owe king henry the fourth?" "then you may have heard of a lawsuit which ties up my property." "claimed by the saluces? yes, the king was talking of the matter with chancellor maupeou, my cousin, the other evening." "the king talked of my case? in what terms, pray?" "alas! he seemed to think that it ought to be the saluces." "good heavens! then we would have to pay twice over a sum which morally was paid. i have not the receipt, i grant, but i can prove payment morally." "i think moral proofs are accepted," said jean gravely. "the claim of two hundred thousand livres, with interest, now amounting to a capital of over a million, dated . it must have been settled by guy gaston iv., count of bearn, because on his deathbed, in , he wrote in his will 'owing no debts,' and so on." "that settles it," said jean. "but your adversaries hold the note?" said the countess, pretending to take an interest in the subject. "yes, that embroils it," said the old lady, who ought to have said, "this clears it up." "it terribly changes the position for the saluces." "oh, my lady, i would that you were one of the judges!" "in olden times, you might have claimed a champion to do battle for you. i have such belief in your case that i would go into the lists for you. unfortunately we have not to do with knights but a gang of robbers in black gowns, who will not understand so plain an expression as 'i die owing no debts.'" "stay, though; as the words were spoken three hundred years ago they would be outlawed, i think," ventured countess dubarry. "but you would be convinced of the lady's rights, sister, if you were to hear her, as i have heard coming along." "then do me the favor of coming out to my place at luciennes, where, by the way, the king drops in now and again." "but i cannot rely on such a chance, for the case is called monday, and this is friday." "what the deuce can be done?" grumbled the viscount, appearing to meditate profoundly. "if i could have a royal hearing at versailles through your introduction?" suggested the old lady. "not to be thought of. the king does not like me to meddle with law or politics. and at present he is worried about my presentation to the court." "oh!" exclaimed the aged litigant. "the king wants it to come off before the new dauphiness arrives, so that my sister can go to the festivities at compiegne, in spite of choiseul's opposition, praslin's intrigues and lady grammont's intervention." "i understand. the countess has no introductress?" queried lady bearn, timidly. "beg pardon, we have baroness alogny, only the king would prefer somebody with a historical name." "i cannot say that i ever heard of the alognys," hissed the old descendant of kings with incredible envy. "it will be a grand thing for her, for the king is tired of the jades who put on airs prouder than himself!" said jean. "i could make lady alogny draw off by telling her what the king said." "it would be unfair," said the viscount. "what a pity! for in that case, here is a lady of ancient lineage, and regal. she would win her lawsuit, her son could have a lieutenancy in the household troops, and as lady bearn must have gone to much outlay in her trips to paris, she would have compensation out of the privy purse. such luck does not rain down twice in a lifetime." "alas! no," said lady bearn, crushed in her chair by all things being against her. "an idea strikes me," said jean. "all has been kept quiet, and so the king does not know that we have a lady patroness to present my sister. suppose you were at versailles and expressed your willingness to act as social sponsor for my sister. why, the king would accept one who is his relative, and that would prevent the alognys complaining. the king could do no wrong." "the king would do right about the suit," said jeanne. "he would be delighted and he would be sure to say to chancellor maupeou: 'i want you to treat lady bearn properly, my lord!'" "but this may look bad, when everybody thinks my case lost," objected the old countess. "well, let it be lost," returned the other lady quickly: "what matter, if you are compensated?" "two hundred thousand livres?" said the other with sorrow. "pooh, what if there be a royal present of a hundred thousand livres?" "i have a son," remarked the victim, while the two eyed her greedily. "so much the better, as he will be another servitor for the king; he must not have less than a cornetcy in the army," said jean. "any other kinsmen?" "a nephew." "we shall find a berth for him." "we rely on your invention," said countess dubarry, rising. "you will allow me to mention your ladyship to the king?" "do me the honor," said the old dame with a sigh. "no later than this evening," said the royal favorite. "i trust i have won your friendship?" "yes, though i believe i am in a dream." but the dream only lasted to the foot of the stairs, where countess bearn was conducted on jean's hale arm, for there the irrepressible chon came bounding out of a sedan chair. lady bearn recognized the pretended daughter of lawyer flageot. "it is mistress chon," roared zamore. "is that little fool gilbert here?" asked chon of the footmen, when she suddenly looked up and saw jean trying to hush her. she followed the direction of his finger and perceived lady bearn. she gave a scream, lowered her cap-veil, and plunged into the vestibule. appearing to notice nothing, the old lady got into the carriage and gave her address to the coachman. chapter xx. annoyance and amusement. the king had been at luciennes from three o'clock till dark, when, supremely wearied, he reposed on a sofa in a sitting-room, where countess dubarry surprised him about half-past ten. zamore was at the door when she woke him up. "have you come at last, countess?" he said. "at last? i have been waiting for you this hour. how soundly your majesty sleeps." "i have slept three hours. but what do i see there?" "that is the governor of luciennes. the chancellor sent me the appointment, and so he donned the uniform. swear him in quickly, and let him begin guarding us." zamore marched up, wearing a showy lace dress, with a sword. his huge three-cocked hat was under his arm. he went down on his knees, laid one hand on his heart, the other one was placed in the king's, and he said: "me swear faith and homage to my massa and missee; me will defend the castle placed under my guard to the last gasp, and me will not surrender it till the last can of jelly is eaten." the sovereign laughed, less at the comic oath than at the black boy's gravity in taking it. "in return for this pledge," he said with due seriousness, "i confer on you, sir governor, the sovereign right of dealing out justice to the extent of capital punishment over all in your hold, in earth, air, fire and water." "thankee, massa," said zamore, rising. "now, run away into the servants hall and show your fine trappings." as zamore went out by one door, chon came in by another. the king took her on his knee and kissed her. "good-evening, chon. i like you because you tell me the truth. i want to know what has made your sister so late in hunting me up." "no, jeanne is the one to tell the truth. still, if you will pay me for my report, i will show you that my police spies are up to the mark of chief sartines'." "i have the pay ready," said the king, jingling some coins in his pocket. "no fibs." "the countess dubarry went to her private residence in valois street, paris, where zamore met her about six o'clock. she went to speak with her sponsor." "what, is she going to be baptized?" "her social sponsor--i do not know the right name for it." "say, the lady patroness. so you have fabricated one." "nay, she is ready made, and from away back. it is countess bearn, of the family of reigning princes. i guess she will not disgrace the line which is allied with the royal stuarts, the dubarry-moores." "i never knew of any countess bearn but the one who lives by verdun." "the very one, who will call to-morrow at seven for a private audience. if the question will be allowed, she will ask when the introduction is to take place, and you will fix it shortly, eh, my lord of france," said the countess. the king laughed, but not frankly. "to-morrow at eleven?" "at our breakfast hour." "impossible, my darling, for i must away; i have important business with sartines." "oh, if you cannot even stay supper----" the king saw her make a sign to chon, and suspecting a trap, he called for his horses to go. delighted with this display of his free will, he walked to the door, but his gentlemen in waiting were not in the outer room. the castle was mute, even in its echoes to his call. he ran and opened the window, but the courtyard was deserted. the tremulous moon shone on the river and lit up the calm night. this harmony was wasted on the king, who was far from poetic, artistic or musing, but rather material. "come, come, countess!" he broke forth in vexation; "put an end to this joke." "sire, i have no authority here," said the countess. "it is a royal residence, and the power is confided in the governor. and governor zamore is going the rounds with his guard of four men." the king rather forced a smile. "this is rather funny," he said. "but i want the horses put to my coach." "the governor has locked them up in the stables for fear robbers might get at them. as for the escort, they are asleep, by orders of the governor, too." "then i will walk out of the castle alone." "hardly, for the gates are locked and the keys hang at the governor's belt." "pest on it! we have one castle strictly guarded!" the countess lounged on a divan, playing with a rose, less red than her coral lips. "but we might go in quest of him," she said, rising. "chon, carry the light before his majesty." the little procession of three had barely reached the end of the first hall before a whiff of delicious odor set the royal mouth watering. "you smell supper, my lord," explained the countess. "i thought you were going to partake with me, and i had a feast prepared." the king reflected that if he went on to marly he would find nothing but a cold collation. here, through a doorway open he saw a table set for two. the odor continued to scent the house. "bless us! you have a good cook." "i do not know, for this is his first attempt to please us. i engaged him because he has a reputation for a choice omelet of pheasants' eggs." "my favorite dish! i should not like to grieve your new cook, countess, and i might taste it while we wait for the governor to finish his inspection. but who will wait upon us?" he asked, entering. "i hope to do so without upsetting any of this iced champagne--a new invention, of which i wish your opinion." "i fear i shall never take it from your hand, for it fascinates me into solely admiring it." "ah, if my hired eulogists would say something so sweet as that!" "i see that i must let you have your own way," and he settled down in an easy chair like one who was put in good humor by the prospect of a luxurious repast. they finished it with coffee burnt in brandy, with a paper which the king held while the fair cajoler lighted. "that is bad luck to the choiseul party," said she; "that was one of the lampoons against us which they inspire and allow to be circulated." "did i call you a fay? i mistook: you are a demon." the countess rose. "i think i had better see if governor zamore is not on the return." but the king shook his head, inflamed by the punch, the tokay and the champagne. he was conscious of still another perfume, and his nose directed him to a doorway suddenly opened. it led into a tempting chamber, hung with sky-blue satin, embroidered with flowers in their natural colors, an alcove where a mysterious soft light reigned. "well, sire, the governor seems to have locked us in. and unless we save ourselves out of window with the curtains----" "no, do not let us pull them down--rather, draw them close!" he opened his arms, laughing, and the beauty let the rose fall from her teeth and it burst all its petals open as it reached the carpet. chapter xxi. countess cut countess. on the road to paris from luciennes the poor countess dubarry was racing along like a disembodied spirit. an advice from her brother jean had dashed her down when she had brought the king to the point of arranging for her presentation day. "so the old donkey has fooled us?" she cried, when she was alone with him. "i am afraid so. but listen: i stayed in town because i am not trustful like you--and i am not wrong. an hour before the time when i ought to call for the old countess at her inn, i met my man patrick at the door, where i had sent him to stand sentry since daybreak. he had seen nothing wrong, and i left the carriage and went up stairs quite assured. at her door a woman stopped me to say that her mistress had upset the chocolate, which she boiled herself, on her foot, and was crippled." "oh, heavens! you drive me to despair, jean." "i am not in despair. you can do what i could not; if there be any imposture you can discover it, and somehow we will punish her. i was consulting a lawyer; he says we must not thrash a person in a house; it is fine and prison, while without----" "beat a woman, a countess of the old stock? you mad rogue, let me rather see her and try another method." jean conducted her to the chanticleer inn, where the old lady dwelt. at the foot of the stairs she was stopped by the landlady. "countess bearn is ill," she said. "just so; i am coming to see how she is," and jeanne darted by her as nimble as a fawn. "your ladyship here!" ejaculated the old lady, on seeing the court beauty's face screwed up into the conventional expression of condolence. "i have only just learnt of the accident. you seem to be in much pain." "my right foot is scalded. but misfortunes will happen." "but you know the king expected you this morning?" "you double my despair, lady." "his majesty was vexed at your not coming." "my excuse is in my sufferings, and i must present my most humble excuses to his majesty." "i am not saying this to cause you pain," said lady dubarry, seeing that the old noblewoman was angry, "but just to show you how set his majesty was on seeing you for the step which made him grateful. i regret the accident the more as i think it was due to your excitement from meeting a certain person abruptly at my house." "the lady who came as i went away?" "the same; my sister, mademoiselle dubarry; only she bore another name when you met her--that of mademoiselle flageot." "oh, indeed!" said the old dame, with unhidden sourness. "did you send her to deceive me?" "no, to do you a service at the same time as you did me one. let us speak seriously. in spite of your wound, painful but not dangerous, could you make the effort to ride to luciennes and stand up a short while before the king?" "impossible; if you could bear the sight----" "i wish to assure myself of its extent." to her great surprise, while writhing in agony, the lady let jeanne undo the bandage and expose a burn, horridly raw. it spoke eloquently, for, as lady bearn had seen and recognized chon, this self-inflicted hurt raised her to the height of mutius scaevola. the visitor mutely admired. come to consciousness, the old countess fully enjoyed her triumph; her wild eye gloated on the young woman kneeling at her foot. the latter replaced the bands with the tenderness of her sex to the ailing, placed the limb on the cushions as before, and said as she took a seat beside her: "you are a grander character than i suspected. i ask your pardon for not having gone straight to business at the start. name your conditions." "i want the two hundred thousand livres at stake in my lawsuit to be guaranteed me," replied the old dame, with a firmness clearly proving that one queen was speaking with another. "but that would make double if you won your case." "no, for i look upon the sum i am contesting with the saluces for as mine own. the like sum is something to thank you for in addition to the honor of your acquaintance. i ask a captaincy and a company for my son, who has martial instincts inborn but would make a bad soldier because he is fit for officership alone. a captaincy now, with a promotion to a colonelcy next year." "who is to raise the regiment?" "the king, for if i spent my money in so doing i should be no better off. i ask the restitution of my vineyard in touraine; the royal engineers took six acres for the grand canal, and condemning it at the expert's valuation i was cheated out of half price. i went to some law expenses in the matter and my whole bill at lawyer flageot's is nearly ten thousand livres." "i will pay this last bill out of my own purse," said jeanne. "is this all?" "stay, i cannot appear before our great monarch thus. versailles and its splendors have been so long strange to me that i have no dresses." "i foresaw that, and ordered a costume at the same maker's as mine own. it will be ready by noon to-morrow." "i have no jewels." "the court jewelers will loan you my set called the 'louise,' as i bought them when the princess louise sold her jewels to go into the nunnery. they will charge you two hundred thousand and ten livres, but will take it back in a day or two for two hundred thousand, so that thus you will receive that sum in cash." "very well, countess; i have nothing to desire." "i will write you my pledges, but first, the little letter to the king, which i beg to dictate. we will exchange the documents." "that is fair," said the old fox, drawing the table toward her, and getting the pen and paper ready, as lady dubarry spoke. "sire: the happiness i feel at seeing your majesty's acceptance of my offer to present the countess dubarry at court----" the pen stuck and spluttered. "a bad pen; you should change it!" "never mind; it must be broken in." "--emboldens me (the letter proceeded) to solicit your majesty's favorable eye when i appear at versailles to-morrow under permission. i venture to hope for a kind welcome from my kinship to a house of which every head has shed his blood in the service of your august ancestors. "anastasie euphramie rodolphe, countess of bearn." in return, the plotter handed over the notes and the order on her jewelry. "will you let me send my brother for you at three o'clock with the coach?" "just so." "mind you take care of yourself." "fear nothing. i am a noblewoman, and as you have my word, i will keep it to-morrow though i die for it." so they parted, the old countess, lying down, going over her documents, and the young one lighter than she arrived, but with her heart aching at not having baffled the old litigant who easily defeated the king of france. in the main room, she perceived her brother, draining a second bottle of wine in order not to rouse suspicions on his reasons for staying in the inn. he jumped up and ran to her. "how goes it?" he asked. "as marshal saxe said to the king on showing him the field of fontenoy: 'sire, learn by this sight how dear and agonizing a victory is.'" "but you have a patroness?" "yes, but she costs us a million! it is cruel; but i could not help myself. mind how you handle her, or she may back out, or charge double her present price." "what a woman! a roman!" "a spartan. but bring her to luciennes at three, for i shall not be easy till i have her under lock and key." as the countess sprang into the coach, jean watched her and muttered: "by croesus, we cost france a nice round sum! it is highly flattering to the dubarrys." chapter xxii. at a loss for everything. at eleven a. m., lady dubarry arrived at her house in valois street, determined to make paris her starting-point for her march to versailles. lady bearn was there, kept close when not under her eye, with the utmost art of the doctors trying to alleviate the pain of her burn. from over night jean and chon and the waiting-woman had been at work and none who knew not the power of gold would have believed in the wonders they wrought in short time. the hairdresser was engaged to come at six o'clock; the dress was a marvel on which twenty-six seamstresses were sewing the pearls, ribbons and trimmings, so that it would be done in time instead of taking a week as usual. at the same hour as the hairdresser, it would be on hand. as for the coach, the varnish was drying on it in a shed built to heat the air. the mob flocked to see it, a carriage superior to any the dauphiness had; with the dubarry war-cry emblazoned on the panels: "charge onward!" palliated by doves billing and cooing on one side, and a heart transfixed with a dart on the other. the whole was enriched with the attributes of cupid bows, quivers and the hymeneal torch. this coach was to be at the door at nine. while the preparations were proceeding at the favorites' the news ran round the town. idle and indifferent as the parisians pretend to be, they are fonder of novelty than any other people. lady dubarry in her regal coach paraded before the populace like an actress on the stage. one is interested in those whose persons are known. everybody knew the beauty, as she was eager to show herself in the playhouse, on the promenade and in the stores, like all pretty, rich and young belles. besides, she was known by her portraits, freaks, and the funny negro boy zamore. people crowded the palais royal, not to see rousseau play chess, worse luck to the philosophers! but to admire the lovely fairy in her fine dresses and gilded coach, which were so talked about. jean dubarry's saying that "the dubarrys cost the country a nice sum" was deep, and it was only fair that france who paid the bill, should see the show. jeanne knew that the french liked to be dazzled; she was more one of the nation than the queen, a polander; and as she was kindly, she tried to get her money's worth in the display. instead of lying down for a rest as her brother suggested, she took a bath of milk for her complexion, and was ready by six for the hairdresser. a headdress for a lady to go to the court in was a building which took time, in those days. the operator had to be not only a man of art, but of patience. alone among the craftsmen, hairdressers were allowed to wear the sword like gentlemen. at six o'clock the court hairdresser, the great lubin, had not arrived. nor at a quarter past seven; the only hope was that, like all great men, lubin was not going to be held cheap by coming punctually. but a running-footman was sent to learn about him, and returned with the news that lubin had left his house and would probably arrive shortly. "there has been a block of vehicles on the way," explained the viscount. "plenty of time," said the countess. "i will try on my dress while awaiting him. chon, fetch my dress." "your ladyship's sister went off ten minutes ago to get it," said doris. "hark, to wheels!" interrupted jean. "it is our coach." no, it was chon, with the news that the dressmaker, with two of her assistants, was just starting with the dress to try it on and finish fitting it. but she was a little anxious. "viscount," said the countess, "won't you send for the coach?" "you are right, jeanne. take the new horses to francian the coach-builder's," he ordered at the door, "and bring the new coach with them harnessed to it." as the sound of the departing horses was still heard, zamore trotted in with a letter. "buckra gemman give zamore letter." "what gentleman?" "on horseback, at the door." "read it, dear, instead of questioning. i hope it is nothing untoward." "really, viscount, you are very silly to be so frightened," said the countess, but on opening the letter, she screamed and fell half dead on the lounge. "no hairdresser! no dress! no coach!" she panted, while chon rushed to her and jean picked up the letter. thus it ran in a feminine handwriting: "be on your guard. you will have no hairdresser, dress or coach this evening. i hope you will get this in time. as i do not seek your gratitude, i do not name myself. if you know of a sincere friend, take that as me." "this is the last straw," cried jean in his rage. "by the blue moon, i must kill somebody! no hairdresser? i will scalp this lubin. for it is half-past seven, and he has not turned up. malediction!" he was not going to court, so he did not hesitate to tear at his hair. "the trouble is the dress," groaned chon. "hairdressers can be found anywhere." the countess said nothing, but she heaved a sigh which would have melted the choiseul party had they heard it. then: "come, come," said chon; "let us be calm. let us hunt up another hairdresser, and see about that dress not coming." "then there is the coach," said jean. "it ought to have been here by this. it is a plot. will you not make sartines arrest the guilty ones--maupeou sentence them to death--and the whole gang be burned with their fellows on execution place? i want to rack the hairdresser, break the dressmaker on the wheel, and flay the coachbuilder alive." the countess had come to her senses but only to see the dreadful dilemma the better. at the height of this scene of tribulation, echoing from the boudoir to the street door, while the footmen were blundering over each other in confusion at a score of different orders, a young blade in an applegreen silk coat and vest, lilac breeches and white silk stockings, skipped out of a cab, crossed the deserted sill and the courtyard, bounded up the stairs and rapped on the dressing-room door. jean was wrestling with a chins stand with which his coat-tail was entangled, while steadying a huge japanese idol which he had struck too hard with his fist, when the three knocks, wary, modest and delicate, came at the panel. jean opened it with a fist which would have beaten in the gates of gaza. but the stranger eluded the shock by a leap, and falling on his feet in the third position of dancing, he said: "my lord, i come to offer my service as hairdresser to the countess dubarry, who, i hear, is commanded to present herself at court." "a hairdresser!" cried the dubarrys, ready to hug him and dragging him into the room. "did lubin send you?" "you are an angel," said the countess. "nobody sent me," returned the young man. "i read in the newspapers that your ladyship was going to court this evening, and i thought i might have a chance of showing that i have a new idea for a court headdress." "what might be your name, younker?" demanded jean, distrustfully. "leonard, unknown at present, but if the lady will only try me, it will be celebrated to-morrow. only i must see her dress, that i may create the headdress in harmony." "oh my dress, my poor, poor dress!" moaned the countess, recalled to reality by the allusion. "what is the use of having one's hair done up, when one has no robe?" and she fell back on the lounge. at this instant the doorbell rang. it was a dress-box which the janitor took from a porter in the street, which the butler took from him and which jean tore out of his hands. he took off the lid, plunged his hand into the depths and yelled with glee. it enclosed a court dress of china satin, with flowers _appliqué_, and the lace trimming of incredible value. "a dress!" gasped jeanne, almost fainting with joy as she had with grief. "but how can it suit me, who was not measured for it?" chon tried it with the tape measure. "it is right in length and width of the waist," said chon. "this is fabulous." "the material is wonderful," said jean. "the whole is terrifying," said the countess. "nonsense! this only proves that if you have bitter enemies, you have some sweet friends." "it cannot be a mere human friend, jean," said chon, "for how would such know the mischief set against us? it must be a sylph." "i don't care if it is the old harry, if he will help me against the grammonts! he is not so black as those wretches," said the countess. "now i think of it, i wager you may entrust your hair to this hairdresser, for he must be sent by the same friend who furnishes the dress," suggested jean. "own up that your story was pure gammon?" "not at all," protested the young man, showing the newspaper. "i kept it to make the curls for the hair." "it is no use, for i have no carriage." "hark, here it is rolling up to our door," exclaimed chon. "quick!" shouted jean, "do not let them get away without our knowing to whom we owe all these kindnesses." and he rushed with janitor, steward and footmen out on the street. it was too late. before the door stood two magnificent bay horses, with a gilded coach, lined with white satin. not a trace of driver or footmen. a man in the street had run up to get the job of holding the horses and those who brought them had left him in charge. a hasty hand had blotted out the coat of arms on the panels and painted a rose. all this counter-action to the misadventures had taken place in an hour. jean had the horses brought into the yard, locking the gates and pocketing the key. then he returned to the room where the hairdresser was about to give the lady the first proofs of his skill. "miracle!" said chon, "the robe fits perfectly, except an inch out in front, too long; but we can take it up in a minute." "will the coach pass muster?" inquired the countess. "it is in the finest taste. i got into it to try the springs," answered jean. "it is lined with white satin, and scented with attar of roses." "then everything is going on swimmingly," said the countess clapping her hands. "go on, master leonard; if you succeed your fortune is made." with the first stroke of the comb, leonard showed that he was an experienced hand. in three-quarters of an hour, lady dubarry came forth from his hands more seductive than aphrodite; for she had more clothes on her, and she was quite as handsome. "you shall be my own hairdresser," said the lady, eyeing herself in a hand glass, "and every time you do my hair up for a court occasion, you shall have fifty gold pieces. chon, count out a hundred to the artist, for i want him to consider fifty as a retaining fee. but you must work for none but me." "then take your money back, my lady. i want to be free. liberty is the primary boon of mankind." "god bless us! it is a philosophic hairdresser!" groaned jean, lifting his hands. "what are we coming to? well, master leonard, take the hundred, and do as you deused well please. come to your coach, countess." these words were addressed to countess bearn, who limped out of the inner room. "four of you footmen take the lady between you," ordered jean, "and carry her gently down the stairs. if she utters a single groan, i will have you flogged." leonard disappeared during this delicate task. "where can he have slipped away?" the young countess wanted to know. "where? by some rat hole or bang through the wall!" said the viscount. "as the spirits cut away. have a care, my dear, lest your headdress becomes a wasp nest, your dress a cobweb, and your carriage a pumpkin drawn by a pair of mice, on arriving at versailles." enunciating this dreadful threat, viscount jean got into the carriage, in which was already placed countess bearn and the happy woman to whom she was to stand sponsor. chapter xxiii. the presentation. versailles is still fine to look upon; but it was splendid to view in the period of its glory. particularly was it resplendent when a great ceremony was performed, when the wardrobes and warehouses were ransacked to display their sumptuous treasures, and the dazzling illuminations doubled the magic of its wealth. it had degenerated, but it still was glowing when it opened all its doors and lit up all its flambeaux to hail the court reception of countess dubarry. the curious populace forgot its misery and its rags before so much bewildering show, and crammed the squares and paris road. all the palace windows spouted flame, and the skyrockets resembled stars floating and shooting in a golden dust. the king came out of his private rooms at ten precisely, dressed with more care than usual, his lace being richer and the jewels in his garter and shoe buckles being worth a fortune. informed by satines that the court ladies were plotting against his favorite, he was careworn and trembled with fury when he saw none but men in the ante-chamber. but he took heart when, in the queen's drawing-room, set aside for the reception, he saw in a cloud of powder and diamond luster, his three daughters, and all the ladies who had vowed the night before to stay away. the duke of richelieu ran from one to another, playfully reproaching them for giving in and complimenting them on thinking better of it. "but what has made you come, duke?" they naturally challenged him. "oh, i am not here really--i am but the proxy for my daughter, countess egmont. if you will look around you will not see her; she alone, with lady grammont and lady guemenee has kept the pledge to keep aloof. i am sure what will happen to me for practically staying away. i shall be sent into exile for the fifth time, or to the bastille for the fourth. that will end my plotting, and i vow to conspire never again." the king remarked the absentees, and he went up to the duke of choiseul who affected the utmost calm and demanded: "i do not see the duchess of grammont." "sire, my sister is not well, and she begs me to offer her most humble respects," said choiseul, only succeeding in flimsy indifference. "that is bad for her!" ominously said the sovereign, turning his back on the duke and thus facing prince guemenee. "have you brought your wife?" he questioned. "impossible, your majesty: when i went to bring her, she was sick abed." "nothing could be worse," said the king. "good-evening, marshal," he said to richelieu, who bowed with the suppleness of a young courtier. "you do not seem to have a touch of the complaint?" "sire, i am always in good health when i have the pleasure of beholding your majesty." "but i do not see your daughter the countess of egmont. what is the reason of her absence?" "alas! sire," responded the old duke, assuming the most sorrowful mien, "my poor child is the more indisposed from the mishap depriving her of the happiness of this occasion, but----" "lady egmont unwell, whose health was the most robust in the realm! this is sad for her!" and the king turned his back on the old courtier as he had on the others whom he snubbed. gloomy, anxious and irritated, the king went over to the window, and seizing the carved handle of the sash with one hand, he cooled his fevered brow against the pane. the courtiers could be heard chattering, like leaves rustling before the tempest, while all eyes stared at the clock; it struck the half-hour, when a great uproar of vehicles rumbling on the yard cobblestones resounded under the carriage-way vault. suddenly the royal brow brightened and a flash shot from his eyes. "the right honorable lady the countess of dubarry!" roared the usher to the grand master of ceremonies. "the right honorable the countess of bearn!" different sensations were making all hearts leap. invincibly drawn by curiosity, a flood of courtiers moved toward the monarch. the wife of the marshal of mirepoix was carried close up to the king, and though she had been in the front of the anti-dubarryists, she clasped her hands ready for adoration, and exclaimed: "oh, how lovely she is!" the king turned and smiled on the speaker. "but she is not a mere mortal," said richelieu; "she is a fairy," which won him the end of the smile. in truth, never had the countess been fairer, more winsome in expression, more modest in bearing, more noble in figure, more elegant in step or more cunning in showing emotion; her like had never excited admiration in the queen's drawing-room. charmingly beautiful, richly but not flauntingly dressed and notable for a tastefully novel headdress, she advanced held by the hand of countess bearn. spite of atrocious pangs, the latter did not hobble or even wince, though the rouge fell in flakes from her face as each step wrung her to the core. all eyes turned on the singular pair. the old dame, with an old-fashioned low-necked robe, and her hair built up a foot high above her bright but deep-set eyes like an osprey's, her splendid attire and her skeleton-tread, seemed the image of the past giving her hand to the present. this model of cold, dry dignity guiding decent and voluptuous beauty, struck most with admiration and astonishment. the vivid contrast made the king fancy that countess bearn was bringing him his favorite more youthful and brilliant than ever. "you have a very fair novice to present, my lady," said he; "but she also has a noble introductress, than whom there is not one whom i am more pleased to see again at court." the old lady courtesied. "go and bow to my daughters," whispered the monarch to jeanne, "and show that you know how to courtesy. i hope you will not be dissatisfied with the way they reply to you." his eyes were fixed upon his daughters and compelled them to show politeness, and as lady dubarry bowed more lowly than court etiquette prescribed, they were touched, and embraced her with a cordiality which pleased their father. henceforward, the countess' success became a triumph. the duke of richelieu, as the victor of mahon, knew how to maneuver; he went and placed himself behind the chair ready for countess dubarry, so that he was near her when the presentation was over, without having to battle with the crowd. lady mirepoix, knowing how lucky her old friend was in warfare, had imitated him, and drew her stool close to the favorite's chair. supported by the royal love, and the favorable welcome of the royal princesses, jeanne looked less timidly around among the noblemen, though it was among the ladies that she expected enemies. "ah, my lord of richelieu," she said, "i had to come here to find you, for you have let a week pass without calling at luciennes." "i was preparing for the pleasure of seeing you here, certain here to meet!" "i wish you had imparted the certainty to me, for i was none too sure on that head--considering that i am surrounded by plots to thwart me." she glared at the old gallant who bore the glance imperturbably. "plots? goodness! what are you talking about?" "in the first place my hairdresser was spirited away." "was he, indeed! what a lucky thing that i sent you a pearl of his craft whom my daughter the countess of egmont found somewhere--an artiste most superior to the general run, even to the royal perrukeers, my little leonard." "leonard," repeated the lady. "yes, a little fellow who does up my septimanie's tresses, and whom she keeps hidden from all eyes, as a miser does his cash-box. you are not complaining of him, i think, for your ladyship is turned out, as barbers say, marvelously. curiously enough, the style reminds me of a sketch which the court painter boucher gave my daughter, for her to be dressed in accord with it, had she not fallen ill. poor seppie! but you were talking of plots?" "yes, they kept back my dress." "this is odious! though you are not to be pitied when arrayed in such a choice china silk; with flower work applied; now, had you _applied_ to me in your quandary, as i hope you will in the future, i would have sent you the dress my daughter had made for her presence here--it is so like this, that i could vow it is the same." countess dubarry seized both his hands, beginning to understand who was the enchanter who had saved her from the embarrassment. "i suppose it was in your daughter's coach that i was brought here?" she said. "oh, i should know hers, for it was renovated for this occasion with white satin; but there was no time to paint her blazon upon the panels----" "only time to paint a rose! duke, you are a delightful nobleman." the old peer kissed the hands, of which he made a warm and perfumed mask. feeling them thrill, he started and asked the cause. "who is that man yonder, in a prussian officer's dress, with black eyes and expressive countenance, by prince guemenee?" "some superior officer whom the king of prussia sends to honor your presentation." "do not laugh, duke; but that man was in france three or four years ago, and i have been seeking for him everywhere without avail." "you are in error, countess; the stranger is count fenix, who arrived but yesterday." "how hard he looks at me!" "nay, how tenderly everybody is looking at you!" "look, he is bowing to me!" "everybody is doing that, if they have not done so." a prey to extraordinary emotion, the lady did not heed the duke's compliments, and, with her sight riveted on the stranger who captivated her attention, she quitted richelieu, in spite of herself, to move toward the foreigner. the king was watching her and perceived the movement. he thought she wanted him, and approached her, as he had quite long enough stood aloof out of regard for the social restrictions. but the countess was so engrossed that her mind would not be diverted. "sire, who is that prussian officer, now turning away from prince guemenee to look this way?" "the stout figure with the square face enframed in a golden collar?--accredited from my cousin of prussia--some philosopher of his stamp. i am glad that german philosophy celebrates the triumph of king petticoat the third, as they nickname the louis for their devotion to the sex of which you are the brightest gem. his title is count fenix," added the sovereign reflecting. "it is he," thought countess dubarry, but as she kept silence the king proceeded, raising his voice: "ladies, the dauphiness arrives at compiegne to-morrow, the journey having been shortened. her royal highness will receive at midday precisely. all the ladies _presented_ at court will be of the reception party, except those who were absent to-day. the journey is fatiguing, and her highness can have no desire to aggravate the ills of those who are indisposed." he looked with severity at choiseul, guemenee and richelieu. a silence of terror surrounded the speaker, whose words were fully understood as meaning disgrace. "sire, i pray the exception for the countess of egmont, as she is the daughter of my most faithful friend, the duke of richelieu." "his grace your friend?" approaching the old courtier who had comprehended from the motion of the pleader's lips, he said: "i hope lady egmont will be well enough to-morrow to come?" "certainly, sire. she would be fit for travel this hour, if your majesty desired it." and he saluted with respect and thankfulness. the king leaned over to the countess' ear and whispered a word. "sire, i am your majesty's most obedient servant." her reverence was accompanied by a most bewitching smile. the king waved his hand and retired to his own rooms. scarcely had he crossed the threshold before the countess turned more frightened than ever to the singular man who had so monopolized her. like the others, he had bowed as the monarch withdrew, but his brow had worn a haughty, almost menacing aspect. as soon as louis had disappeared, he came and paused within a step or two of lady dubarry. urged by invincible curiosity, she took a step toward him, so that he could say in a low voice as he bent to her: "am i recognized, lady?" "yes, as my prophet of louis xv. square." "well," queried the man with the clear, steady gaze, "did i lie when i told you of becoming the queen of france?" "no; your prophecy is all but accomplished. hence, i am ready to keep my promise. speak your wish." "the place is ill chosen, and the time has not come." "i am ready to fulfill it any time." "can i come any time?" "yes; will it be as count fenix?" "my title will be count joseph balsamo." "i shall not forget it, balsamo," repeated the favorite as the mysterious stranger was merged with the crowd. chapter xxiv. the dauphiness' reception. on the following day, compiegne was intoxicated and transported. the people had not slept through the night from getting ready to welcome the bride of the prince royal. latin, french, and german inscriptions adorned the evergreen arches, wound with garlands of roses and lilac. the royal prince had come down in the night _incog_, with his two brothers, and they had ridden out to meet the princess from austria. the gallant idea had not come to the dauphin of his own impulse, but from his tutor, lord lavauguyon, who had been instructed by the king on the proper line of conduct to be followed by the heir to the throne. previous sovereigns had also taken this kind of preliminary view of the fated spouse, without the veil of etiquette. the eldest prince rode out, grave, and his two brothers, smiling. at half after eight, they came back; the dauphin serious as when he started, provence almost sulky, and artois gayer than at the outset. the first was disquieted, the second envious, and the last delighted--for all had found the lady most lovely. thus each betrayed his temperament. at the meeting of the two parties, that of the king and the bride of his son, all got out of the carriages, except the king and the archduchess. around the dauphin were all the young nobles, while the old nobility clustered round the king. the lady's carriage door opened, and the austrian princess sprang lightly to the ground. as she advanced toward the royal coach, louis had the door opened, and eagerly stepped out. the princess had so exactly calculated the steps that she threw herself on her knees just as he alighted. he stooped to lift her up, and kissed her affectionately, covering her with a look which caused her to redden. she blushed again as the dauphin was presented to her. she had pleasant words to say to all the royal princes and princesses. but here came a hitch, till the king, glancing around, spied the countess dubarry, and took her hand. everybody stepped aloof, so that the sovereign was left alone with his favorite and the new arrival. "i present the countess dubarry, my dearest friend!" the austrian turned pale, but the most kindly smile glittered on her blanching lips. "your majesty is very happy in having so lovely a friend," she said, "and i am not surprised at the attachment she inspires." all looked on with astonishment approaching stupefaction. it was evident that the new-comer was repeating the austrian court's instructions--perhaps her mother's own words. while the princess entered the royal coach, passing the duke of choisuel without noticing him, the church bells clanged. countess dubarry radiantly got into her coach, up to the door of which came chevalier jean. "do you know who that young whippersnapper is?" he asked, pointing to a horseman at the dauphiness' coach window. "that is philip of taverney, who gave me that sword thrust." "well, who is the beautiful girl with whom he is talking?" "his sister, and to my mind you have the same need to beware of that girl as i of her brother." "you are mad." "i have my wits about me. i shall keep an eye on the blade anyhow." "and i shall watch the budding beauty." "hush!" said jean; "here comes your friend richelieu." "what is wrong, my dear duke? you look discontented," said the countess, with her sweetest smile. "does it not strike your ladyship that we are all very dull, not to say sad, for such a joyous affair? i can recall going out to meet another princess for the royal couch, amiable like this one, and as fair. it was the dauphin's mother. we were all jolly. is it because we were younger?" "no, my dear marshal, it is because the monarchy is older." all who heard shuddered at this voice behind the duke. he turned and saw an elderly gentleman, stylish in appearance, who laid his hand on his shoulder as he smiled misanthropically. "gads my life! it is baron taverney. countess," added the duke, "here is one of my oldest friends, for whom i beg your kindness--baron taverney of redcastle." "the father of that pair," said jean and jeanne to themselves, as they bowed in salutation. "my lords and gentlemen," shouted the grand master of ceremonies, "to your places in the coaches." the two aged nobles bowed to the favorite and her brother, and went into the same vehicle, glad to be united after long absence. "what do you say to that? i do not like the old fellow a whit better than the cubs," said jean dubarry. "what a pity that the little imp, gilbert, ran away. as he was brought up in their house, he might furnish particulars about the family," said the countess. the dialogue was broken off by the movement of all the carriages. after a night at compiegne, the united courts--the sundown of one era, the sunburst of another--swept intermingled on to paris, that gulf which was to swallow up the whole of them. chapter xxv. gilbert snaps golden chains. it is time to return to gilbert. our little philosopher had cooled in his admiration for chon since at the outbreak of the collision between chevalier jean and philip of taverney he had learnt the name of his protectress. often, at taverney, when he was skulking and listening to the chat of the baron and his daughter, he had heard the old noble express himself plainly about the favorite dubarry. his interested hatred had found a sympathetic echo in the boy's bosom; and andrea never contradicted her father's abuse, for, it must be allowed, lady dubarry's name was deeply scorned in the country. what completely ranked gilbert on the side of the old noble was that nicole had sometimes exclaimed: "i wish i were dubarry." chon was too busy after the duel to think about gilbert, who forgot his bad impression as he entered the court capital in his frank admiration. he was still under the spell when he slept in the attic of the royal palace. the only matter in his dreams was that he, the poor boy, was lodged like the foremost noblemen of france, without his being a courtier or a lackey. gilbert was in one of the thinking fits common to him when events surpassed his will or comprehension, when he was told that mademoiselle chon wanted to see him. she was waiting in her carriage for him to accompany her on a ride. she sat in the front seat, with a large chest and a small dog. gilbert and a steward named cranche were to have the other places. to preserve his position, gilbert sat behind chon, and the steward, without even thinking of objecting, sat behind the dog and box. like all who lived in versailles, chon drew a free breath with pleasure in quitting the grand palace for the woods and pastures, and said as she turned half round on their leaving the town: "how does the philosopher like versailles?" "it is very fine. so we are quitting it so soon?" "we are going to our place." "your place, you mean," grumbled gilbert in the tone of a bear becoming tamed. "i mean that i am going to introduce you to my sister, whom you must try to please, for she is hand and glove with all the great lords of the kingdom. by the way, master cranche, we must have a suit of clothes made for this young gentleman." "the ordinary livery?" queried the man. "livery?" snarled gilbert, giving the upper servant a fierce look. "oh, no; i will tell you the style after i communicate my notion to my sister. but it must be ready at the same time as zamore's new clothes." gilbert was startled at this talk. "zamore is a little playfellow for you, the governor of the royal castle of luciennes," explained chon. "make friends with him, as he is a good fellow, in spite of his color." gilbert was eager to know what color zamore was, but he reflected that philosophers ought not to be reproved for inquisitiveness, and he contained himself. "i will try," replied the youth with a smile which he thought full of dignity. luciennes was what had been described to him. "so this is the pleasure house which has cost the country so dearly!" he mused. joyous dogs and eager servants came to greet the mistress' sister. jeanne had not come, and chon was glad to see her first of all. "sylvie," she said to a pretty girl who came to take the lap dog and the chest, "give misapoof and the box to cranche, and take my little philosopher to zamore!" the chambermaid did not know what kind of animal a philosopher was, but chon's glance directed her to gilbert, and she beckoned him to follow her. but for the tone of command which chon had used, the youth would have taken sylvie for other than a servant. she was dressed more like andrea than nicole. she gave gilbert a smile, for the recommendation denoted that chon had a fancy, if not affection for the new-comer. gilbert was rather daunted by the idea of appearing before so grand an official as a royal governor, but the words that zamore was a good fellow reassured him. friend of a viscount and a court lady already, he might face a governor. "how the court is slandered!" he thought; "for it is easy to make friends among the courtiers. they are kind and hospitable." in a noble roman room, on cushions, with crossed legs, squatted zamore, eating candies out a satin bag. "oh!" exclaimed the incipient philosopher, "what do you call this thing?" "me no ting--me gubbernor," blubbered zamore. gilbert had never before seen a negro. the uneasy glance which he turned up to sylvie caused that lively girl to burst into a peal of laughter. grave and motionless as an idol, zamore kept on diving with his paw in the bag of sweetmeats and munching away. at this moment the door opened to give admission to steward cranche and a tailor to take the measures of gilbert. "do not pull him about too much," said the steward. "oh, i am done," said the knight of the thimble; "the costume of sganarelle is a loose one, and we never bother about a fit." "oh, he will look fine as sganarelle," said sylvie. "and is he to have the high hat like mother goose's?" gilbert did not hear the reply, as he pushed aside the tailor and would not help any more preparations. he did not know that sganarelle was a comic character in a popular play, but he saw that it was a ludicrous one, and he was enlightened further by sylvie's laughter. she departed with tailor and steward, leaving him alone with the black boy, who continued to roll his eyes and devour the bonbons. what riddles for the country boy! what dreads and pangs for the philosopher who guessed that his manly dignity was in as much danger in luciennes as at taverney. still he tried to talk to zamore, but that interesting african, sitting astride of a chair on casters, made it run him round the room a dozen times with a celerity which ought to have shown by anticipation that the velocipede was a practical machine. suddenly a bell tinkled and zamore darted out of the room with as much rapidity as he had shown on the novel quadricycle. gilbert would have followed, but on looking through the doorway, he saw the passage so crowded with servants guarding noblemen in gay clothes, that he shivered and slunk back. an hour passed, without the return of zamore or sylvie. gilbert was longing for human company, when a footman came to take him to mademoiselle chon. free, after having informed her sister how she had conducted the mission to lady bearn, chon was breakfasting with a hearty appetite, in a loose dressing-gown, in a morning room. she cast a glance on gilbert without offering him a seat. "how have you hit off with zamore?" she inquired, after tossing off a glass of wine like liquid topaz. "how could i make the acquaintance of a black boy who does not speak, but stares and gulps down candies?" "i thought you said all were equal?" "he may be my equal, but i do not think him so," answered gilbert. "what fun he is!" muttered chon: "you seem not to give away your heart in a hurry?" "with slowness, lady." "i hoped you held me in affection?" "i have considerable liking for you personally, but----" "thanks for so much! you overpower me. how long does it take for one to win the good graces of so disdainful a fellow?" "much time; some would never win them." "ah, this explains why you could suddenly leave taverney castle after staying there eighteen years. it appears that its masters could not obtain your friendship and confidence?" "not all." "what did they do? who displeased you?" "i am not complaining." "oh, very well! if you do not want to give your confidence. i might help you to come out even with these taverneys if you told me what they are like." "i take no revenge, or i take it with my own hand," said gilbert proudly. "still as you bear a grudge against them, or several, and we have one, we ought to be allies." "you are wrong, lady. i feel very different toward different members of the family." "is lord philip one whom you paint black or rosy?" "i bear no ill to master philip, who has done nothing to me one way or another." "then you would not be a witness against him in favor of my brother about that duel?" "i should be bound to speak the truth, and that would be unfavorable toward chevalier dubarry." "do you make him out wrong?" "he was so, to insult the dauphiness." "are you upholding the dauphiness?" "i stand for justice." "you are mad, boy; never talk of justice in a royal residence. when one serves a master, he takes the responsibility." "not so; every man should obey his conscience. any way, i have no master. i did not ask to come here, and now i will go away, freely as i came." "oh, no, you don't," cried chon, amazed at this rebellion and getting angered. gilbert frowned. "no, no, let us have peace. here you will have but three persons to please. the king, my sister and myself." "how am i to please you?" "well, you have seen zamore? he gets already so much a year out of the royal private purse; he is governor of luciennes, and though he may be laughed at for his blubber lips and complexion, he is courted and called my lord." "i shall not do that." "what, when you assert that all men are brothers?" "that is the reason why i will not acknowledge him my lord." chon was beaten with her own weapons; she bit her lips. "you do not seem to be ambitious?" "yes, i am," and his eyes sparkled. "to be a doctor? you shall be a doctor. that was the costume you were measured for. royal physician, too." "i? who know not the a b c of medical science. you are mocking at me, lady." "does zamore know anything about governing a castle?" "i see: you want me to be a sham doctor, a buffoon? the king wants another merry-maker?" "why not? don't you know that the duke of tresmes begs my sister to appoint him her monkey. but don't hang your head. keep that lumpish air for your doctoral uniform. meanwhile, as you must live on something better than your pills, go and have breakfast with the governor." "with zamore? i am not hungry." "you will be before evening; if we must give you an appetite, we will call in the whipper to the royal pages." the youth trembled and turned pale. "go back to my lord zamore," continued chon, taking the silence for consent, or at least submission. "you will find he is fed daintily. mind not to be an ingrate, or you will be taught what gratitude is." a lackey conducted gilbert to the mock governor's dining-room, but he would not eat anything. nevertheless, when the costume of the doctor in molière's comedy was brought, he submitted to being shown how he was to wear it. "i thought that the doctors of that time carried an inkhorn and a quill to write out their prescriptions," suggested gilbert. "by jove they did!" exclaimed the steward. "let us have the **** complete while we are about it." the foreman charged to get the articles, also acquainted chon, who was going to join her sister in paris, with the astonishing willingness of her pet. she was so pleased that she sent a little purse with some silver in it, to be added to the doctor's girdle along with the inkhorn. gilbert sent his thanks, and expressed a wish to be left alone to put on the costume. "make haste," said the steward, "that the young lady may see you before she is off to paris." gilbert looked out of the window to see how the gardens were arranged. returning to the table, he tore the long black doctoral gown into three strips, which he made a rope of by tying the ends together. on the table he laid the hat and the purse and the following declaration which he wrote: "lady: the foremost of boons is liberty. the holiest of duties is to preserve it. as you do violence to my feelings, i set myself free. gilbert." he addressed this epistle to chon, tied his twelve feet of serge rope to the window sill, glided down like a serpent, and dropped on the terrace at risk of breaking his neck. though stunned a little by the fall, he ran to some trees, scrambled up among the boughs, slipped downward till he was on a lower level and could reach the ground where he ran away with all his might. when they came for him half an hour after, he was far beyond their reach. chapter xxvi. the old botanist. on the trunk of a tree overthrown by a storm in meudon woods a man was seated. under his grizzled wig he showed a mild and shrewd visage. his brown coat was of good cloth, as were his breeches; and his gray waistcoat was worked on the flaps. his gray cotton stockings imprisoned well-made and muscular legs; his buckled shoes, though dusty in patches, had been washed at the top by the morning dews. near him, on the trunk, was a green box, open and stuffed with freshly gathered plants. between his legs he held a cane with a crutch handle, ending in a sort of pick. he was eating a piece of bread, and tossing crumbs to the wild birds, which flew down on the pieces and took them off to their nooks with joyful peeps. suddenly he heard hurried steps, and seeing on looking up, a young man with disquieting aspect, he rose. he buttoned up his coat and closed his overcoat above it. his air was so calming that the intruder on his peace came to a stop and doffed his hat. it was gilbert. gilbert, much the worse for his roaming the woods through the night since he had fled from luciennes in order not to lose his freedom. remarking this sudden timidity, the old man appeared to be put at ease by it. "do you want to speak to me, my friend?" he asked, smiling, and laying the piece of bread on the tree. "yes, for i see that you are throwing away bread on the birds as though it were not written that the lord provides for the sparrows." "the lord provides," returned the old gentleman, "no doubt, young man; but the hand of man is one of the means. you are wrong if you said that as a reproach, for never is cast-away bread--in the desert or on the crowded street--lost to living creatures. here, the birds get it; there, the beggars." "though this be the wilds, i know of a man who wants to dispute that bread with the birds," said gilbert, though struck by the soft and penetrating voice of the stranger. "are you the man--and are you hungered?" "sharply so, and if you would allow----" with eager compassion the gentleman took up the crust, but, suddenly reflecting, he scrutinized gilbert with a quick yet profound glance. gilbert was not so like a starving man that the meditation was warranted. his dress was decent, though earth-stained in places. his linen was white, for he had at versailles, on the previous evening, changed his shirt out of his parcel; but from its dampness, it was visible that he had slept in the woods. in all this and his white and taper hands, the man of vague reverie was revealed rather than the hard worker. not wanting for tact, gilbert understood the distrust and hesitation of the stranger in respect to him, and hastened to annul conjectures which might be unfavorable. "after twelve hours, hunger begins, and i have eaten nothing for four-and-twenty," he observed. the truth of the words was supported by his emotion, the quaver of his voice and the pallor of his face. the old gentleman therefore ceased to waver, or rather to fear. he held out not only the bread, but a handkerchief in which he was carrying cherries. "i thank you," said gilbert, repulsing the fruit gently; "only the bread, which is ample." breaking the crust in two, he took one portion and pushed back the other. then he sat on the grass, a yard or two away from the old gentlemen, who viewed him with increasing wonder. the meal did not last long, as the bread was scant and gilbert hungry. with no words did the observer trouble him, but continued his mute and furtive examination while apparently only attending to his plants and flowers in the box. but seeing that gilbert was going to drink at a pool, he quickly called out: "do not drink that water, young man. it is infected by the detritus of the plants dead last year and by the frog-spawn swimming on the surface. you had better take some cherries, as they will quench thirst better than water. i invite you to partake as i see you are not an importunate guest." "it is true, sir; importunity is the opposite of my nature. i fear nothing so much as being importunate, as i have just been proving at versailles." "oh! so you come from versailles?" queried the stranger, looking hard at him. "a rich place, where only the proud or the poor die of want." "i am both, sir." "have you quarreled with your master?" "i have no master." "that is a very lofty answer," said the other, putting away the plants in the box, while regarding the young man. "still it is exact." "no, young man, for everybody has a master here, as we all suffer the domination of a higher power. some are ruled by men, some by principles: and the sternest masters are not always those who order or strike with the human voice or hand." "i confess i am ruled by principles," replied gilbert. "they are the only masters which the mind may acknowledge without shame." "oh, those are your principles, are they? you seem very young to have any settled principles." "i am young but i have studied, or rather read a little in such works as 'on the inequality of classes,' and 'the social contract;' out of them comes all my knowledge, and perhaps all my dreams." these words kindled a flame in the hearer's eyes; he so started that he broke a flower rebellious to being packed away. "these may not be your principles, but they are rousseau's." "dry stuff for a youth," said the other; "sad matter for contemplation at twenty years of age; a dry and scentless flower for imagination in the springtide of life." "misfortune ripens a man unseasonably, sir." "as you study the philosopher of geneva, do you make a personal allusion there?" "i do not know anything about him," rejoined gilbert, candidly. "know, young man, that he is an unhappy creature." with a sigh he said it. "impossible! jean jacques rousseau unhappy? is there no justice above more than on earth? the man unhappy who has consecrated his life to the welfare of the race." "i plainly see that you do not know him; so let us rather speak of yourself. whither are you going?" "to paris. do you belong there?" "so far as i am living there, but i was not born in it. why the question?" "it is attached to the subject we were talking of; if you live in paris, you may have seen the philosopher rousseau." "oh, yes, i have seen him." "he is looked at as he passes along--they point to him as the benefactor of humanity?" "no; the children follow him, and, encouraged by their parents, throw stones at him." "gracious! still he has the consolation of being rich," said gilbert, with painful stupefaction. "like yourself, he often wonders where the next meal is coming from." "but, though poor, he is powerful, respected and well considered?" "he does not know of a night, in lying down, that he will not wake in the bastille." "how he must hate men!" "he neither loves not hates them: they fill him with disgust, that is all." "i do not understand how he can not hate those who ill use him," exclaimed gilbert. "rousseau has always been free, and strong enough to rely on himself. strength and liberty make men meek and good; it is only weakness and slavery which create the wicked." "i guessed this as you explain it; and that is why i wished to be free." i see that we agree on one point, our liking for rousseau. "speak for yourself, young man: youth is the season for illusions." "nay; one may be deceived upon things, but not on men." "alas, you will learn by and by, that it is men particularly about whom deception is easiest. perhaps rousseau is a little fairer than other men; but he has his faults, and great ones." gilbert shook his head, but the stranger continued to treat him with the same favor, though he was so uncivil. "you said you had no master?" "none, though it dwelt with me to have a most illustrious one; but i refused on the condition that i should make the amusement of noble idlers. being young, able to study and make my way, i ought not to lose the precious time of youth and compromise in my person the dignity of man." "this was right," said the stranger gravely; "but have you determined on a career?" "i should like to be a physician." "a grand and noble career, where one may decide between true science, modest and martyr-like, and quackery, impudent, rich and bloated. if you love truth, young man, be a doctor. if you love popular applause, be a doctor." "i am afraid it will cost a lot of money to study, although rousseau learned for nothing." "nothing? oh, young man," said the plant-collector, with a mournful smile, "do you call nothing the most precious of heavenly blessings--candor, health and sleep? that was the price the genevian seeker of wisdom paid for the little he knows." "little! when he is a great musical composer!" "pooh, because the king sings 'i have lost my servant,' that does not prove 'the village sorcerer' to be a good opera." "he is a noted botanist!" "an herb-gatherer, very humble and ignorant amid the marvels known as plants and flowers." "he is a latin scholar, for i read that he had translated tacitus." "bah, because in his conceit he wanted to be master of all crafts. but tacitus, who is a rough antagonist to wrestle with, tired him. no, no, my good young man, in spite of your admiration, there are no more admirable crichtons, and what man gains in breadth he loses in depth. rousseau is a superficial man whose surface is a trifle wider than most men's, that is all." "many would like to attain his mark," said the youth. "do you slur at me?" asked the stranger with a good nature disarming gilbert. "god forbid, for it is too much pleasure to chat for me to disoblige you. you draw me out and i am amazed at the language i am using, for i only picked it out of books, which i did not clearly follow. i have read too much, but i will read again with care. but i forget that while your talk is valuable to me, mine only wastes your time, for you are herb-gathering." "no," said the botanist, fixing his gray eyes on the youth, who made a move to go but wanted to be detained. "my box is clearly full and i only want certain mosses; i heard that capillary grows round here." "stay, i saw some yonder." "how do you know capillarys?" "i was born on the woodland; the daughter of the nobleman on whose estate i was reared, liked botany; she had a collection and the objects had their names on labels attached. i noticed that what she called capillary was called by us rustics maidenhair fern." "so you took a taste for botany?" "it was this way. i sometimes heard nicole--she is the maid to mademoiselle andrea de taverney--say that her mistress wanted such and such a plant for her herbarium, so i asked her to get a sketch of them, and i searched in the woods till i raked them up. then i transplanted them where she must find them, and used to hear the lady, in taking her walk, cry out: 'how odd! here is the very thing i was looking for!'" the old gentleman looked with more heed and it made gilbert lower his eyes blushing, for the interest had tenderness in it. "continue to study botany, which leads as a flowery path to medicine. paris has free schools, and i suppose your folks will supply your maintenance." "i have no relations, but i can earn my living at some trade." "yes, rousseau says in his 'emile,' that every one should learn a trade even though he were a prince's son." "i have not read that book, but i have heard baron taverney mock at the maxim, and pretend grief at not having made his son a joiner. instead, he made him a soldier, so that he will dismember instead of joining." "yes, these nobles bring their sons up to kill and not to nourish. when revolution comes, they will be forced to beg their bread abroad or sell their sword to the foreigners, which is more shameful. but you are not noble, and you have a craft?" "no, i have a horror for rough toil; but give me a study and see how i will wear out night and day in my tasks." "you have been to school, if not to college?" "i know but to read and write," said gilbert, shaking his head. "my mother taught me to read, for seeing me slight in physique, she said, 'you will never be a good workman, but must try to be priest or scholar. learn to read, gilbert, and you will not have to split wood, guide the plow or hew stone.' unhappily my mother died before i could more than read, so i taught myself writing. first i traced letters on sand with a sharp stick till i found that the letters used in writing were not those of print, which i was copying. hence i hope to meet some one who will need my pen, a blind man who will need my eyes, or a dumby who needs my tongue." "you appear to have willingness and courage; but do you know what it will cost you to live in town?--at least three times what it did in the country." "well, suppose i have shelter and for rest after toil, i can shift on six cents a day." "that is the right talk. i like this kind of man," said the plant collector. "come with me to paris and i will find you an independent profession by which you may live." "oh, my friend," exclaimed gilbert, intoxicated with delight. "i accept your offer and i am grateful. but what will i have to do in your company?" "nothing but toil. but you will mete out the amount of your work. you will exercise your right of youth, freedom, happiness and even of idleness after you earn the right to be at leisure," added the unnamed benefactor, smiling as though in spite of his will. then, raising his eyes to heaven, he ejaculated: "oh, youth, vigor and liberty!" with an inexpressibly poetical melancholy spreading over his fine, pure lineaments. "now, lead me to the spot where the maidenhair is to be found," he said. gilbert stepped out before the old gentleman and the pair disappeared in the underwood. chapter xxvii. master jacques. before the day was over the pair could enter the capital. the young man's heart beat as he perceived notre dame cathedral towers and the ocean of housetops. "oh, paris!" he cried with rapture. "yes, paris, a mass of buildings, a gulf of evils," said the old gentleman. "on each stone yonder you would see a drop of blood or a tear, if the miseries within those abodes could show themselves without." gilbert repressed his enthusiasm, which cooled of itself. they entered by a poor district and the sights were hideous. "it is going on eight," said the conductor, "let us be quick, young man, for goodness' sake." gilbert hurried on. "i forget to say that i am a married man," said the stranger, after a cold silence which began to worry the youth. "and my wife, who is a genuine parisian, will probably grumble at our coming home late. besides, she does not like strangers. still, i have invited you; so, come along. or, rather, here we are." by the last sunbeams, gilbert, looking up, saw the name-plate of plastrière street at a corner. the other paused before an alley door with iron bars to the upper portion. he pulled a leather thong hanging out of a hole, and this opened the door. "come quickly," he called to the youth, who hesitated on the threshold, and he closed the alley door after them. at the end of a few steps up the dark passage, gilbert stumbled on the lower step of a black, steep flight of stairs. used to the locality, the old gentleman had gone up a dozen steps. gilbert rejoined him and stopped only when he did, on a landing worn by feet, on which opened two doors. the stranger pulled a hare's foot hanging at one, and a shrill bell tinkled inside the room. a woman some fifty years of age appeared, and she and the man spoke together: "is it very late, therese?" asked the latter timidly. "a nice hour to come to supper, jacques!" snarled the woman. "come, come, we will make up for the delay," said the one called jacques, shutting the door and taking the collecting case from gilbert's hands. "have we a messenger boy here?" exclaimed the old woman: "we only wanted him to complete the merry company. so you can no longer do so much as carry your heap of weeds and grass? master jacques does the grand with a boy to carry his trash--i beg his pardon, he is becoming quite a great nobleman." "be a little quiet, therese." "pay the boy and get rid of him; we want no spies here." pale as death, gilbert sprang toward the door, but jacques stopped him, saying with some firmness: "this is not a messenger-boy or a spy. he is a guest whom i bring home." "a guest?" and the hag let her hands drop along her hips. "this is the last straw." "light up, therese," said the host, still kindly, but showing more will; "i am warm, and we are hungry." the vixen's grumbling diminished in loudness. she drew fire with flint and steel, while gilbert stood still by the sill which he regretted he had crossed. jacques perceived what he suffered, and begged him to come forward. gilbert saw the hag's yellow and morose face by the first glimmer of the thin candle stuck in a brass candlestick. it inspired him with dislike. on her part the virago was far from liking the pale, fine countenance, circumspect silence and rigidity of the youth. "i do not wonder at your being heated and hungry," she growled. "it must be tiresome to go browsing in the woods, and it is awful hard work to stoop from time to time to pick up a root. for i suppose this person gathers leaves and buds, too, for herb-collecting is the trade for those who do not any work." "this is a good and honest young man," said jacques, in a still firmer voice, "who has honored me with his company all day, and whom my good therese will greet as a friend, i am sure." "enough for two is scant for three," she grumbled. "we are both frugal." "i know your kind of frugality. i declare that there is not enough bread in the house for such abstemiousness, and that i am not going down three flights of stairs for more. anyway, the baker's is shut up." "then, i will go," said jacques, frowning. "open the door, for i mean it." "oh, in that case, i suppose i must do it," said the scold. "what am i for but to carry out your freaks? come and have supper." a table was set in the next room, small and square, with cherry wood chairs, having straw bottoms, and a bureau full of darned hose. gilbert took a chair; the old woman placed a plate and the appurtenances, all worn with hard use, before him, with a pewter goblet. "i thought you were going after bread?" said jacques. "never mind; i found a roll in the cupboard, and you ought to manage on a pound and a half of bread, eh?" so saying, she put the soup on the board. all three had good appetites, but gilbert held in his, but he was the first to get through. "who has called to-day?" inquired the host, to change the termagant's ideas. "the whole world, as usual. you promised lady boufflers four quires of music, lady escars two arias, and lady penthievre a quartet with accompaniment. they came or sent. but the ladies must go without their music because our lord was out plucking dandelions." jacques did not show anger, though gilbert expected him to do so, for he was used to this manner. the soup was followed by a chunk of boiled beef, on a delft plate grooved with knife points. the host served gilbert scantily, as therese was watching, took the same sized piece and passed the plate to his xantippe. she handed a slice of bread to the guest. it was so small that jacques blushed, but he waited until she had helped him and herself, when he took the loaf from her. he handed it to gilbert and bade him cut off according to his wants. "thank you," said gilbert, as some beans in butter were served, "but i have no longer any hunger. i never eat but one dish. and i drink only water." jacques had a little wine for himself. "you must see about the young man's bed," said the latter, putting down the bottle. "he must be tired." therese dropped her fork and stared at the speaker. "sleep here? you must be mad. bring people home to sleep--i expect you want to give up your own bed to them. you must be off your head. is it keeping a lodging-house you are about? if this is so, don't look to me! get a cook and servants. it is bad enough to be yours, without waiting on tom, dick and harry." "therese, listen to me," replied jacques, with his grave, even voice; "it is for one night only. this young man has never set foot in paris, and comes under my safe-conduct. i am not going to have him go to an inn, though he has to have my own bed, look you." therese understood that struggle was out of the question for the present and she changed her tactics by fighting for gilbert, but as an ally who would stab him in the back at the first chance. "i daresay you know all about him, or you would not have brought him home, and he ought to stay here. i will shake up some kind of a bed in your study among the papers." "no, no, a study is not fit for a sleeping-room; a light might set fire to the writings." "which would be no loss," sneered therese. "there is the garret; the room with a fine outlook over such gardens as are scarce in paris. have no anxiety, therese; the young man will not be a burden; he will earn his own living. take a candle and follow me." therese sighed, but she was mastered. gilbert gravely rose and followed his benefactor. on the landing gilbert saw drinking water in a tank. "is water dear in town?" he inquired. "they charge for it; but any way, bread and water are two things which man has no right to refuse to his fellow-man." "but at taverney, water ran freely, and the luxury of the poor is cleanliness." "take as much as you like, my friend," said master jacques. gilbert filled a crock and followed the host, who was astonished at so young a man allying the firmness of the people with the instinct of the aristocratic. chapter xxviii. in the loft. to tell the truth, the loft where jacques stowed his guest was not fit for habitation. the mattress was on the floor and the chief article of furniture. rats had pulled about and gnawed a heap of yellowed papers. on clotheslines across the attic were paper bags in which were drying beans, herbs and household linen. "it is not nice to look upon," apologized the host, "but sleep and darkness make the sumptuous palace and the meanest cottage much alike. sleep as youth can do, and nothing will prevent you thinking you slept in the royal palace. but mind you do not set the house afire. we will talk over matters in the morning." "good-night and hearty thanks," said gilbert, left alone in the garret. with all the precaution recommended, he took up the light and made the rounds of the room. as the newspapers and pamphlets were tied in bales he did not open them; but the bean bags were made of printed pages of a book, which caught his eye with the lines. one sack, knocked off the line by his head, burst on the floor, and in trying to replace the beans, he fell to reading the wrappers. it was a page from the love of a poor youth for a lovely and fashionable lady named lady warrens. gilbert was congratulating himself on having the whole night to read this love story on the wrappers when the candle went out and left him in gloom. he was ready to weep with rage. he dropped the papers on the heap of beans and flung himself on his couch where he slept deeply in spite of his disappointment. he was roused only by the grating of the lock. it was bright day; gilbert saw his host gently enter. "good-morning," he muttered, with the red of shame on his cheeks as he saw jacques staring at the beans and emptied bags. "did you sleep soundly?" "ye-es." "nay, are you not a sleep-walker?" "alas, i see why you say that. i sat up reading till the candle was burnt out, from the first sheet on which my eyes fell so greatly interesting me. do you, who know so much, know to what lovely novel those pages belong?" "i do not know, but as i notice the word 'confessions' on the headline, i should think it was memoirs." "oh, no, the man so speaking is not doing so of himself; the avowals are too frank--the opinions too impartial." "i think you are wrong," said the old gentleman quickly. "the author wanted to set an example of showing himself to his fellows as heaven created him." "do you know the author?" "the writer is jean jacques rousseau. these are stray pages out of his 'confessions.'" "so this unknown, poor, obscure youth, almost begging his way afoot on the highroads, was the man who was to write 'emile' and the 'social contract?'" "yes--or, rather no!" said the other with unspeakable sadness. "this author is the man disenchanted with life, glory, society and almost with heaven; but the other rousseau, lady warrens', was the youth entering life by the same door as aurora comes into the world; youth with his joys and hopes. an abyss divides the two rousseaus thirty years wide." the old gentleman shook his head, let his arms sadly droop, and appeared to sink into deep musing. "so," went on gilbert, "it is possible for the meanly born like rousseau to win the love of a mighty and beautiful lady? this is calculated to drive those mad who have lifted their eyes to those above their sphere." "are you in love and do you see some likeness between your case and rousseau's?" asked the old gentleman. gilbert blushed without answering the question. "but he won, because he was rousseau," he observed. "yet, were i to feel a spark of his flame of genius, i should aspire to the star, and seek to wear it even though----" "you had to commit a crime?" jacques started and cut short the interview by saying: "i think my wife must be up. we will go down stairs. besides, a working day never begins too soon. come, young man, come." on going forth, jacques secured the garret door with a padlock. this time he guided his ward into what therese called the study. the furniture of this little room was composed of glazed cases of butterflies, herbs and minerals, framed in ebonized wood; books in a walnut case, a long, narrow table, covered with a worn and blackened cloth; with manuscripts orderly arranged on it, and four wooden chairs covered in horsehair. all was glossy, lustrous, irreproachable in order and cleanness, but cold to sight and heart, from the light through the gauze curtains being gray and weak, and luxury, or comfort itself, being far from this cold, ashy and black fireside. a small rosewood piano stood on four legs, and a clock on the mantel-piece alone showed any life in this domestic tomb. gilbert walked in respectfully, for it was grand in his eyes; almost as rich as taverney, and the waxed floor imposed on him. "i am going to show you the nature of your work," said the old gentleman. "this is music paper. when i copy a page i earn ten cents, the price i myself fix. do you know music?" "i know the names of the notes but not their value, as well as these signs. in the house where i lived was a young lady who played the harpsichord----" and gilbert hung his head, coloring. "oh, the same who studied botany," queried jacques. "precisely; and she played very well." "this does not account for your learning music." "rousseau says that the man is incomplete who enjoys a result without seeking the cause." "yes; but, also, that man in perfecting himself by the discovery, loses his happiness, freshness and instincts." "what matter if what he gains compensates him for the losses?" "gad! you are not only a botanist and a musician, but a logician. at present we only require a copyist. while copying, you will train your hand to write more easily when you compose for yourself. meanwhile, with a couple of hours' copy work at night, you may earn the wherewithal to follow the courses in the colleges of medicine, surgery and botany." "i understand you," exclaimed gilbert, "and i thank you from the bottom of my heart." he settled himself to begin work on the sheet of paper held out by the kind gentleman. chapter xxix. who master jacques was. while the novice was covering the paper with his first attempts, the old gentleman set to reading printer's proofs--long leaves blank on one side like the paper of which was made the bean bags. at nine therese rushed in. "quick, quick!" she cried to jacques, who raised his head. "come out. it is a prince who calls. goodness me! when will this procession of high-cockalorums cease? i hope this one will not take it into his head to have breakfast with us, like the duke of chartres the other day." "which prince is this one?" asked jacques in an undertone. "his highness the prince of conti." gilbert let a blob of ink fall on the paper much more resembling a blot than a full note. jacques went out, smiling behind therese, who shut the door after them. "princes here!" thought gilbert. "dukes calling on a copier of music!" with his heart singularly beating, he went up to the door to listen. "i want to take you with me," said a strange voice. "for what purpose, prince?" inquired jacques. "to present you to the dauphiness. a new era opens for philosophers in her coming reign." "i am a thousand times thankful to your highness; but my infirmities keep me indoors." "and your misanthropy?" "suppose it were that? is it so curious a thing that i should put myself out for it?" "come, and i will spare you the grand reception at the celebration at st. denis, and take you on to muette, where her royal highness will pass the night in a couple of days." "does she get to st. denis the day after to-morrow?" "with her whole retinue. come! the princess is a pupil of gluck and an excellent musician." gilbert did not listen to any more after hearing that the dauphiness' retinue would be at st. denis, only a few miles out, in a day or two. he might soon be within view of andrea. this idea dazzled him like a flash from a looking-glass in his face. when he opened his eyes after this giddiness they fell on a book which happened to be open on the sideboard; it was rousseau's _confessions_, "adorned with a portrait of the author." "the very thing i was looking for. i had never seen what he was like." he quickly turned over the tissue paper on the steel plate and as he looked, the door opened and the living original of the portrait returned. with extended hands, dropping the volume, and trembling all over, he muttered: "oh! i am under the roof of jean jacques rousseau!" the old gentleman smiled with more happiness at this unstudied ovation than at the thousand triumphs of his glorious life. "yes, my friend, you are in rousseau's house." "pray forgive me for the nonsense i have talked," said the hero-worshiper, clasping his hands and about to fall on his knees. "did it require a prince's call for you to recognize the persecuted philosopher of geneva? poor child--but lucky one--who is ignorant of persecution." "oh, i am happy to see you, to know you, to dwell by you." "yes, yes, that is all very well; but we must earn our living. when you shall have copied this piece--for you have practiced enough to make a start--you will have earned your keep to-day. i charge nothing for the lodging--only do not sit up late and burn up the candles, for therese will scold. what was left over from supper last night will be our breakfast; but this will be the last meal we take together, unless i invite you. in the street is a cheap dining-house for artisans, where you will fare nicely. i recommend it. in the mean time, let us breakfast." gilbert followed without a word, for he was conquered, for the first time; but then this was a man superior to others. after the first mouthfuls he left table; the shock had spoilt his appetite. at eight in the evening he had copied a piece of music, not artistically but legibly, and rousseau paid him the six cents. "we have plenty of bread," remarked therese, on whom the young man's gentleness, application and discretion had produced good effect. "i shall never forget your kindness, madame," he said, about to excuse himself, when he caught the host's eye and guessed that it would offend him. "i accept," he said. he went up to his loft, with the bread and money. "at last i am my own master," he said to himself, "or should be but for this bread, which is from charity." although hungry, he placed it on the window sill and did not touch it during the night, though famine made him remember it. he woke up at daylight, but still he did not eat the bread. he took it up, though, and at five o'clock, went down and outdoors. from suspicion, or merely to study his guest, rousseau was on the lookout, and he followed the youth up the street. a beggar coming up to gilbert, he gave him the hunk of bread. entering the baker's, he bought another roll. "he is going into the eating-house," thought the watcher, "where the money will soon fly." but gilbert munched part of the roll while strolling; he washed down the rest at the public fountain, washed his hands and sauntered home. "by my faith, i believe that i am happier than diogenes and have found an honest man," thought rousseau. the day passed in uninterrupted labor. at even gilbert had turned out seven pages of copy--if not elegant, faultless. he tested in his hand the money received for it with ardent satisfaction. "you are my master," he said, "since i find work in your place and you give me lodgings gratis. i should therefore lay myself open to be badly thought of by you if i acted without consulting you." "what," said rousseau, frightened; "what are you going to do? going off elsewhere to work?" "no, only i want a holiday, with your leave, to-morrow." "to idle?" "no, to go to st. denis to see the dauphiness arrive." "i thought you scorned the pomps of this worldly show," said rousseau. "i, though an obscure citizen, despised the invitation of these great people to be of the reception party." gilbert nodded approval. "i am not philosophic," said he, "but i am discreet." this word struck the tutor, who saw there was some mystery in this behavior, and he looked at the speaker with admiration. "i am glad to see you have a motive." "yes, and one which does not resemble the curiosity of a man at a show." "it is for the better, or for the worse, for your look is deep, young man, and i seek in it in vain for youthful calm and candor." "i told you i was unfortunate," returned gilbert; "and such have no youth." "but at the hour when you are seeing all the pomps of society glitter before you, i shall open one of my herbariums and review the magnificence of nature." "but would you not have turned your back on herbariums if you were going to see your sweetheart--the one to whom you tossed a bunch of cherries?" "quite true! and you are young. go to the show, my boy. it is not ambition in him, but love," he commented when gilbert had gone out gleefully. chapter xxx. old patricians and new. when the news spread of the royal splendor over the reception of the bride from austria, the dreadful curiosity of the parisians was sharpened, and they were to be seen flocking out to st. denis by scores, hundreds and thousands. gilbert was lost in the multitude, but, seeing some urchins climb up in the trees, and the exercise being child's play to him, he clambered into a linn tree and perched on a bough to wait. half an hour after, drums beat, cannon thundered, and the majestic cathedral bell began to boom. in the distance a shrill cry arose, but became full and more deep as it drew near. it made gilbert prick up the ear and his whole body quiver. "long life to the king!" it was the customary cheer. a herd of horses, neighing under housings of gold and purple, swarmed on the highway; they were the royal household troops, guards, swiss dragoons, musketeers and gendarmes. then a massive and magnificent coach loomed up. gilbert perceived a stately head under a hat, when all were uncovered, and a blue sash. he saw the royal glance, cold and penetrative, before which all bowed and heads were bared. fascinated, intoxicated, panting and frozen, he forgot to lift his hat. a violent blow drew him from his ecstasy; his hat had been knocked off with the stroke of a soldier's halberd. "i beg pardon," he stammered. "i am fresh from the country." "then learn that you must salute all the royal carriages, whoever may be in them," said the halberdier gruffly. "if you do not know the emblem of the lilyflower, i will teach you." "you need not. i know," said gilbert. the royal equipages passed in a prolonged line. gilbert gazed on them so intently that he seemed stupefied. at the royal abbey doors they stopped successively to let the noblemen and ladies alight. these setting-down movements caused halts of a few minutes. in one of them gilbert felt a burning dart rush through his heart. he was dazzled so that all was effaced in his sight, and so violent a shivering overwhelmed him that he was forced to catch at the branch not to tumble off. right in front of him, not ten paces off, in one of the vehicles with the lily brand which he had been advised to salute, he perceived the splendidly luminous face of andrea taverney; she was clad in white, like an angel or a ghost. he uttered a faint outcry; but then, triumphing over the emotions which had mastered him together, he commanded his heart to cease to beat that he might look at the star. such was the young man's power over himself that he succeeded. wishful to learn why the horses had been reined in, andrea leaned out, and, as her bright blue eyes traveled round, she caught sight of gilbert and recognized him. gilbert suspected that she would be surprised and would inform her father of the discovery, as he sat next her. he was not wrong, for andrea called the baron's attention to the youth. "gilbert," said the nobleman, who was puffing himself up at the coach window, in his handsome red sash of the order of knighthood. "he, here? who is taking care of my hound, then?" hearing the words, the young man respectfully bowed to andrea and her father. but it took him all his powers to make the effort. "it is so. it is the rascal in person," said the baron. on andrea's face, observed by gilbert with sustained attention, was perfect calm under slight surprise. leaning out of the carriage, the baron beckoned to his ex-retainer. but the soldier who had given the youth a lesson in etiquette stopped him. "let the lad come to me," said the lord; "i have a couple of words to say to him." "you may go half a dozen, my lord," said the sergeant, flattered by the nobleman addressing him; "plenty of time, for they are speechifying under the porch. pass, younker." "come hither, rogue," said the baron on gilbert affecting not to hurry himself out of his usual walk. "tell me by what chance you are out here at st. denis when you ought to be at taverney?" "it is no chance," replied gilbert, saluting lord and lady for the second time, "but the act of my free will." "what do you mean by your will, varlet? have you such a thing as a will of your own?" "why not? every free man has his own." "free man? do you fancy yourself free, you unhappy dog?" "of course, since i parted with my freedom to no one." "on my word, here's a pretty knave," said the baron, taken aback by the coolness of the speaker. "how dare you be in town, and how did you manage to get here?" "i walked it," said gilbert shortly. "walked!" repeated andrea with some pity. "but i ask what you have come here for?" continued the baron. "to get an education, which is assured me, and make my fortune, which i hope for." "what are you doing meanwhile--begging?" "begging?" reiterated gilbert, with superb scorn. "thieving, then?" "i never stole anything from taverney," retorted gilbert, with such proud and wild firmness that it riveted the girl's attention on him for a space. "what mischief does your idle hand find to do, then?" "what a genius is doing, whom i seek to resemble if only by perseverance; i copy music," replied the rebel. "you copy music?" queried andrea, turning round. "then you know it?" in the tone of one saying, "you are a liar." "i know the notes, and that is enough for copying. i like music dearly, and i used to listen to the lady playing at the harpsichord." "you eavesdropper!" "i got the airs by heart to begin with; and next, as i saw they were written in a book, i saw a method in it and i learnt it." "you dared to touch my book?" said andrea, at the height of indignation. "i had no need to touch it; it lay open. i looked, and there is no soiling a printed page by a look." "let me tell you," sneered the baron, "that we shall have this imp declare that he can play the piano like haydn." "i might have learnt that if i had presumed to touch the keys," said the youth, confidently. against her inclination, andrea cast a second look on the face animated by a feeling like a martyr's in fanaticism. but the lord, who had not his daughter's calmness and clear head, felt his wrath kindle at the youth being right and their being inhumane in leaving him with the watchdog at taverney. it is hard to forgive an inferior for the wrong which he may convict us with; hence he grew heated as his daughter cooled. "you rapscallion!" he said. "you desert and play the vagabond and spout such tomfoolery as we hear when you are brought to task. but as i do not wish the king's highway to be infested with gipsy tramps and thieves----" andrea held up her hand to appease the patrician, whose exaggeration annulled his superiority. but he put her aside and continued: "i shall tell chief of police sartines about you, and have you locked up in the house of correction, you fledgeling philosopher." "lord baron," returned gilbert, drawing back but slapping his hat down on his head with the ire which made him white, "i have found patrons in town at whose door your sartines dances attendance!" "the deuse you say so?" questioned the baron. "you shall taste the stirrup leather anyway. andrea, call your brother, who is close to hand." andrea stooped out toward the offender and bade him begone in an imperious voice. "philip," called the old noble. gilbert stood on the spot, mute and unmoving, as in ecstatic worship. up rode a cavalier at the call; it was the knight of redcastle, joyous and brilliant in a captain's uniform. "why, it is gilbert," he exclaimed. "the idea of his being here! good-day, gilbert. what do you want, father?" "i want you to whip this malapert with your sword-scabbard," roared the old patrician, pale with anger. "what has he done?" inquired philip, looking with growing astonishment from his father in age to the youth who had tranquilly returned his greeting. "never mind what he has done, but lash him, philip, as you would a dog!" "what has he done?" asked the chevalier, turning to his sister. "has he insulted you?" "i insult her?" repeated gilbert. "not at all," answered andrea. "he has done nothing. father let his passion get the upper hand of him. gilbert is no longer in our service and has the right to go wherever he likes. father does not understand this and flew into a rage." "is that all?" asked captain philip. "all, brother, and i do not understand father's wrath about such stuff and for the trash who do not deserve a look. just see if we are not to go on again, philip." subdued by his daughter's serenity, the baron was quiet. crushed by such scorn, gilbert lowered his head. something ran through his heart much like hatred. he would have preferred philip taverney's sword or even a cut of his whip. he came near swooning. luckily the speechmaking was over and the procession moved forward once more. andrea was carried on, and faded as in a dream. gilbert thought he was alone in his grief, believing that he could never support the weight of such misfortune. but a hand was laid on his shoulder. turning, he saw philip, who came smiling toward him, having dismounted and given his steed to his orderly to hold. "i should like to hear what has happened," he said, "and how my poor gilbert has come to paris?" this frank and cordial greeting touched the young man. "what was i to do on the old place?" he asked, with a sigh, torn from his wild stoicism. "i should have died of hunger, ignorance and despair." philip started, for his impartial mind, like andrea's, was struck by the painful loneliness in which the youth was left. "but do you imagine that you can succeed in paris, a poor boy, without resources and protectors?" "i do. the man who can work rarely dies of want, where so many want to live without working." the hearer started at this reply; previously he had regarded him as a dependent of no importance. "i earn my daily bread, captain philip, and that is a great gain for one who was blamed for eating bread which he did nothing for." "i hope you are not referring to what you had at taverney, for your father and mother were good tenants and you were often useful." "i only did my duty." "mark me, gilbert," continued the young gentleman. "you know i always liked you. i looked upon you differently to others. the future will show whether i was right or wrong. to me your standing aloof was fastidiousness; your plainspokenness i called straightforward." "thanks," said the young man, breathing delightedly. "it follows that i wish you well. young like you and unhappy as i was situated, i thus understood you. fortune has smiled upon me. let me help you in anticipation of the lady on the wheel smiling on you likewise." "i thank you." "do you blush to take my help, when all men are brothers?" gilbert fastened his intelligent eyes on the speaker's noble features, astonished at hearing the language from those lips. "such is the talk of the new generation," said he; "opinions shared by the dauphin himself. do not be proud with me, but take what you may return me another day. who knows but that you may be a great financier or statesman----" "or doctor-surgeon," said gilbert. "just as you please. here is my purse; take half." "i thank you, but i need nothing," replied the unconquerable young man, softened by philip's admirable brotherly love; "but be sure that i am more grateful to you than if i had accepted your offer." he mingled with the mob, leaving philip stupefied for several seconds, unable to credit sight and hearing. seeing gilbert did not reappear, he mounted his horse and regained his place. chapter xxxi. the magician's wife. all the rumbling of the coaches, the booming of the bells swinging to the full extent, the rolling of the drums, all the majesty of the society the princess louise had discarded in order to live in the nunnery, glided over her soul and died away at the base of her cell wall, like the useless tide. she had refused to return to the court, and while her sisterhood were still agitated by the royal visit, she alone did not quiver when the heavy door banged and shut out the world from her solitude. she summoned her treasurer to her. "during these two days of frivolous uproar," she inquired, "have the poor been visited, the sick attended, and those soldiers on guard given bread and wine!" "nobody has wanted in this house." suddenly the kick of a horse was heard against the woodwork of the stables. "what is that? has any courtier remained?" "only his eminence the cardinal de rohan; that is the horse of the italian lady who came here yesterday to crave hospitality of your highness." "true; i remember. where is she?" "in her room, or in the church. she refuses all food save bread, and prayed in the chapel all through the night." "some very guilty person, no doubt," said the lady superior, frowning. "i know not, for she speaks to no one." "what is she like?" "handsome, but proud, along with tenderness." "how did she act during the royal ceremony?" "she peeped out of her window, hiding in the curtains, and examined everybody as though she feared to see an enemy." "some member of the class which i have reigned over. what is her name?" "lorenza feliciani." "i know of no person of that name, but show her in." princess louise sat in an ancient oak chair, carved in the reign of henri ii. and used by nine carmelite abbesses. before this seat of justice many poor novices had quailed between spiritual and temporal power. a moment following the treasurer returned, ushering in the foreigner whom we know; she wore a long veil. with the piercing eye of her race, princess louise studied lorenza on her entering the closet; but her hostile feelings became sisterly and benevolent on seeing so much grace and humility in the visitor, so much sublime beauty, and, in short, so much innocence in the large black eyes wet with tears. the princess prevented her dropping on her knees. "draw near and speak," said she. "are you called lorenza feliciani?" "yes, lady." "you want to confide a secret to me?" "i am dying with the desire." "but why do you not go to the penitential chamber? i have no power but to console; a priest can comfort and forgive." she spoke the last word hesitatingly. "i need comfort alone; and to a woman alone can i entrust my confession. will you listen patiently to my most strange story, to be told to you alone, for you are mighty, and i require the hand of heaven to defend me." "defend? are you pursued and attacked?" "yes, indeed, my lady," said the fugitive, with unutterable fright. "reflect, madame, that this is a nunnery and not a castle," said the princess; "what agitates mankind enters here but to be extinguished; weapons to use against man are not here; it is the abode of god, not of might, repression and justice." "the very thing i seek," answered lorenza; "in the abode of god alone can i find a life of rest." "but not of vengeance. if you want reprisal on your foes, apply to the magistrates." "they can do nothing against the man whom i dread." "who can he be?" asked the lady superior, with secret and involuntary fright. "who?" said the italian, approaching the princess-abbess under the sway of mysterious exaltation. "i am certain that he is one of those devils who war against mankind, endowed by their prince satan with superhuman power." "what are you telling me?" said the other, regarding the woman to make sure that she was not mad. "what a wretch am i to have fallen across the path of this demon," groaned lorenza, writhing her lovely arms, seemingly reft from a flawless ancient statue. "i am possessed of a fiend," she gasped, going up to the lady and speaking in a low voice, as if afraid to hear her own tones. "possessed! speak out, if you are in your senses." "i am not mad, though i may become so, if you drive me away." "but allow me to say that i see you like a creature favored by heaven; you seem rich and are beauteous; you express yourself correctly, and your face does not wear traces of the terrible and mysterious complaint called demoniac possession." "in my life, madame, and its adventures resides the sinister secret which i wish i could keep from myself. lady, i am a roman, where my father came of the old patricians, but like most roman nobles, he is poor. i have also a mother and elder brother. in france, when an aristocratic family has a son and a daughter, she is put into a nunnery that the money which should have been her marriage portion shall buy the son a military commission. among us, the daughter is sacrificed to help the son rise in holy orders. i was given no education, while my brother was trained to be a cardinal, as my mother simply said. i was destined to take the veil among the subiaco carmelites. such a future had been held out to me from youth as a necessity. i had no will or strength in the matter. i was not consulted but ordered, and had to obey. we roman girls love society without knowing anything about it, as the suffering souls in paradise love heaven. i was surrounded by examples which would have doomed me, had the idea of resistance come to me, but none such came. but my mother fondled me a little more than usual when the fatal day dawned. "my father gathered five hundred roman crowns to pay my entrance fee into the convent, and we set out for subiaco. it is some nine leagues from rome; but the mountain roads were so bad that we were five hours getting over three of them. but the journey pleased me, though it might be fatiguing. i smiled on it as my last pleasure, and along the road bade farewell to the trees, bushes, stones and the dried grass itself. i feared that in the nunnery would be not even grass and flowers. "suddenly, amid my dreams, and as we were passing between a grove and a pile of rocks, the carriage stopped. i heard my mother scream, and my father jumped to get his pistols. my eyes and mind dropped from the skies to the earth, for we were stopped by highwaymen." "poor girl!" exclaimed princess louise, interested in the tale. "i was not frightened, for the brigands waylaid us for money, and what they took was to pay my way into the nunnery; hence there would be a delay until it was made up again, and i knew that it would take time and trouble. but when, after sharing this plunder, the bandits, instead of letting us go our way, sprang upon me, and i saw my father's efforts to defend me and my mother's tears in entreaty, then i comprehended that a great though unknown misfortune threatened me, and i began to call for mercy. it was natural, though i knew that it was useless calling and that nobody would hear in this wild spot. hence, without heeding my father's struggles, my mother's weeping, or my appeals, the banditti tied my hands behind my back, and began throwing dice on one of their handkerchiefs spread on the ground, while burning me with hideous glances, which i understood from terror giving me clearness of sight. "what most frightened me was not to see any stake on the board. i shuddered as the dice cup passed from hand to hand, at the thought that i was the stake. "all of a sudden, one of them, with a yell of triumph, jumped up, while the others ground their teeth and swore. he ran up to me, took me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine. the contact of redhot iron could not have drawn a more heartrending scream from me. "'rather death, o god!' i shrieked. "my mother writhed on the ground where my father lay, in a dead swoon. my only hope was that one of the losing villains would kill me out of spite with the dagger he held in his clenched fist. i waited for this stroke--longed, prayed for it. "suddenly a horseman rode up the path. he spoke to one of the sentinels, who let him pass, exchanging a sign with him. he was of medium stature, imposing in mien and resolute in gaze. he came on at the walking pace of his horse, calm and tranquil. he stopped in front of me. the bandit who had clutched me turned round sharply at the first blow of the whistle which the stranger carried in the handle of his riding whip. he let me drop to the ground. "'come here,' said the horseman, and as the bandit hesitated, he formed a triangle with his arms, crossing his forefingers upon his breast. "as though this were the token of a mighty master, the robber went up to the stranger, who stooped down to his ear, and said: "'mak.' "i am sure he uttered but this single word, for i looked at him as one looks at the knife about to slay oneself, and listened as one does for the sentence of life or death. "'benak,' answered the highwayman. "subdued like a lion, with growling, he returned to me, untied the rope round my wrists, and did the same release for my parents. as the coin had been shared, every man went and put his portion on a flat rock. not a piece was missing. meanwhile i felt myself coming to life again in the hands of my father and mother. "'be off,' said the deliverer to the robbers, who obeyed and dived into the wood to the last man. "'lorenza feliciani,' said the stranger, covering me with a superhuman gaze, 'you are free to go your way.' "my father and mother thanked the stranger who knew me and yet was unknown to us. they stepped into the carriage where i followed them with regret, for some unknown power irresistibly attracted me toward my savior. he remained unstirring in the same spot, as if to continue between us and harm. i looked at him as long as i could and the oppression on my bosom did not go off until he was lost to view. in a couple of hours we reached subiaco." "but who was this extraordinary man?" cried princess louise, moved by the simplicity of the story. "kindly let me finish. alas! this is not the whole of it. "on the road, we three did nothing but talk about the singular liberator who had come mysteriously and powerfully like an agent of heaven. less credulous than me, my father suspected him to be one of those heads of the robber leagues infesting the suburbs of rome, who have absolute authority to reward, punish and share. though i could not argue against my father's experience, i obeyed instinct and the effect of my gratitude, and did not believe him a robber. in my prayers to the madonna, i set aside a special one for her to bless my savior. "that same day i entered the convent. as the money was ready, nothing prevented my reception. i was sad but more resigned than ever. a superstitious italian, i believed that heaven had protected me from the devils to hand me over pure to the religious haven. so i yielded with eagerness to the wishes of my parents and the lady superior. a petition to be made a nun without having to go through the novitiate in the white veil was placed before me, and i signed it. my father had written it in such fervent strains that the pope must have thought the request was the ardent aspiration of a soul disgusted with the world and turning to solitude. the plea was granted and i only had to be a novice for one month. the news caused me neither joy nor displeasure. i seemed already to be dead to the world, and a corpse with simply the impassible spirit outliving it. "they kept me immured a fortnight for fear the worldly craving would seize me, and on the fifteenth morning ordered me to go down into the chapel with the other sisters. "in italy, the convent chapels are public churches, the pope not believing that priests should make a private house of any place set aside for the worshippers of the divine. "i went into the choir and took my place. between the green screens supposed to veil the choir in was a space through which the nave could be viewed. by this peep-crack out on the world i saw a man standing by himself among the kneeling crowd. the previous feeling of uneasiness came over me once more--the superhuman attraction to my soul to draw it forth, as i have seen my brother move iron filings on a sheet of paper by waving a magnet underneath it. "alas! vanquished and subjugated, with no power to withstand this attraction, i bent toward him, clasping my hands as in worship, and with lips and heart i sent him my thanks. my sisters stared at me with surprise, for they had not comprehended my words nor my movement. to follow the direction of my gesture and glance, they rose on tiptoe to peer over into the nave, and i trembled; but the stranger had disappeared. they questioned me, but i only blushed and faltered, as next i turned pale. "from that time, madame," said lorenza, in despair, "i have lived in the control of the devil!" "i cannot say i see anything supernatural in this," observed the princess, with a smile. "pray be calm, and proceed." "you do not know what i feel. the demon possesses me entirely--body and soul. love would not make me suffer so much; would not shake me like a tree by the storm, and would not give me the wicked thoughts coming to me. i ought to confess these to the priest, and the demon bids me not to think of such a thing. "one day a pious friend, a neighbor and a roman lady, came to see me. she passed most of the time praying before the image of the virgin. that night in undressing i found a note in the lining of my robe. it contained these lines: "'it is death here in rome for a nun to love a man. but will you not risk death for him who saved your life?' "that made his possession of me complete, lady; for i should lie if i said that i thought about anybody more than i do about that man." frightened at her own words, lorenza stopped to study the abbess' sweet and intelligent countenance. "this is not demoniac possession," said louise of france with firmness. "it is but an unfortunate passion, and unless in the state of regret, human passions have no business here." "regret? you see me in tears, on my knees, entreating you to deliver me from the power of this infernal wretch, and you talk of my regret? more than that, i feel remorse! "my misery could not escape my companions' eyes. the superior was notified, and she acquainted my mother. only three days after i had taken the vows, i saw the three persons enter my cell who were my only kin--my mother, father and brother. they came to embrace me for the last time, they said, but i saw that they had another aim. left alone with me, my mother questioned me. the influence of the demon was plain once more, for i was stubbornly silent. "the day when i was to take the black veil came amid a terrible struggle with myself, for i feared that then the fiend would work his worst. yet i trusted that heaven would save me as it had when the robbers seized me, forgetting that heaven had sent that man to rescue me. "the hour of the ceremonial arrived. pale, uneasy, but not apparently more agitated than usual, i went down into the church. i hurriedly assented to everything, for was i not in the holy edifice and was i not my own mistress while that demon was out of the way? all at once i felt that his step was on the sill; irresistible attraction as before caused me to turn my eyes away from the altar, whatever my efforts. "all my strength fled me, even while the scissors were thrust forward to cut my hair off--my soul seemed to leap out of my throat to go and meet him, and i fell prostrate on the stone slabs. not like a woman swooning but like one in a trance. i only heard a murmur, when the ceremony was interrupted by a dreadful tumult." the princess clasped her hands in compassion. "was not this a dreadful event," said the roman, "in which it was easy to recognize the intervention of the enemy of mankind?" "poor woman!" said the abbess, with tender pity; "take care! i am afraid that you are apt to attribute to the wonderful what was but natural weakness. i suppose you saw this man, and you fainted away. there was nothing more. continue." "madame, when i came to my senses," said lorenza, "it was night. i expected to find myself in the chapel or in my cell. but i saw rocks and trees around me; clouds; i was in a grotto and beside me was a man, that persecutor! i touched myself to make sure if i were alive and not dreaming. i screamed, for i was clad in bridal white. on my brow was a wreath or white roses--such as the bride of man--or in religion--wears." the princess uttered an exclamation. "next day," resumed the italian, sobbing, and hiding her head in her hands, "i reckoned the time which had elapsed, i had been three days in the trance, ignorant of what transpired." chapter xxxii. the nun's husband. a deep silence long surrounded the two women, one in painful meditation, the other in astonishment readily understood. "if you were removed out of the nunnery," said lady louise, to break this silence, "you are unaware of how it was done? yet a convent is well enclosed and guarded, with bars to the windows, walls of height and a warder who keeps the keys. in italy it is particularly so, where the regulations are stricter than in france." "what can i tell your ladyship, when i puzzle my brains without finding a clue?" "but if you saw this man, did you not blame him for the abduction?" "i did, but he excused himself on the plea that he loved me. i told him that he frightened me, and that i was sure that i did not like him. the strange feeling is another kind. i am not myself when he is by, but his; whatever he wills, i must do; one look fascinates me and subdues me. you see, lady, this must be magic." "at least, it is strange, if not supernatural," said the princess. "but you are in the company of this man?" "yes; but i do not love him." "then why not appeal to the authorities, your parents, the ecclesiastical powers?" "he so watched me that i could not move." "but you could have written." "on the road, he stopped at houses where everything is owned by him and he is master of everybody. when i asked the people about for writing materials, they gave no answer; they were his bondwomen." "but how did you travel?" "at first in a postchaise; but at milan, he had a kind of house on wheels to continue the journey in." "still, he must have left you alone sometimes?" "yes; but then he bade me sleep, and sleep i did, only waking up when he returned." "you could not have strongly wanted to get away," observed princess louise, shaking her head, "or else you would have managed it." "alas! i was so fascinated." "by his loving speech and endearments?" "seldom did he speak of love, and i remember me of no caresses save a kiss night and morning." "really, this is very strange?" muttered the abbess; but as a suspicion struck her, she resumed: "repeat to me that you do not love him, and that as no worldly tie unites you, he would have no claim on you if he came." "he has none." "but tell me how you came here through all; for i am in a fog," said the princess. "i took advantage of a violent thunderstorm, which broke on us near a town called nancy, i believe. he left me to go into a part of his travelling house which is inhabited by an old man; i leaped upon his horse and fled. my resolution was to hide in paris, or some great city where i could be lost to all eyes, especially to his. when i arrived here, all were talking of your highness' retirement into the carmelite convent. all extolled your piety, solicitude for the unhappy, and compassion for the afflicted. this was a ray of heavenly light, showing me that you alone were generous enough to receive me and powerful enough to defend me." "you continually appeal to power, my child, as though he were powerful?" "i am ignorant what he is. i only know that no king inspires more respect--no idol commands more adoration--than he from those to whom he deigns to reveal himself." "but his name--how is he entitled?" "i have heard him called by many names. but only two remain in my memory. one is used by the old man who is his traveling companion from milan to where i left him; the other that he gives himself. the aged man calls him acharat, and that sounds anti-christian, does it not, lady? he calls himself joseph balsamo." "what does he say of himself?" "he knows everything and divines what he knew not. he is the contemporary of all time. he has lived through all ages. he speaks--the lord forgive me! and forgive him for such blasphemy! not only of alexander the great, cæsar and charlemagne, as though he had known them, albeit i believe they were dead ever so long ago, but also of the high priest caiaphas, pontius pilate and our lord himself, whose martyrdom he claims to have witnessed." "he is some quack," said the princess louise. "i do not clearly understand the word, madame; but he is a dangerous man, terrible too, before whom everything bends, snaps and crumbles away. when he is taken to be defenseless he is armed at all points; when believed alone, he stamps his foot and an army springs up; or at a beck of the finger--smiling the while." "very well," soothed the daughter of france; "take cheer, my child; you will be protected against him. so long as you desire the protection, of course. but do not believe any longer in these supernatural visions born of a sick brain. in any case the walls of st. denis abbey are a sure rampart against infernal power, and what is more to be dreaded, mark you! against human power. now, what do you propose doing?" "with this property of mine, in jewels, i mean to pay for my repose in a convent--if possible, in this one." lorenza placed on the table some twenty thousand crowns' worth of bracelets, rings and earrings of price. "these jewels are mine, as balsamo gave them to me, and i shall turn them over to heaven's use. i have nothing of his but his steed djerid, which was the instrument of my deliverance, but i should like him to have it. so i solicit the favor of staying here, on my knees." "rest easy, my child," said the lady superior; "from this time forth you may dwell among us; and when you shall have shown by your exemplary conduct that you deserve the favor, you may again be the bride of the lord; and i will answer for it that you will not be removed out of st. denis without knowledge of the superior." lorenza fell at the princess feet and poured forth the most affectionate and sincere thanks. but suddenly she rose on one knee, and listened with trembling and pallor. "oh, god, how i shake! he is coming! he means to be my destroyer--that man is at hand. do you not see how my limbs quiver?" "i see this, indeed." "now i feel the stab in the heart," continued the italian: "he comes nearer and nearer." "you are mistaken." "no, no. in spite of myself, he draws me to him. hold me back from him." princess louise seized the speaker in her arms. "recover your senses, child," she said. "even if any one came, even he, you would be in safety here." "he approaches--i tell you, he approaches," screamed lorenza, terrified into inertia, but with her hands and her eyes directed toward the room door. "madness!" said the abbess. "do you think that anybody can intrude on the royal lady of france? none but the bearer of an order from the king." "i do not know how he entered," stammered the fugitive, recoiling, "but i am certain that he is coming up the stairs--he is not ten steps off--there he is!" the door flew open, so that the princess receded, frightened in spite of herself by the odd coincidence. but it was a nun who appeared. "what do you want--who is there?" cried her superior. "madame, it is a nobleman who presents himself to have speech with your royal highness." "his title?" "count fenix, please your highness." "do you know the name as his?" inquired the princess of the fugitive. "i do not know the name, but it is he," she replied. "charged with a mission to the king of france from the king of prussia," said the nun, "he wishes the honor of a hearing by your highness." princess louise reflected an instant; then turning to lorenza and bidding her go into her inner room, she ordered the sister to show in the visitor. she went and took her chair, waiting, not without emotion, for the sequel of the incident. almost instantly reappearing, the carmelite ushered in a man whom we have seen under the title of fenix, at the presentation of jeanne dubarry at court. he was garbed in the same prussian uniform, of severe cut; he wore the military wig and the black stock; his expressive black eyes lowered in presence of princess louise, but only with the respect of any man for a princess of the royal house, whatever his rank. he raised them rapidly, as though he feared showing too much timidity. "i thank your royal highness for the favor kindly done me," he said, "though i reckoned upon it from knowing that your highness always upholds the unfortunate." "i endeavor so to do, my lord," replied the lady with dignity, for she hoped in ten minutes to defeat the man who impudently came to claim outside help to oppress where he had abused his powers. the count bowed as if he did not see any hidden meaning in the rejoinder. "what can i do for your lordship?" continued the lady in the same tone of irony. "everything. i should like your highness to believe that i would not without grave motives vex you in the solitude she has chosen, but you have sheltered a person in whom i am interested in all points." "what is the name of this person?" "lorenza feliciani." "what is this person to you--a relative, sister?" "she is my wife." "lorenza feliciani, wife of count fenix!" said the abbess, raising her voice so as to be heard in the inner room. "no countess fenix is in st. denis abbey," she dryly added. "it may be," said the count, who was not yet acknowledging his defeat, "that your highness is not persuaded that lorenza and countess fenix are the same person. kindly give the order that lorenza shall be brought before you, and all doubt will cease. i ask pardon for being so persistent, but i am tenderly attached to this wife of mine, and i believe she is sorry we are separated, poor as is my merit." "ah!" thought the princess, "lorenza spoke the truth, for this man is highly dangerous." the count stood with a calm bearing, strictly according to court etiquette. "i must prevaricate," thought princess louise, before she said: "my lord, i am not in the position to restore a wife who is not here. i understand your seeking her with such persistency, if you love her as dearly as you say; but you will have to seek elsewhere if you want success." on entering, the count had glanced round the closet, and his gaze had caught a reflection, however slight, of the jewels placed by lorenza on the little table in the darkest corner. by the sparkling fenix recognized them. "if your royal highness would kindly collect your memory, though i have to ask her to do such violence--it will be recalled that lorenza feliciani was here, for she laid those jewels on yonder table before she retired into the next room." the princess colored up as the count continued: "so that i wait solely for your highness' leave for me to order her to come forth, for i cannot doubt that she will immediately obey." the abbess remembered that lorenza had locked the door behind her, and consequently that she could not be prevailed upon except by her own will to come out. no longer trying to dissimulate her vexation at having been lying uselessly to this man, from whom nothing could be concealed, she said: "were she to enter, what would be done to her?" "nothing, your highness; she will merely tell you that she wishes to go with her husband." this encouraged the princess, recalling the italian woman's protests. "it would seem that your highness does not believe me," said the count, in answer to her apparent indignation. "is there anything incredible in count fenix marrying lorenza feliciani, and claiming his wife. i can easily lay before your royal highness's eyes the marriage certificate, properly signed by the priest who performed the ceremony." the princess started, for such calmness shook her conviction. he opened a portfolio and took out a twice-folded paper. "this is the proof of my claim on my wife," he said; "the signature ought to carry belief. it is that of the curate of st. john's in strasburg, well-known to prince louis of rohan for one, and were his eminence the cardinal here----" "he is here at this very time," exclaimed the abbess, fastening fiery looks on the count. "his eminence has not left the abbey, where he is with the cathedral canons; so nothing is more easy than the verification you challenge." "this is a great boon to me," said the count, coolly replacing the document in the pocket-book. "i hope this verification will dispel your royal highness' unjust suspicions against me." "indeed, impudence does disgust me," said the princess, ringing her hand bell quickly. the nun in waiting entered hastily. "send my courier to carry this note to cardinal rohan, who is in the cathedral chapter. let his eminence come hither, as i await him." while speaking she scribbled a couple of lines on paper which she handed the nun, whispering: "post two archers of the rural guard in the corridor, and let not a soul issue without my leave. go!" the count had watched all the princess' preparations to fight out the battle with him. while she was writing, he approached the inner room, and he muttered some words while extending and working his hands in a movement more methodical than nervous, with his eyes fastened on the door. the princess, turning, caught him in the act. "madame," said the count, "i am adjuring lorenza feliciani to come personally and confirm by her own words and by her free will whether i am or not a forger and an impostor, without prejudice to the other proofs your highness may exact. lorenza," called out the count, rising above all--even to the princess' will, "come forth!" the key grated in the lock and the princess beheld with unspeakable apprehension the coming of the italian beauty. her eyes were fixed on the count, with no show of hatred or anger. "what are you doing, child," faltered the lady louise, "and why do you come to the man whom you shunned? i told you that you were in safety there." "she is also in safety in my house, my lady," replied the nobleman. "are you not in safety there, lorenza," he demanded of the refugee. "yes," was the other's answer. at the height of amazement the princess clasped her hands and dropped into her chair. "lorenza," went on the count, in a soft voice but one with the accent of command, "i am accused of doing you violence. tell me if i have ever acted so toward you?" "never," replied the woman, in a clear and precise voice but without any gesture accompanying the denial. "then what did the story about the abduction mean?" questioned the princess. lorenza remained dumb, but looking at the count as though all her life, and speech--which is its expression--must come from him. "her highness doubtless wishes to know how you came to leave your nunnery. relate what happened from your fainting in the choir until you awoke in our postchaise." "i remember," said lorenza in the same monotonous voice. "speak, for i wish it." "when i fainted, as the scissors touched my hair, i was carried into my cell, and placed in bed. my mother stayed with me until evening, when the village doctor declared that i was dead." "how did you know this?" inquired the princess. "her highness wishes to know how you were aware of what went on," said the count. "strange thing!" said lorenza, "i could see and hear but without having my eyes open. i was in a trance." "in fact," said the abbess, "i have heard doctor tronchin speak of patients in catalepsy who were buried alive." "proceed lorenza." "my mother was in despair and would not believe in my death. she passed six-and thirty hours beside me, without my making a move or uttering a sigh. the priest came three times and told my mother that she was wrong to dispute the interment as her daughter had passed away just as she was speaking the vow, and that my soul had gone straight from the altar to heaven. but my mother insisted on watching all monday night. "tuesday morning i was in the same insensibility, and my mother retired, vanquished. the nuns hooted her for the sacrilege. "the death-candles were lighted in the chapel, where the custom was for the exposure of the body to repose a day and a night. "i was shrouded, dressed in white, as i had not taken the vow; my hands crossed on my bosom, and a wreath of white blossoms placed on my brow. "when the coffin was brought in, i felt a shiver pass over my body; for, i repeat, i saw all that happened as though i were my second self standing invisibly beside my counter-part. "i was placed in the coffin, and after my time of lying in state, left with only the hospital sister to watch me. "a dreadful thought tormented me in this lethargy--that i should be buried living on the morrow unless some interposition came. "each stroke of the time bell echoed in my heart, for i was listening--doleful idea! to my own death-knell. "heaven alone knows what efforts i made to break the iron bonds which held me down on the bier; but it had pity on me in my frozen sleep, since here i am. "midnight rang. "at the first stroke, i felt that convulsion experienced whenever acharat approached me; a shock came to my heart; i saw him appear in the chapel doorway." "was it fright that you felt?" asked count fenix. "no, no; it was joy, bliss, ecstasy, for i knew that he came to tear me from the desperate death which i so abhorred. slowly he came up to my coffin; he smiled on me as he gazed for a moment, and he said: "'are you glad to live? then come with me.' "all the bonds snapped at his call; i rose, extricated myself from the bier as from the grave clothes, and passed by the slumbering nun. i followed him who for the second time had snatched me from death. "out in the courtyard i beheld the sky spangled with stars which never more had i expected to see. i felt that cool night air which blesses not the dead, but which is so refreshing to the living. "'now,' said my liberator, 'before quitting the convent, choose between it and me. will you be a nun, or will you be my wife?' i wanted to be his wife, and i followed him. "the tower gate was closed and locked. he asked where were the keys, and as i said in the pocket of the wardress, who slept within, he sent me there to get them. "five minutes after we were in the street. i took his arm and we ran to the end of subiaco village. a hundred paces beyond the last house a postchaise was waiting, all ready. we got in, and off it went at a gallop." "and no violence was done you? no threat was proffered? you followed the man willingly?" lorenza remained mute. "her royal highness asks you, lorenza, if by threat or act i forced you to follow me." "no; i went because i loved you, darling." with a triumphant smile, count fenix turned round to the royal princess. chapter xxxiii. count and cardinal. what took place under the princess-abbess' sight was so extraordinary that her mind, strong and yet tender, questioned if she did not face a true magician who disposed of sentiments and wills as he liked. but count fenix was not going to leave things thus. "as your royal highness has heard only part of the story from my wife's lips, doubts might linger if the rest was not spoken by them. dear lorenza," he said, turning again to the italian, "after leaving your country we went on a tour to the alps and to the rhine, the magnificent tiber of the north----" "yes, lorenza has seen these sights," said the woman. "lured by this man--led by a power resistless of which you spoke, my child?" suggested the princess. "why should your highness believe this when all you hear is to the contrary? i have a palpable proof in the letter my wife wrote me when i was obliged to leave her at maintz. she sorrowed and longed for me, so that she wrote this note, which your highness may read." she looked at the letter which the count took out of the letter case. "return, acharat; for all goes when you leave me. when shall i have you for eternity? lorenza." with the flame of choler on her brow the princess went up to the fugitive, holding out this letter. the other allowed her to approach, without seeming to see or hear any but the count. "i understand," said the latter, decided to clear up matters completely. "your highness doubts, and wishes to be sure the writing is lorenza's. she herself shall enlighten you. lorenza, answer; who wrote this note?" on his putting the paper in her hand, she pressed it to her heart. "it was lorenza," she said. "lorenza knows what is in it?" "of course." "well, then, tell the princess what it says, that she may not believe that i deceive her in asserting that you love me. i want you to tell her." appearing to make an effort, but without looking at the note, unfolding it or bringing it to her eyes, she read, word for word, what the princess had seen without speaking it aloud. "this is hard to believe," said the superior. "and i do not believe you, from what is supernatural and inexplicable in what happens." "it was this very letter which determined me to hurry on our wedding," said count fenix, without heeding the interruption. "i love lorenza as much as she loves me. in our roaming life, accidents might happen. if i died, i wanted my property to be my dear one's; so we were united when we reached strasburg." "but she told me that she was not your wife." "lorenza," said the count, without replying to the abbess, and turning to the italian, "do you remember where and when we were married?" "yes; in the st. john's chapel of strasburg cathedral, on the third of may." "did you oppose any resistance to the marriage?" "no; i was only too happy." "the fact is, lorenza," continued the count, taking her hand, "the princess thinks you were constrained to it." "i hate you?" she said, shivering all over with delight. "oh, no; i love you. you are good, generous and mighty." seized with affright, the princess recoiled to where an ivory crucifix gleamed on a black velvet background. "is this all your highness wishes to know?" asked fenix, letting lorenza's hand fall. "keep away!" gasped the abbess; "and she, too!" a carriage was heard to stop before the nunnery door. "the cardinal?" exclaimed the lady superior; "we shall see how things stand at last." fenix bowed, said a few words to the italian woman, and waited with the calmness of one who directs events. in another instant the door opened and cardinal rohan was announced. "show him in," said the abbess, encouraged by the new addition to the party being a churchman. the prince had no sooner saluted the princess than he exclaimed with surprise on seeing balsamo: "are you here, my lord?" "are you acquaintances?" cried the princess, more and more astonished. "then you can tell me who this is." "nothing is easier; the gentleman is a magician." "his eminence will make this clear presently, and to everybody's satisfaction," said the count. "has the gentleman been telling your highness' fortune, that i see you so affected?" questioned the cardinal. "the marriage certificate at once!" cried the princess, to the astonishment of the newcomer, ignorant of the allusion. "what is this?" "my lord, the question is, whether this paper is real and the signature valid?" said the princess, as balsamo held out the document. rohan read the paper as presented by the abbess and nodded. "it is in proper form, and the signature is curate saint-remy's, of st. john's, strasburg, one of my appointees. but what does this matter to your highness?" "considerable; but----" "the signature might have been extorted." "true, that is possible," said the princess. "how about lorenza's consent, then?" said the count, sarcastically. "by what means could a priest have been induced----" "by the magic in the gentleman's powers." "your eminence is jesting." "not at all, and the proof is that i want to have a serious explanation from this gentleman. do not forget, my lord, that i shall do all the questioning," added the cardinal, with haughtiness. "and remember that i was quite willing to answer aloud, even before her royal highness--if your eminence desired so; but i am certain you will not desire it." the cardinal had to smile. "my lord," said he, "it is hard to play the wizard nowadays. i have seen you perform, and with great success; but everybody has not the patience, and still less the generosity, of the dauphiness." "the dauphiness?" queried princess louise. "yes, your highness, i had the honor of presentation to her," said the count. "but how did you repay the honor? answer that, my lord." "alas, with more evil than i liked," said fenix, "for i have no personal hate to men, and less to women. my misfortune was that i was compelled to tell your august niece the truth she craved." "a piece of truthfulness which caused her to faint." "is it fault of mine," retorted the mesmerist, in that voice which he could sometimes make thunderous, "that truth is so awful as to produce such effects? did i seek out the princess, and beg to be presented to her? no, i was avoiding her, when they almost dragged me before her, and she ordered me to answer her interrogation." "but what was the dreadful truth you told her, my lord?" inquired the princess. "she saw it in the gap which i tore in the veil over the future," rejoined the mysterious man. "that future which has appeared so awful to your royal highness that you have fled into a cloister to wrestle against it at the altar with tears and prayers. is it fault of mine, i say, if this future, revealed to you as a holy woman, should be shown to me as a precursor; and if the dauphiness, alarmed at the fate personally threatening her, swooned when it loomed upon her?" "do you hear this?" said the cardinal. "woe is me!" moaned the carmelite superior. "for her reign is doomed as the most fatal and unfortunate of the entire monarchy," continued the count. "my lord!" cried the abbess. "perchance your prayers will earn your grace," proceeded the prophet, "but then you will see nothing of what comes to pass, as you will rest in the arms of the angels. pray, lady; continue to pray!" overcome by this prophetic voice, which harmonized so well with the terrors in her soul, the princess dropped kneeling before the crucifix and began indeed to pray, and with fervor. "now, our turn, cardinal," said the count turning to the prince, and leading him into a window recess. "speak as to your want of me." "i want to know what you are?" "you do know--you say that i am a magician." "i mean that you are called joseph balsamo in the south; and here, count fenix." "that merely proves that i change my name." "yes; but i would have you know that such changes on the part of such a man will set chief of police sartines to thinking." "this is petty warfare for a rohan," said the other, smiling. "your eminence stoops to wrangle over words. _verba et voces_, says the latin. is there nothing worse to fling at me?" "you are railing, my lord." "always; it is my style." "then i shall make you change your note; which will help me in the good graces of the dauphiness, whom you have offended." "do so, as it will not be a useless act, considering the delicate ground on which you stand as regards her," returned balsamo phlegmatically. "what will you say if i have you arrested straightway, my lord the horoscopist?" "you would do yourself injury, my lord cardinal." "really! how do you make that out?" demanded the proud peer with crushing scorn. "you would unmake yourself." "at least, we shall know who really is baron joseph balsamo, _alias_ count fenix, a sprig of a family tree of which i have never seen the picture in any heraldic work in europe." "you should have asked to see it in the portfolio of the duke of breteuil, your friend----" "his grace is no friend of mine." "he was, and an intimate one, or your eminence would never have written him that letter--but draw closer, my lord, lest we are overheard in what may compromise you!--that letter written from vienna to paris to dissuade the dauphin from making his marriage." "that letter!" gasped the prince, starting with fright. "i know it by heart." "breteuil has betrayed? because he said it was--burned when i asked it back, when the marriage was settled." "he did not like to admit that he had lost it. a lost letter may be found; and, indeed, i found it in the marble court at versailles. i took good care not to restore it to the duke, for i knew your eminence was ill-disposed toward me. if you were going through the woods and expected highwaymen to attack you, and you found a loaded pistol, would you not pick it up to use it? a man would be an idiot not to do so." the cardinal felt giddy and leaned on the window-sill. after hesitation, during which the count watched the play of his features, he said: "granted thus. but it shall never be said that a prince of my line yielded to the threats of a mountebank. though this letter may have been lost, and found, and will be shown to the dauphiness herself, and may ruin me as a politician, i will stand to it that i am still a loyal subject and a faithful ambassador. i will speak the truth--that i thought the alliance injurious to the interests of my country, and let it defend me or blame me." "but what will be the answer of this faithful subject and loyal envoy if somebody asserts that this gallant young beau of an ambassador, never doubting his winning all before him with his title of prince and name of rohan, did not say this from any opinion that the alliance would be hurtful to his country, but because--being graciously welcomed by marie antoinette--this coxcomb of an envoy had the vanity to think the feast was fitter for jack than his master?" "he would deny; for of this feeling which you pretend to have existed, no proof can be exhibited." "you are wrong; the token is in the dauphiness' coldness toward you." the cardinal wavered. "believe me, prince," went on the count, "instead of quarreling, as we should have done, only for my having more prudence than you, we had better be friends--good ones, for such do one another service." "have i ever asked aught of your lordship?" "just there you are wrong; for you might have called on me during the two days you spent in town. you cannot conceal from a sorcerer what you have been about. you left the austrian princess at soissons, whence you rushed posthaste to paris, where you dunned your friends for help, which they all refused you. this left you desperate." "what kind of help could i expect from you, had i applied?" asked the rohan, confounded. "such as a man gives who can make gold. and you ought to want gold when you have to pay five hundred thousand francs in forty-eight hours. you want to know what good a man is who makes gold? why, he is the very one where you will find the cash demanded. you could easily tell my house in saint claude street in the swamp, as the knocker is a brass griffin." "when could i call?" "six, to-morrow afternoon, please your eminence, and whenever after you like. but we have finished our chat in time, for the princess has concluded her devotions." the cardinal was conquered. "your highness," he said, "i am forced to acknowledge that count fenix is quite right; the document he produces is most reliable, and the explanations he has furnished have completely satisfied me." "your highness' orders?" asked the count, bowing. "let me put one last question to this young lady." again the count bowed in assent. "is it of your own free will that you quit the abbey of st. denis, where you came to seek refuge?" "her highness," repeated fenix, quickly, "asks you whether you are leaving this place of your own free will. speak out lorenza." "i go of my own free will," replied the italian. "in order to accompany count fenix, your husband?" prompted the magician. "to accompany my husband." "in this case i retain neither of you," said the princess, "for it would be running counter to my feelings. but, if there be anything in all this out of the natural order of things, may the divine punishment fall on whomsoever disturbs the harmony of nature for his profit or interests. go, my lord count fenix; and you, lorenza feliciani--i detain you no more. but take back your jewels." "they are for the poor," replied balsamo; "distributed by your hands, the alms will be doubly agreeable to god. all i ask is to have my horse djerid." "take him as you go forth. begone!" bowing to the speaker, the count presented his arm to lorenza, who leaned upon it and walked out without a word. "alas, my lord cardinal," sighed the abbess, sadly shaking her head, "in the very air we breathe are fatal and incomprehensible things!" chapter xxxiv. near neighbors. on parting from young taverney, gilbert had plunged into the crowd. but not with a heart bounding with glee and expectation--rather with the soul ulcerated by grief which the noble's kind welcome and obliging offers of assistance could not mollify. andrea never suspected that she had been cruel to the youth. the fair and serene maiden was completely unaware that there could be any link between her and her foster-brother, for joy or sorrow. she soared over earthly spheres, casting on them shine or shadow according to her being smiling or gloomy. this time it chanced that her shade of disdain had chilled gilbert; as she had merely followed the impulse of her temper, she was ignorant that she had been scornful. but gilbert, like a disarmed gladiator, had received the proud speech and the scorning looks straight in the heart. he was not enough of a philosopher yet not to console himself with despair while the wound was bleeding. hence he did not notice men or horses in the press. gathering up his strength, he rushed into it, at the risk of being crushed, like a wild boar cutting through the pack of hounds. at length breathing more freely, he reached the green sward, water side and loneliness. he had run to the river seine, and came out opposite st. denis island. exhausted, not by bodily fatigue but by spiritual anguish, he rolled on the grass, and roared like a lion transfixed by a spear, as if the animal's voice better expressed his woes than human tongue. was not all the vague and undecided hope which had flung a little light on the mad ideas, not to be accounted for to himself, now extinguished at a blow? to whatever step on the social ladder gilbert might rise by dint of genius, science and study, he would always be a man or a thing--according to her own words, for which her father was wrong in paying any attention, and not worth her lowering her eyes upon. he had briefly fancied that, on seeing him in the capital, and learning his resolution to struggle till he came up through the darkness, andrea would applaud the effort. not only had the cheer failed the brave boy, but he had met the haughty indifference always had for the dependent by the young lady of the manor. furthermore she had shown anger that he should have looked at her music book; had he touched it, he did not doubt that he would be thought fit to be burned at the stake. as he writhed on the turf, he knew not whether he loved or hated his torturer; he suffered, that was all. but as he was not capable of long patience, he sprang out of his prostration, decided to invent some energetic course. "granted that she does not love me," he reasoned, "i must not hope that she never will. i had the right to expect from her the mild interest attached to those who wrestle with their misfortune. she did not understand what her brother saw. he thought that i might become a celebrity; should it happen so, he would act fairly and let me have his sister, in reward of my earned glory, as he would have exchanged her for my native aristocracy, had i been born his equal. "but i shall always be plain gilbert in her eyes, for she looks down in me upon what nothing can efface, gild or cover--my low birth. as though, supposing i attain my mark, it would not be greater of me than if i had started on her high level! oh, mad creature! senseless being! oh, woman, woman--your other name is imperfection. "do not be deluded by the splendid gaze, intelligent smile, and queenly port of andrea de taverney, whose beauty makes her fit to rule society--she is but a rustic dame, straitlaced, limited, swathed in aristocratic prejudices. equals for her are those empty-headed fops, with effete minds, who had the means to learn everything and know nothing; they are the men to whom she pays heed. gilbert is but a dog, less than a dog, for i believe she asked after mahon, and not about my welfare. "ah, she is ignorant that i am fit to cope with them; when i wear the like coats, i shall look as well; and that, with my inflexible determination, i shall grasp----" a dreadful smile was defined on his lips where the sentence died away unfinished. frowning, he slowly lowered his head. what passed in that obscure soul? what terrible plan bent the pale forehead, already sallow with sleepless nights, and furrowed by thinking? who shall tell? at the close of half an hour's profound meditation, gilbert rose, coldly determined. he went to the river, drank a long draft, and looking round, saw the distant waves of the people in a sea coming out of st. denis. they so crowded in upon the first coaches that the horses had to go at a walk, on the road to st. ouen. the dauphin wanted the ceremony to be a national family festival. so the french family abused the privilege; a number of parisians climbed on the footboards and hung there without being disturbed. very soon gilbert recognized the taverney carriage, with philip holding in his capering horse by the side. "i must know where she goes," thought the lover; "and so shall follow them." it was intended that the dauphiness should sup with the royal family in private at muette, but louis xv. had broken the etiquette so far as to make up a larger party. he handed a list of guests to the dauphiness, with a pencil, and suggested she should strike out the names of any not liked to come. when she came to the last name, countess dubarry's, she felt her lips quiver and lose blood; but sustained by her mother's instructions, she summoned up her powers to her aid, and with a charming smile returned the paper and pencil to the king, saying that she was very happy to be let into the bosom of all his family at the very first. gilbert knew nothing about this, and it was only when he got to muette that he recognized the coach of dubarry, with zamore mounted on a high white horse. luckily it was dark, and gilbert threw himself on the ground in a grove and waited. the king, then, shared supper between mistress and daughter-in-law, and was merry especially on seeing that the newcomer treated the usurper more kindly even than at compiegne. but the dauphin, gloomy and careworn, spoke of having the headache, and retired before they sat at table. the supper was prolonged to eleven o'clock. the king sent a band of music to play to the repast for the gentry of the retinue--of which our proud andrea had to admit she was a member; as the accommodation was limited, fifty masters had to picnic on the lawn, served by men in royal livery. in the thicket, gilbert lost nothing of this scene. taking out a piece of bread, he ate along with the guests, while watching that those he attended to did not slip away. after the meal, the dauphiness came out on the balcony to take leave of her hosts. near her stood the king. countess dubarry kept out of sight in the back of the room, with that exquisite tact which even her enemies allowed she had. the courtiers passed under the balcony to salute the king, who named such of them to the dauphiness as she did not already know. from time to time some happy allusion or pleasant saying dropped from his lips, to delight those who received it. seeing this servility, gilbert muttered to himself: "i am a touch above these slaves, for i would not crouch like that for all the gold in the world." he rose on one knee when the turn came for the taverneys to pass. "captain taverney," said the dauphiness, "i grant you leave to conduct your father and sister to paris." in the nightly silence and amid the attention of those drinking in the august words, gilbert caught the sound coming in his direction. "my lord baron," continued the princess, "i have no accommodation yet for you among my household; so guard your daughter in town until i set up my establishment at versailles. keep me in mind, my dear young lady." the baron passed on with son and daughter. others came up for whom the princess had pretty stuff to say, but that little mattered to gilbert. gliding out of the covert, he followed the baron among the two hundred footmen shouting out their master's names, fifty coachmen roaring out in answer to the lackeys, while sixty coaches rolled over the pavement like thunder. as taverney had a royal carriage, it waited for him aside from the common herd. he stepped in, with andrea and philip, and the door closed after them. "get on the box with the driver," said philip to the footman. "he has been on his feet all day, and must be worn out." the baron grumbled some remonstrance not heard by gilbert, but the lackey mounted beside the driver. gilbert went nearer. at the time of starting a trace got loose and the driver had to alight to set it right. "it is very late," said the baron. "i am dreadfully tired," sighed andrea. "i hope we shall find a sleeping place somewhere." "i expect so," replied her brother. "i sent labrie and nicole straight to paris from soissons. i gave him a letter to a friend for him to let us have a little house in the rear of his, where his mother and sister live when they come up from the country. it is not luxury, but it is comfortable. you do not want to make a show while you are waiting for the coming out in the suitable style." "anything will easily beat taverney," said the old lord. "unfortunately, yes," added the captain. "any garden?" asked andrea. "quite a little park, for town, with fine trees. however, you will not long enjoy it, as you will be presented as soon as the wedding is over." "we are in a bright dream--do not waken us. did you give the coachman the address?" "yes, father," replied the young noble, while gilbert greedily listened. he had hoped to catch the address. "never mind," he muttered; "it is only a league to town. i will follow them." but the royal horses could go at a rattling gait when not kept in line with others. the trace being mended, the man mounted his box and drove off rapidly--so rapidly that this reminded poor gilbert of how he had fallen on the road under the hoofs of chon's post-horses. making a spurt, he reached the untenanted footboard, and hung on behind for an instant. but the thought struck him that he was in the menial's place behind andrea's carriage, and he muttered: "no! it shall not be said that i did not fight it out to the last. my legs are tired, but not my arms." seizing the edge of the footboard with both hands, the inflexible youth swung his feet up under the body of the coach so as to get them on the foresprings; thus suspended, he was carried on, spite of the jerking, over the wretched rutty road. he stuck to the desperate situation by strength of arm, rather than capitulate with his conscience. "i shall learn her address," he thought. "it will be another wakeful night; but to-morrow i shall have repose, seated while i am copying music. i have a trifle of money, too, and i will take a little rest." he reflected that paris was very large and that he might be lost after seeing the baron to his house. happily it was near midnight, and dawn came at half after three. as he was pondering he remarked that they crossed an open place where stood an equestrian statue in the midst. "victories place," he thought gleefully; "i know it." the vehicle turning partly round and andrea put her head out to see the statue. "the late king," explained her brother. "we are pretty nearly there now." they went down so steep a hill that gilbert was nearly scraped off. "here we are," cried the dragoon captain. gilbert dropped and slipped out from beneath to hide behind a horseblock on the other side. young taverney got out first, rang at a house doorbell, and returned to receive andrea in his arms. the baron was the last out. "are those rascals going to keep us out all night?" he snarled. at this the voices of labrie and nicole were heard, and a door opened. the three taverneys were engulfed in a dark courtyard where the door closed upon them. the vehicle and attendants went their way to the royal stables. nothing remarkable was apparent on the house; but the carriage lamps had flashed on the next doorway, which had a label: "this is the mansion of the armenonvilles." gilbert did not know what street it was as yet, but going to the far end, the same the carriage had gone out of, he was startled to see the public fountain at which he drank in the mornings. going ten paces up the street he saw the baker's shop where he supplied himself. still doubting, he returned to the corner. by the gleam of a swinging lamp, he could read on a white stone the name read three days before when coming from meudon wood with rousseau: "plastrière street." it followed that andrea was lodged a hundred steps apart, nearer than she was to him at taverney. so he went to his own door, hoping that the latchet might not be drawn altogether within. it was pulled in, but it was frayed and a few threads stuck out. he drew one and then another so that the thong itself came forth at last. he lifted the latch, and entered, for it was one of his lucky days. he groped up the stairs one by one, without making any noise, and finally touched the padlock on his own bedroom door, in which rousseau had thoughtfully left the key. chapter xxxv. the garden house. from coming home so late, and dropping off to sleep so soon and heavily, gilbert forgot to hang up the linen cloth which served as curtain to the garret window. the unintercepted sunbeam struck his eyes at five and speedily woke him. he rose, vexed at having overslept. brought up in the country, he could exactly tell the time by the sun's inclination and the amount of heat it emitted. he hastened to consult this clock. the pallor of the dawn, scarcely clearing the high trees, set him at ease; he was rising too early, not too late. he made his ablutions at the skylight, thinking over what had happened over night, and gladly baring his burning and burdened forehead to the fresh morning breeze. then it came to his mind that andrea was housed next door to armenonville house, in an adjoining street. he wanted to distinguish this residence. the sight of shade-trees reminded him of her question to her brother,--was there a garden where they were going? "why may it not be just such a house in the back garden as we have yonder?" he asked himself. by a strange coincidence with his thought, a sound and a movement quite unusual drew his attention where it was turning; one of the long fastened up windows of a house built at the rear of the one on the other street shook under a rough or clumsy hand. the frame gave way at the top; but it stuck probably with damp swelling it at the bottom. a still rougher push started the two folds of the sash, which opened like a door, and the gap showed a girl, red with the exertion she had to make and shaking her dusty hands. gilbert uttered an outcry in astonishment and quickly drew back, for this sleepy and yawning girl was nicole. he could harbor no doubt now. philip taverney had told his father that he had sent on labrie and their maid servant to get a lodging ready in paris. hence this was the one. the house in coq-heron street, where the travelers had disappeared--was this with the extra building in the rear. gilbert's withdrawal had been so marked that nicole must have noticed it only for her being absorbed in that idle fit seizing one just arisen. but he had retired swiftly, not to be caught by her while looking out of a garret window. perhaps if he had lived on the first floor, and his window had given a view within of a richly furnished apartment, he would have called her attention on it. but the fifth flat still classed him among social inferiors, so that he wanted to keep in the background. besides, it is always an advantage to see without being seen. again, if andrea saw him, might she not consider that enough to induce her to move away, or at least not to stroll about the garden? alas, for gilbert's conceit! it enlarged him in his own eyes; but what mattered gilbert to the patrician, and what would make her move a step nearer or further from him? was she not of the class of women who would come out from a bath with a peasant or a footman by, and not regard them as men? but nicole was not of this degree, and she had to be avoided. but gilbert did not keep away from the window. he returned to peep out at the corner. a second window, exactly beneath the other, opened also, and the white figure appearing there was andrea's. in a morning gown, she was stooping to look after her slipper fallen under a chair. in vain did gilbert, every time he saw his beloved, make a vow to resist his passion within a rampart of hate; the same effect followed the cause. he was obliged to lean on the wall, with his heart throbbing as if to burst and the blood boiling all over his body. as the arteries cooled gradually, he reflected. the main point was to spy without being seen. he took one of madame rousseau's old dresses off the clothesline, and fastened it with a pin on a string across his window so that he might watch andrea under the improvised screen. andrea imitated nicole in stretching her lovely arms, which, by this extension, parted the gown an instant; then she leaned out to examine the neighboring grounds at her leisure. her face expressed rare satisfaction, for while she seldom smiled on men, she made up for it by often smiling on things. on all sides the rear house was shaded by fine trees. rousseau's house attracted her gaze like all the other buildings, but no more. from her point, the upper part alone could be espied, but what concern had she in the servants' quarters in a house? andrea therefore came to the conclusion that she was unseen and alone, with no curious or joking face of parisians on the edge of this tranquil retreat, so dreaded by country ladies. leaving her window wide open for the sunshine to flush the remotest corners, the young lady went to pull the bellrope at the fire-place side and began to dress in the twilight. nicole ran in and opening the straps of a shagreen dressing-case dating from a previous reign, took a tortoise-shell comb and disentangled her mistress' tresses. gilbert smothered a sigh. he could hardly be said to recognize the hair, for andrea followed the fashion in powdering it, but he knew her a hundred times fairer without the frippery than in the most pompous decorations. his mouth dried up, his fingers scorched with fever, and his eye ceased to see from his staring too hard. chance ruled that andrea's gaze, idle as it was from her sitting still to have her hair brushed, fell on rousseau's attic. "yes, yes, keep on staring," uttered the youth, "but you will see nothing and i shall see all." but he was wrong, for she descried the novel screen of the old dress which floated round the man's head as a kind of turban. she pointed out this odd curtain to her maid. nicole stopped and pointed with the comb to the object to ask whether that were the reason for her mistress' amusement. without his suspecting it, this had a fourth spectator. he suddenly felt a hasty hand snatch madame rousseau's dress from his brow, and he fell back thunderstricken at recognizing the master. "what the deuse are you up to?" queried the philosopher, with a frowning brow and a sour grin as he examined the gown. "nothing," stammered the other, trying to divert the intruder's sight from the window. "then why hide up in this dress?" "the sun was too bright for me." "the sun is at the back of us, and i think it is you who are too bright for me. you have very weak eyes, young man." rousseau walked straight up to the window. by a very natural feeling to be a veil to his beauty, gilbert, who had shrunk away, now rushed in between. "bless me, the rear house is lived in now!" the tone froze the blood in gilbert's veins, and he could not get out a word. "and by people who know my house, for they are pointing up to it," added the suspicious author. gilbert, fearful now that he was too forward, retreated. neither the movement nor its cause escaped rousseau, who saw that his employee trembled to be seen. "no, you don't, young man!" he said, grasping him by the wrist; "there is some plot afoot, for they are pointing out your garret. stand here, pray." he placed him before the window, in the uncovered glare. gilbert would have had to struggle with his idol, and respect restrained him from thus being free. "you know those women, and they know you," continued rosseau, "or, why do you shrink from showing yourself?" "monsieur rousseau, you have had secrets in your life. pity for mine!" "traitor!" cried the writer; "i know your sort of secret. you are the tool of my enemies, the grimms and holbachs. they taught you a part to captivate my benevolence, and, sneaking into my house, you are betraying me. threefold fool that i am, stupid lover of nature, to think i was helping one of my kind, and to nourish a spy!" "a spy?" repeated the other in revolt. "when are you to deliver me to my murderers, o judas?" demanded rousseau, draping himself in therese's dress, which he had mechanically kept in hand, and looking droll when he fancied he was sublime with sorrow. "you calumniate me, sir," said gilbert. "calumniate this little viper!" said the philosopher, "when i catch you corresponding in dumb show with my enemies--i daresay acquainting them in signs with my latest work." "had i come to steal your story, sir, i should better have made a copy of the manuscript, lying on your desk, than to convey it in signs." this was true, and rousseau felt that he had made one of those blunders which escaped him in his moments of fear, and he became angry. "i am sorry for you, but experience makes me stern," he said. "my life has passed amid deceit. i have been betrayed by everybody, denied, sold and martyrized. you know i am one of those illustrious unfortunates whom governments outlaw. under such circumstances, i may be allowed to be suspicious. as you are a suspicious character, you must take yourself out of this house." gilbert had not expected this conclusion. he was to be driven forth! he clenched his fists, and a flash in his eyes made rousseau start. gilbert reflected that in going he would lose the mild pleasure of seeing his loved one during the day, and lose rousseau's affection--it was shame as well as misfortune. dropping from his fierce pride, he clasped his hands and implored: "listen to me, if only one word!" "i am merciless," replied the author: "man's injustice has made me more ferocious than a tiger. go and join my enemies with whom you correspond. league yourself with them, which i do not hinder, but do all this beyond my domicile." "those young women are no enemies of yours--they are mademoiselle andrea of taverney, the young lady i told you of, on whose estate i was born, and her maid nicole. excuse me troubling you with such matters, but you drive me to it. this is the lady whom i love more than you ever loved all your flames. it is she whom i followed afoot, penniless and wanting bread, until i fell exhausted on the highway and racked with pain. it is she whom i saw once more yesterday at st. denis, and behind whose coach i came till i housed her in the place yonder. in short, it is she for whom i wish one of these days to be a great man--a rousseau!" his hearer knew the human heart, and the gamut of its exclamations. the best actor could hardly have gilbert's tearful voice and the feverish gesture accompanying the effusion. "so this is your lady love?" "my foster-sister, yes." "then you lied a while ago when you said you knew her not, and you are a liar, if not a traitor." "you are racking my heart and you would hurt me less were you to slay me on the spot." "pooh! that is a mere piece of fustian out of the diderot or marmontel books. you are a liar, sir." "have it so, and the worse for you that you do not understand such white lies!" retorted gilbert. "i shall go, heartbroken, and you will have my despair on your conscience." rousseau smoothed his chin and regarded the youth whose case had so much analogy with his own. "he is either a great rogue or a lad with a big heart," he mused; "but after all, if he is in a plot against me, it will be best to have the wires of the puppets in my hand." gilbert strode to the door, but he paused with his hand on the knob, waiting for the last word to recall or banish him. "enough on this head, my son," said the man of letters. "it is hard enough for you to be in love, to this degree. but it is getting on, and we have thirty pages of music to copy this day. look alive, gilbert, look alive!" gilbert grasped the speaker's hand and pressed it to his lips as he would not a king's. while gilbert leaned up against the doorjamb with emotion, rousseau took a last peep out of the window. this was the moment when andrea stood up to put on her dress, but seeing a person up at the attic window, she darted back and bade nicole shut the sashes. "my old head frightened her," mumbled the philosopher; "his youthful one would not have done that. oh, youth, lovely youth!" he broke forth, sighing, "'spring is the love-time of the year! love is the springtime of life!'" hanging up the dress, he melancholically descended the stairs at the heels of gilbert, for whose youth he would at that time have bartered his reputation, at that juncture counterbalancing voltaire's and with it sharing the admiration of the entire world. chapter xxxvi. balsamo at home. the house in st. claude street, to which joseph balsamo invited the cardinal prince of rohan did not look strange in his day, but it resembled a fortress to such an extent that it would be remarkable at present. strongly built, and with barred windows and grated doors, to say nothing of the ditch in front and high balconies, it was in keeping with this part of the town, pretty unsafe at this epoch after dark. there were scarcely a dozen houses on the quarter of a league to the bastille, and the municipal authorities did not think it worth while to supply lamps. along this deserted and unlighted highway a carriage was driven after nine one evening, which stopped at the low, deep doorway where gleamed the brazen griffin for a knocker which count fenix had described. the arms of the nobleman were on the carriage panels. he preceded it by some yards, riding djerid, who whisked his long tail till it whistled in the dust of the dirty pavement. behind the closed blinds slumbered lorenza on the cushions. at the rolling of the wheels, the door opened as by enchantment, and the carriage vanished in the black gulf of the mansion courtyard. there was no need of any mystery, for nobody was about to see the count come home or mark what he brought, even if it were the treasure-chest of st. denis abbey. a skillful calculator, given the size of the building lot and that of the house on street, would be surprised how so small a one covered so much ground. the fact of the matter was that there stood a house behind the outer house, known only to the tenant. a german servant, aged about thirty; closed the coachway door and bolted it. opening the coach door while the emotionless driver unharnessed the team, he drew from within the senseless lorenza, whom he carried indoors to an antechamber. he laid her on a table and discreetly wrapped her in her long veil to the feet. he went out to light at the coach lamps a seven-candle chandelier, with which he came back. during that short space, lorenza had disappeared. in fact count fenix had entered after the valet went out. he had taken up the girl in his arms, and carried her out by a secret passage into a room furnished with trophies of outlandish weapons. with his foot he pressed the spring of the backplate of the high fireplace, which turned on well-oiled hinges, so that the count could go forth, as he did, while the secret panel slid to behind him. on the other side of the chimney was another flight of steps. mounting a dozen, covered with utrecht velvet carpet, he reached the sill of a room elegantly tapestried with satin, so wonderfully embroidered in high relief with flowers in their natural colors that they seemed real. the extremely rich furniture was of a boudoir and toilet chamber leading to a parlor. curtains hid two windows, but as it was night, they were not wanted to give light. lamps burning perfumed oil burnt here night and day, for the room had no external openings. they were drawn up through apertures in the ceiling by unseen hands when they needed replenishing. not a sound penetrated here, and one might feel as a thousand miles out of the world. but gilding flashed on all sides and bohemian glass mirrors sparkled as, dissatisfied with the light, after having placed lorenza on a sofa, the count struck a fire with the silver phosphorus matchbox so startling to gilbert, and kindled two pink candled chandeliers on the mantel-piece. returning to lorenza, and kneeling with one knee on a pile of cushions beside her, he called her by name. though her eyes remained closed, she rose on one elbow, but without replying. "are you sleeping naturally or through the magnetic spell?" "lorenza sleeps in the magnetic sleep," she replied. "then you can answer my questions. look into the room of the princess louise which we have just quitted, and tell me if the cardinal of rohan is there." "no; the abbess is praying before going to rest." "look through the house for the cardinal. is his carriage at the door? is it on the road? come along nearer to paris, as we drove. nearer!" "ah, i see it! it has stopped at the tollbar. a footman gets down to speak with his master." "list to him, lorenza, for it is important that i should know what the cardinal says to this man." "you did not order me to listen in time, for he has done speaking to the man. but the man speaks to the coachman, who is told to drive to st. claude street, in the swamp, by the rampart road." "thank you, lorenza." the count went to the wall, pulled aside an ornament which disclosed an ivory mouthpiece and spoke some words in a tube of unknown length and direction; it was his way of corresponding here with his man of trust, fritz. "are you content with me?" asked the medium. "yes, dear lorenza, and here is your reward," he said, giving her a fond caress. "oh, joseph, how i love you!" she said with an almost painful sigh. her arms opened to enfold balsamo on her heart. chapter xxxvii. the double existence. but he recoiled swiftly, and the arms came together ere falling folded on her bosom. "would you like to speak with your friend?" he asked. "yes, speak to me often. i like to hear your voice." "you have often told me, dearest, that you would be very happy if we could dwell together afar from the world." "that would indeed be bliss." "well, i have realized your wish, darling. we are by ourselves in this parlor, where none can hear and none intrude." "i am glad to hear it." "tell me how you like the place." "order me to see it." "does it please you?" asked the count, after a pause. "yes; here are my favorite flowers. thank you, my kind joseph. how good you are!" "i do all i can to please you." "oh, you are a hundred times kinder to me than i deserve." "you confess that you have been wicked?" "very badly so, but you will overlook that?" "after you explain the enigma which i have struggled against ever since i knew you." "hearken, balsamo. in me are two lorenzas, quite distinct. one loves you and the other detests you, as if i lived two existences. one during which i enjoy the delights of paradise, the other when i suffer the opposite." "these two existences are your waking mood and your magnetic sleep?" "yes." "why do you hate me when in your waking senses and love me when in the charmed sleep?" "because lorenza is the superstitious italian girl who believes that science is a crime and love a sin. then she is afraid of the sage balsamo and the loving joseph. she has been told that to love would destroy her soul; and so she flees from the lover to the confines of the earth." "but when lorenza sleeps?" "it is another matter. she is no longer a roman girl and superstitious, but a woman. she sees that the genius of balsamo dreams of sublime themes. she understands how petty an object she is compared with him. she longs to live by him and die at his side, in order that the future shall breathe her name while it trumpets the glory of--cagliostro." "is that the name i am to be celebrated under?" "the name." "dear lorenza! so you like our new home?" "it is richer than any you have found for me; but that is not why i like it more--but because you say you will be oftener with me here." "so, when you sleep, you know how fondly i adore you?" "yes," she said with a faint smile, "i see that passion, then, and yet there is something you love above lorenza," she sighed. "your dream." "rather say, my task." "well, your ambition!" "say, my glory." "oh, heaven!" and her heart was laboring; her closed lids allowed tears to struggle out. "what is it you see?" inquired balsamo, astounded at the lucidity which frightened even him. "i see phantoms gliding about among the shadows. some hold in their own hands their severed crowned heads, like st. denis in that abbey; and you stand in the heart of the battle like a general in command. you seem to rule, and you are obeyed." "does that not make you proud of me?" inquired the other joyfully. "you are good enough not to care to be great. besides, in looking for myself in this scene, i see nothing of me. oh, i shall not be there," she sighed. "i shall be in the grave." "you dead, my dearest lorenza!" said balsamo, frowning. "no, we shall live and love together." "no, you love me no more, or not enough," crowding upon his forehead, held between her hands, a multitude of glowing kisses. "i have to reproach you for your coldness. look now how you draw away from me as though you fled my fondlings. oh, restore to me my maiden quietude, in my nunnery of subiaco--when the night was so calm in my cell. return me those kisses which you sent on the wings of the wind coming to me in my solitude like golden-pinioned sylph, which melted on me in delight. do not retreat from me. give me your hand, that i may press it; let me kiss your dear eyes--let me be your wife, in short." "lorenza, sweetest, you are my well-beloved wife." "yet you pass by the chaste and solitary flower and scorn the perfume? i am sure that i am nothing to you." "on the contrary, you are everything--my lorenza. for it is you who give me strength, power and genius--without you i should be nothing. cease, then, to love me with this insensate fever which wrecks the nights of your people, and love me as i love you. thus i am happy." "you call that happiness?" scornfully said the italian. "yes, for to be great is happiness." she heaved a long sigh. "oh, if you only knew the gladness in being able to read the hearts of man and manipulate them with the strings of their own dominant passions." "yes, i know that in this i serve your purpose." "it is not all. your eyes read the sealed book of the future. you, sweet dove, pure and guideless, you have taught me what i could not ascertain in twenty years' application. you enlighten my steps, before which my enemies multiply traps and snares; on my mind depend my life, fortune and liberty--you dilate it like the lynx's eye which sees in the dark. as your lovely orbs close on this world, they open in superhuman clarity. they watch for me. it is you who make me rich, free and powerful." "and in return, you make me unhappy," replied lorenza, wrapped up in her frenzy. more fiery than ever, she enfolded him in her arms, so that he was impregnated with a flame which he feebly resisted. but he made such an effort that he broke the living bondage. "have pity, lorenza!" he sued. "was it to pity you that i left my native land, my name, my family, my faith!" she said, almost threatening with her lovely arms, rising white and yet muscular amid the waves of her long black tresses coming down. "why have you laid on me this absolute empire, so that if i am your slave and have to give you my life and breath? was it to mock me ever with the name of the virgin lorenza?" balsamo sighed, himself crushed by the weight of her immense despair. "alas, is it your fault, or that of the creator. why were you made the angel with the infallible gaze, by whose aid i should make the universe submit? why is it that you are the one to read a soul through its bodily envelope as one may read a book through a glass! because you are an angel of purity, lorenza, and nothing throws a shadow upon your soul. in your radiant and immaculate bosom the divine spark may be enshrined, a place without sullying where it may fitly nestle. you are a seer because you are blameless, lorenza; as a woman, you would be but so much substance." "and you prefer this to my love," continued the italian, clapping her hands with such rage that they became impurpled; "you set my love beneath these whims that you pursue and fables that you invent? you snatch me out of the cold cloister, but, in the bustling, ardent world you condemn me to the conventional chastity? joseph, you commit a crime, i tell you." "do not blaspheme," said balsamo, "for i suffer, too. read in my heart, and never again say that i love you not. i resist you because i want to raise you on the throne of the world." "ugh, your ambition!" sneered the young roman; "will your ambition ever give you what you might have in my love?" he yielded to her and his head rested in her arms. "ah, yes," she cried, "i see at last that you love me more than your ambition, than power, than your aspiration! oh, you love me as i love you!" but at the touch of their lips, reason came to him who would be master of europe. with his hands he beat aside the air charged with magnetic vapor. "lorenza, awake, i bid you!" thereupon the chain which he could not break was relaxed, and the opening arms were dropped, while the kiss died away on the paling lips of lorenza, languishing in her last sigh. her closed eyes parted their lids; the dilated pupils resumed their normal size. she shook herself with an effort, and sank in lassitude, but awake, on the sofa. seated three paces from her, the mesmerist sighed deeply. "good-bye to the dream!" he said; "good-bye to happiness!" chapter xxxviii. the wakeful state. as soon as lorenza's sight had recovered its power, she glanced rapidly around her. after examining everything without one of the many knick-knacks which delight woman brightening her brow, she stopped with her look upon balsamo, and nervously shuddered. "you again?" she said, receding. on her physiognomy appeared all the tokens of alarm; her lips became white and perspiration came as pearls at the root of her hair. "where am i?" she asked as he said nothing. "as you know where you came from, you can readily guess where you are," he responded. "you are right in reminding me; i do, indeed, remember. i know that i have been pursued by you, and torn from the arms of the royal intermediary whom i chose between heaven and you." "then you ought to know that this princess has been unable to defend you, however powerful she may be." "you have overruled her by some witching violence," said lorenza, wringing her hands, "oh, saints of mercy, deliver me from this demon!" "where do you see anything demoniacal in me," returned balsamo, shrugging his shoulders. "once for all i beg you to lay aside this pack of puerile beliefs brought from rome, and all the rubbish of absurd superstitions which you have carted about with you since you ran away from the nunnery." "oh, my dear nunnery--who will restore me to my dear nunnery?" cried the italian, bursting into tears. "indeed, a nunnery is much to be deplored," said balsamo. lorenza ran to one of the windows, opened the curtains and then the sash, but came against iron bars, which were there unmistakably--however many flowers were masking them. "if i must live in a prison," she said, "i prefer that whence one goes to heaven to that which has a trap door into hades." and she began trying the bars with her dainty hands. "were you more reasonable, lorenza, you would find only flowers at your window, and not bars." "was i not reasonable when you confined me in that other prison, the one on wheels, with the vampire you call althotas? but still you kept your eye on me when by, and never left me till you had breathed into me that spirit which possesses me and i cannot shake it off. where is that horrid old man who frightens me to death? in some corner, i suppose. let us hush and listen till his ghostly voice be heard." "you let your fancy sway you, like a child," said balsamo. "my friend and preceptor, althotas, my second father, is an inoffensive old man who has never seen you, let alone approached you, or if he did come near, he would not heed you, being absorbed in his work." "his work--tell me what the work is!" muttered the roman. "he is seeking the elixir of long life, for which superior minds have been seeking these two thousand years." "what are you working for?" "human perfection." "a pair of demons!" said lorenza, lifting her hands to heaven. "is this your fit coming on again? you are ignorant of one thing: your life is divided into two parts. during one, you are gentle, good and sensible: during the other, you are mad." "and you shut me up under the vain pretext of this malady." "it had to be done." "oh, barbarian, be cruel, without pity! imprison me, and kill me, but do not play the hypocrite and pretend to feel for me while you tear me to pieces." "do you call it torture to live in a luxurious suite of rooms?" said balsamo with a kindly smile and not at all disturbed. "with bars to all the issues!" "put there for the sake of your life, lorenza." "oh, he roasts me to death at a slow fire, and he talks of my life's sake!" exclaimed the italian. approaching, he offered to take her hand, but she repelled his as if it were a serpent. "do not touch me!" she said. "do you hate me so much, lorenza!" "ask the victim how he likes the executioner." "it is because i do not want to be one that i restrict your liberty a little. could you come and go as you like, who can tell what your folly might drive you to." "wait till i am free some day, and see what i shall do!" "lorenza, you are behaving badly toward the husband whom you chose. you are my wife." "that was the work of satan." "poor crazy creature!" said the mesmerist, with a tender look. "i am a daughter of rome," continued she, "and some day i shall take revenge." "do you say that merely to frighten me?" he asked, gently shaking his head. "no, no; i will do what i say." "what are you saying--and you a christian woman?" exclaimed balsamo with surprising authority in his voice. "is your creed which bids you return good for evil but a hypocrisy, that you pretend to follow it, and you boast of revenge--evil for good?" "oh," replied lorenza, for an instant struck by the argument. "it is duty, not revenge, to denounce society's enemies." "if you denounced me as a master in the black art, it would be not be as an offender against society, but against heaven. were i to defy heaven, which need but comprise me as one atom in the myriads slain by an earthquake or pestilence, but which takes no pains to punish me, why should weak men like myself undertake to punish me?" "heaven forgets, or tolerates--waiting for you to reform," said the italian. "meanwhile," said the other, smiling, "you are advised to tolerate your husband, friend and benefactor?" "husband? oh, that i should have to endure your yoke!" "oh, what an impenetrable mystery?" muttered the magician, pursuing his thought rather than heeding the speaker. "let us have done. why do you take away my liberty?" "why, having bestowed it on me, would you take it back? why flee from your protector? why unceasingly threaten one who never threatens you, with revelation of secrets which are not yours and have aims beyond anything you can conceive?" "oh," said lorenza, without replying to the question, "the prisoner who yearns for freedom eventually obtains it, and your house bars will no more hold me than your wagon-sides." "happily for you, they are stout," replied balsamo, with ominous tranquillity. "heaven will send another such storm as befel us in lorraine, and some thunderbolt will shatter them." "take my advice to pray for nothing of the kind, lorenza; distrust these romantic transports: i speak to you as a friend--listen to me." stunned at the height of her rebellion, lorenza listened in spite of herself, from so much concentrated wrath being in his voice, and gloomy fire in his eye, while his white but powerful hand opened and shut so strangely as he slowly and solemnly spoke: "mark this, my child, that i have tried to have this place fit for a queen, with nothing lacking for your comfort. so calm your folly. live here as you would do in your convent cell. you must become habituated to my presence. as i have great sorrows, i will confide in you; dreadful disappointment, for which i will crave a smile. the kinder, more patient and attentive you are, the more of your bars i will remove, so that in some months--who knows how soon?--you will become perhaps more free than i am, in the sense that you will not want to curtail my liberty." "no, no," replied the italian, unable to understand that firm resolution could be allied to such gentle words, "no more professions and falsehoods. you abducted me, so that i am my own property still; restore me to heaven, if you will not let me be my own mistress. i have borne with your despotism so far from remembering that you saved me from the robbers who would have ruined me; but this gratitude is much enfeebled. a few days more of this captivity against which i revolt, and i shall no longer feel obliged to you; a few more, and i shall perhaps believe you were in concert with those highwaymen." "so you honor me with a captaincy of brigands," sneered balsamo. "i do not know about that, but i noticed secret signs and peculiar words." "but," replied the other, losing color, "you will never tell them; never to a living soul? you will bury them in the remotest place in your memory so that they shall die there, smothered." "just the other way," retorted lorenza, delighted as angry persons are at having found the antagonist's vulnerable point. "my memory shall piously preserve those words, which i will repeat over and over again when alone, and say aloud when the opening comes, as already i have done." "to whom?" "to the princess royal." "lorenza, mind this well," said he, clenching his nails in his flesh to subdue his fury and check his rushing blood at the thought that his brothers were in danger through the woman whom he had selected to aid them all, "if you said them, never again will you do so. for the doors will be kept fastened, those bars pointed at the head, and those walls reared as high as babel's." "i have already told you, balsamo, that any soul wherein the love of liberty is reinforced by the hate of tyranny must escape from all prison houses." "well and good; try it, woman; but mark this well: you will only twice try it. for the first time i will punish you so severely that you will weep all the tears in your body; and for the second i will strike you pitilessly that you will pour forth all the blood in your veins." "help, help, he is murdering me," shrieked the woman, at the last paroxysm of wrath, tearing her hair and rolling on the carpet. for an instant balsamo considered her with mingled rage and pity, the latter overcoming the other. "come, come, lorenza, return to your senses, and be calm. a day will come when you will be rewarded amply for what you have suffered, or fancy." "imprisoned," screamed the italian, "and beaten." "these are times to try the mind. you are mad, but you shall be cured." "better throw me into a madhouse at once; shut me up in a real jail." "no, you have warned me what you would do against me." "then," said the infuriate, "let me have death straightway." springing up with the suppleness and rapidity of the wild beast, she leaped to break her head against the wall. but balsamo had merely to stretch out his hands toward her and utter a single word rather with his will than with his lips, to stop her dead. she stopped, indeed, reeled and dropped sleep-stricken in the magnetiser's arms. the strange enchanter, who seemed to rule all the material part of the woman though the mental portion baffled him, lifted up lorenza in his arms and carried her to the couch; there he laid a long kiss on her lips, drew the curtains of bed and windows, and left her. a sweet and blessed sleep enveloped her like the cloak of a kind mother wrapping the willful child who has much suffered and wept. chapter xxxix. the predicted visit. lorenza was not mistaken. a carriage, going through st. denis gateway, and following the street of the same name, turned into the road leading out to the bastille. as the clairvoyant had stated, this conveyance enclosed the cardinal prince of rohan, bishop of strasburg, whose impatience had caused him to anticipate the hour fixed for his visit to the magician in his cave of mystery. the coachman, who had been inured to obscurity, pitfalls and dangers of some darksome streets by the prelate's love adventures, was not daunted the least when, after leaving the part of the way still populated and lighted, he had to take the black and lonesome bastille boulevard. the vehicle stopped at the corner of st. claude street, where it hid along the trees twenty paces off. prince rohan, in plain dress, glided up the street, and rapped three times on the door, which he easily recognized from the indication the count had afforded. fritz's steps sounded in the passage, and he opened the door. "is it here resides count fenix?" inquired rohan. "yes, my lord, and he is at home." "say a visitor is here." "shall i announce his eminence cardinal prince de rohan?" asked fritz. the prince stood aghast, looking round him and at himself to see if anything about him in costume or surroundings betrayed his rank. no; he was alone and in civilian dress. "how do you know my name?" he inquired. "my lord told me just now, that he expected your eminence." "yes, but to-morrow, or the day after?" "not so, please your highness--this evening." "announce me, any way," said the prelate, putting a double-louis gold piece in his hand. fritz intimated that the visitor should follow him; and he walked briskly to the door of the ante-chamber, which a large chandelier with a dozen tapers illuminated. the visitor followed, surprised and meditative. "there must be some mistake, my friend," he said, pausing at the door, "in which case i do not wish to disturb the count. it is impossible he can expect me, as he could not know i was coming." "as your highness is cardinal prince rohan, you are certainly expected by my lord." lighting the other candelabra, fritz bowed and went out. five minutes elapsed, during which the prelate, the prey to singular emotion, scanned the elegant furniture of the room, and the half-dozen paintings by masters on the tapestried walls. when the door opened, count fenix appeared on the threshold. "good-evening to your highness," he simply said. "i am told that you expected me," observed the visitor, without replying to the welcome. "expected this evening? impossible!" "i ask your pardon, but i was expecting your highness," returned the host. "i may be doubted, seeing how paltry is my reception, but i have hardly got settled yet, from being but a few days in town. i hope for your eminence's excusing me." "my visit expected? who could have forewarned you?" "yourself, my lord. when you called your footman to the carriage door, did you not say to him: 'drive to st. claude street, in the swamp, by st. denis street and the boulevard?'--words which he repeated to the driver?" "yes; but how could you see this and hear the words, not being present?" "i was not there, but i saw and heard at this distance, as i am, you must not forget, a wizard." "i had forgotten. by the way, am i to entitle you baron balsamo or count fenix!" "in my own house i have no title--i am plainly the master." "ah, the title in alchemy. so, my master in hermetics, if you expected me, the fire would be lit in the laboratory!" "the fire is always kept burning, my lord. and i will have the honor to show your highness into the place." "i follow you on the condition that you do not personally confront me with the devil. i am dreadfully afraid of his satanic majesty lucifer." "my lord, my familiar friends," replied balsamo, "never forget how to deal with princes, and they will behave properly." "this encourages me; so, ho! for the laboratory." chapter xl. the art of making gold. the two threaded a narrow staircase which led, as did the grand stairs, to the first floor rooms, but a door was under an archway there, which the guide opened and the cardinal bravely walked into a dark corridor thus disclosed. balsamo shut the door, and the sound of the closing made the visitor look back with some emotion. "we have arrived," said the leader. "only one door to open and shut behind us. do not be astonished at the noise it makes, as it is of iron." it was fortunate that the cardinal was warned in time, for the snap of the handle and the grinding of the hinges might make nerves more susceptible than his to vibrate. they went down three steps and entered a large cell with rafters overhead, a huge lamp with shade, many books, and a number of chemical and physical instruments--such was the aspect. in a few seconds the cardinal felt a difficulty in breathing. "what does this mean, my lord?" he asked. "the water is streaming off me and i am stifling. what sound is that, master?" "this is the cause," answered the host, pulling aside a large curtain of asbestos, and uncovering a large brick furnace in the centre of which glared two fiery cavities like lions' eyes in the gloom. this furnace stood in an inner room, centrally, twice the size of the first, unseen from the stone-cloth screen. "this is rather alarming, meseems," said the prince. "only a furnace, my lord." "but there are different kinds of furnaces; this one strikes me as diabolical, and the smell is not pleasant. what devil's broth are you cooking?" "what your eminence wants. i believe you will accept a sample of my produce. i was not going to work until to-morrow; but as your eminence changed his mind, i lit the fire as soon as i saw you on the road hither. i made the mixture so that the furnace is boiling, and you can have your gold in about ten minutes. let me open the ventilator to let in some air." "what, are these crucibles on the fire----" "in ten minutes they will pour you out the gold as pure as from any assayer's in christendom." "i should like to look at them." "of course, you can; but you must take the indispensable precaution of putting on this asbestos mask with glass eyes; or the ardent fire will scorch your sight." "have a care, indeed! i prize my eyes, and would not give them for the hundred thousand crowns you promised me." "so i thought, and your lordship's eyes are good and bright." the compliment did not displease the prince, who was proud of his personal advantages. "he, he!" he chuckled; "so we are going to see gold made?" "i expect so, my lord." "a hundred thousand crowns' worth?" "there may be a little more, as i mixed up liberally the raw stuff." "you are certainly a generous magician," said the prince, fastening the fireproof mask on, while his heart throbbed gladly. "less than your eminence, though it is kind to praise me for generosity, of which you are a good judge. will your highness stand a little one side while i lift off the crucible covers?" he had put on a stone-cloth shirt, and seizing iron pincers, he lifted off an iron cover. this allowed one to see four similar melting pots, each containing a fluid mass, one vermilion red, others lighter but all ruddy. "is that gold?" queried the prelate in an undertone, as if afraid by loud speaking to injure the mystery in progress. "yes, the four crucibles contain the metal in different stages of production, some having been on eleven hours, some twelve. the mixture is to be thrown into the first mass of ingredients--the living stuff into the gross--at the moment of boiling--that is the secret, which i do not mind communicating to a friend of the science. but, as your eminence may notice, the first crucible is turning white hot; it is time to draw the charge. will you please stand well back, my lord?" rohan obeyed with the same punctuality as a soldier obeying his captain. dropping the iron pincers, which had already heated to redness, the other ran up to the furnace a carriage on wheels of the same level, the top being an iron block, in which were set eight molds of round shape and the same capacity. "this is the mold in which i cast the ingots," explained the alchemist. on the floor he spread a lot of wet oakum wads to prevent the splashing of the metal setting the floor afire. he placed himself between the molds and the furnace, opened a large book, from which he read an incantation, and said, as he caught up long tongs in his hand to clutch the crucible: "the gold will be splendid, my lord, of the first quality." "oh, you are never going to lift that mass single-handed?" exclaimed the spectator. "though it weighs fifty pounds, yes, my lord; but do not fear, for few metal-melters have my strength and skill." "but if the crucible were to burst----" "that did happen once to me: it was in , while i was experimenting with nicolas flamel, in his house by st. jacques' in the shambles. poor nick almost lost his life, and i lost twenty-seven marks' worth of a substance more precious than gold." "what the deuse are you telling me? that you were pursuing the great work in with nicolas flamel?" "yes, flamel and i found the way while together fifty or sixty years before, working with pietro the good, in pela town. he did not pour out the crucible quickly enough, and i had a bad eye, the left one, for ten or twelve years, from the steam. of course you know pietro's book, the famous 'margarita pretiosa,' dated ?" "to be sure; and you knew flamel and peter the good?" "i was the pupil of one and the master of the other." while the alarmed prelate, wondered whether this might not be the prince of darkness himself and not one of his imps by his side, balsamo plunged his tongs into the incandescence. it was a sure and rapid seizure. he nipped the crucible four inches beneath the rim, testing the grip by lifting it just a couple of inches. then, by a vigorous effort, straining his muscles, he raised the frightful pot from the scorching bed. the tongs reddened almost up to the grasp. on the superheated surface white streaks ran like lightning in a sulphurous cloud. the pot edges deepened into brick red, then browner, while its conical shape appeared rosy and silvery in the twilight of the recess. finally the molten metal could be spied, forming a violet cream on the top, with golden shivers, which hissed out of the lips of the container, and leaped flaming into the black mold. at its orifice reappeared the gold, spouting up furious and fuming, as if insulted by the vile metal which confined it. "number two," said balsamo, passing to the second mold, which he filled with the same skill and strength. perspiration streamed from the founder, while the beholder crossed himself, in the shadow. it was truly a picture of wild and majestic horror. illumined by the yellow gleams of the metallic flame, the operator resembled the condemned souls writhing in the infernos of dante and michelangelo, in their caldrons. add to this the sensation of what was in progress being unheard-of. balsamo did not stop to take breath between the two drawings of the charges, for time pressed. "there is little loss," observed he, after filling the second mold. "i let the boiling go on the hundredth of a minute too long." "the hundredth of a minute?" repeated the cardinal, not trying to conceal his stupefaction. "trifles are enormous in the hermetical art," replied the magician simply; "but anyway, here are two crucibles empty and two ingots cast, and they amount to a hundred weight of fine gold." seizing the first mold with the powerful tongs, he threw it into a tub of water, which seethed and steamed for a long time; at length he opened it, and drew out an ingot of purest gold in the shape of a sugarloaf, flattened at both ends. "we shall have to wait nearly an hour for the other two," said balsamo. "while waiting, would your eminence not like to sit down and breathe the fresh air?" "and this is gold!" said the cardinal, without replying, which made the hearer smile, for he had firm hold of him now. "does your eminence doubt?" "science has so many times been deceived." "you are not speaking your mind wholly," said balsamo. "you suppose that i cheat you, but do so with full knowledge. my lord, i should look very small to myself if i acted thus, for my ambition would then be restricted by the walls of this foundry, whence you would go forth to give the rest of your admiration to the first juggler at the street corner. come, come! honor me better, my prince, and take it that i would cheat you more skillfully and with a higher aim if cheating was intended by me. at all events your eminence knows how to test gold?" "by the touchstone, of course." "has not my lord made the application of the lunar caustic to the spanish gold coins much liked at card-play on account of the gold being the finest, but among which a lot of counterfeits have got afloat?" "this indeed has happened me." "well, here is acid, and a bluestone, my lord." "no, i am convinced." "my lord, do me the pleasure of ascertaining that this is not only gold, but gold without alloy." the doubter seemed averse to giving this proof of unbelief, and yet it was clear that he was not convinced. balsamo himself tested the ingots and showed the result to his guest. "twenty-eight karats fine," he said: "i am going to turn out the other twain." ten minutes subsequently, the two hundred thousand crowns' worth of the precious metal was lying on the damp oakum bed, in four ingots altogether. "i saw your eminence coming in a carriage, so i presume it is in waiting. let it be driven up to my door, and i will have my man put the bullion in it." "a hundred thousand crowns," muttered the prince, taking off the mask in order to gloat on the metal at his feet. "as you saw it made, you can freely say so," added the conjurer, "but do not make a town talk of it, for wizards are not liked in france. if i were making theories instead of solid metal, it would be a different matter." "then what can i do for you?" questioned the prince, with difficulty hoisting one of the fifty pound lumps in his delicate hands. the other looked hard at him and burst into laughter without any respect. "what is there laughable in the offer i make you?" asked the cardinal. "why, your lordship offers me his services, and it seems more to the purpose that i should offer mine." "you oblige me," he said, with a clouding brow, "and that i am eager to acknowledge. but if my gratitude ought to be rated higher than i appraise it, i will not accept the service. thank heaven, there are still enough usurers in paris for me to find the hundred thousand crowns in a day, half on my note of hand, half on security; my episcopal ring alone is worth forty thousand livres." holding out his hand, white as a woman's, a diamond flashed on the ring-finger as large as a hickory nut. "prince, you cannot possibly have held the idea for an instant that i meant to insult you. it is strange that truth seems to have this effect on all princes," he added, as to himself. "your eminence offers me his services; i ask you yourself of what nature can they be?" "my credit at court, to begin with." "my lord, you know that is shaky, and i would rather have the duke of choiseul's, albeit he may not be the prime minister for yet a fortnight. against your credit, look at my cash--the pure, bright gold! every time your eminence wants some, advise me overnight or the same morning, and i will conform to his desire. and with gold one obtains everything, eh, my lord?" "nay, not everything," muttered the prince, falling from the perch of patronage, and not even seeking to regain it. "quite right. i forgot that your eminence seeks something else than gold, a more precious boon than all earthly gifts; but that does not come within the scope of science as in the range of magic. say the word, my lord, and the alchemist will become a magician, to serve you." "thank you, i need nothing and desire no longer," sighed the prelate. "my lord," sighed the tempter, drawing nearer, "such a reply ought not to be made to a wizard by a prince, young, fiery, handsome, rich and bearing the name of rohan. because the wizard reads hearts and knows to the contrary." "i wish for nothing," repeated the high nobleman, almost frightened. "on the contrary, i thought that your eminence entertained desires which he shrank from naming to himself, as they are truly royal." "i believe you are alluding to some words you used in the princess royal's rooms?" said the prince, starting. "you were in error then, and are so still." "your highness is forgetting that i see as clearly in your heart what is going on now as i saw your carriage coming from the carmelite convent, traversing the town and stopping under the trees fifty paces off from my house." "then explain what is there?" "my lord, the princes of your house have always hungered for a great and hazardous love affair." "i do not know what you mean, my lord," faltered the prince. "nay, you understand to a t. i might have touched several chords in you--but why the useless? i went straight to the heartstring which sounds loudest, and it is vibrating deeply, i am sure." with a final effort of mistrust the cardinal raised his head and interrogated the other's clear and sure gaze. the latter smiled with such superiority that the cardinal lowered his eyes. "oh, you are right not to meet my glance, my lord, for then i see into your heart too clearly. it is a mirror which retains the image which it has reflected." "silence, count fenix; do be silent," said the prelate, subjugated. "silence?--you are right, for the time has not come to parade such a passion." "not yet? may it expect a future?" "why not?" "and can you tell me whether this is not a mad passion, as i have thought, and must think until i have a proof to the opposite?" "you ask too much, my lord. i cannot say anything until i am in contact with some portion of the love-inspirer's self--for instance, a tress of her golden hair, however scanty." "verily you are a deep man! you truly say you can read into hearts as i in my prayer-book." "almost the very words your ancestor used--i mean chevalier louis rohan, when i bade farewell to him, on the execution-stage in the bastille, which he had ascended so courageously." "he said that you were deep?" "and that i read hearts. for i had forewarned him that chevalier preault would betray him. he would not believe me, and he was betrayed." "what a singular connection you make between my ancestor and me," said the cardinal, turning pale against his wish. "only to show that you ought to be wary, in procuring the lock to be cut from under a crown." "no matter whence it comes, you shall have it." "very well. here is your gold; i hope you no longer doubt that it is gold?" "give me pen and paper to write the receipt for this generous loan." "what do i want a receipt from your lordship for?" "my dear count, i often borrow, but i never fail to write a receipt," rejoined the prince. "have it your own way, my lord." the cardinal took a quill and scrawled in large and illegible writing a signature under a line or two which a schoolboy would be ashamed of at present. "will that do?" he inquired, handing it to balsamo, who put it in his pocket without looking at it. "perfectly," he said. "you have not read it." "i have the word of a rohan, and that is better than a bond." "count fenix, you are truly a noble man, and i cannot make you beholden to me. i am glad to be your debtor." balsamo bowed, and rang a bell, to which fritz responded. saying a few words in german to him, the servant wrapped up the ingots of gold in their wads of ropeyarn, and took them all up as a boy might as many oranges in a handkerchief, a little strained but not hampered or bent under the weight. "have we hercules here?" questioned the cardinal. "he is rather lusty, my lord," answered the necromancer, "but i must own that, since he has been in my employment, i make him drink three drops every morning of an elixir which my learned friend dr. althotas compounded. it is beginning to do him good. in a year he will be able to carry a hundredweight on each finger." "marvelous! incomprehensible!" declared the prince-priest. "oh, i cannot resist the temptation to tell everybody about this." "do so, my lord," replied the host, laughing. "but do not forget that it is tantamount to pledging yourself to put out the match when they start the fire going to burn me in public." having escorted his illustrious caller to the outer door, he took his leave with a respectful bow. "but i do not see your man," said the visitor. "he went to carry the gold to your carriage, at the fourth tree on the right round the corner on the main street. that is what i told him in german, my lord." the cardinal lifted his hands in wonder and disappeared in the shadows. balsamo waited until fritz returned, when he went back to the private inner house, fastening all the doors. chapter xli. the water of life. he went to listen at lorenza's door, where she was sleeping evenly and sweetly. he opened a panel and looked in upon her, for some while in affectionate reverie. closing the wicket, he stole away to his laboratory, where he put out the fire, by opening a register plate which sent most of the heat up the chimney, and ran in water from a tank without. in a pocket-book, he carefully fastened up the receipt of cardinal rohan, saying: "the parole of a rohan is all very well, but only for me, and the brothers will want to know yonder how i employ their money." these words were dying on his lips when three sharp raps on the ceiling made him lift his head. "althotas wants me, and in a hurry. that is a good sign." with a long iron rod he rapped in answer. he put away the tools, and by means of an iron ring in a trap overhead, which was the floor of a dumb-waiter, as then they called elevators, he pulled this down to his feet. placing himself in the center of it, he was carried gently, by no spring but a simple hydraulic machine, worked by the reservoir which had extinguished the fire, up into the study reserved for the old alchemist. this new dwelling was eight feet by nine in height, and sixteen in length; all the light came from a skylight, as the four walls were without inlet. it was, relatively to the house on wheels, a palace. the old man was sitting in his easy-chair on casters, at the middle of a horseshoe-shaped table in iron, with a marble top, laden with a quantity of plants, books, tools, bottles, and papers traced with cabalistic signs--a chaos. he was so wrapt in thought that he was not disturbed by the entrance. a globe of crystal hung over his yellow and bald pate; in this a sort of serpent, fine and coiled like a spring, seemed to curl, and it sent forth a bright and unvarying light, without other apparent source of luminous supply than the chain supporting the globe might contain to transmit. he was "candling" a phial of ground glass in his fingers as a good wife tries eggs. "well, anything new?" said balsamo, after having silently watched him for a while. "yes, yes; i am delighted, acharat, for i have found what i sought." "gold--diamonds?" "pooh! they are pretty discoveries for my soul to rejoice over." "i suppose you mean your elixir, in that case." "yes, my boy, my elixir--life everlasting." "oh, so you are still harping on that string," said the younger sage sadly, for he thought his senior was following an idle dream. but without listening althotas was lovingly peering into his phial. "the proportions are found at last," he mumbled. "elixir of aristæus, twenty grams; balm of mercury, fifteen; precipitate of gold, fifteen; essence of lebanon cedar, twenty-five grams." "but it seems to me, bar the aristæan elixir, this is about what you last mixed up." "that is so, but there was lacking the binding ingredient, without which the rest are no good." "can one procure it?" "certainly; it is three drops of a child's arterial blood." "and have you the child?" gasped balsamo, horrified. "no, i expect you to find one for me." "master, you are mad." "in what respect?" asked the emotionless old man, licking with his tongue the stopper of the phial, from which a little of the nectar had oozed. "the child would be killed." "what of it--the finer the child, the better the heart's blood." "it cannot be; children are no longer butchered, but brought up with care." "indeed! how fickle is the world. three years ago, we were offered more children than we knew what to do with, for four charges of gunpowder or a pint of traders' whiskey." "that was on the congo river, in africa, master." "i believe so: but it does not matter if the young is black. i remember that what they offered were sprightly, woolly-headed, jolly little urchins." "unfortunately we are no longer on the congo. we are in paris." "well, we can embark from marseilles and be in africa in six weeks." "that can be done; but i must stay in france on serious business." "business?" sneered the old man, sending forth a peal of shrill laughter, most lugubrious. "true, i had forgotten that you have political clubs to organize, conspiracies to foster, and, in short, serious business!" and he laughed again forced and false. balsamo held his peace, reserving his powers for the storm impending. "how far has your business advanced?" he inquired, painfully turning in his chair and fixing his large gray eyes on the pupil. "i have thrown the first stone," he replied, feeling the glance go through him. "the pool is stirred up. the mud is in agitation--the philosophic sediment." "yes, you are going to bring into play your utopias, fogs and hollow dreams. these idiots dispute about the existence or non-existence of the almighty, when they might become little gods themselves. let us hear who are the famous philosophers whom you have enlisted!" "i have already the leading poet and the greatest atheist of the age, who will be coming into france presently, to be made a freemason, in the lodge i am getting up in the old jesuits' college, potaufer street. his name is voltaire." "i do not know him. the next?" "i am to be introduced to the greatest sower of ideas of the century, the author of the social contract, rousseau." "he is not known to me either." "i expect not, as you only know such old alchemists as alfonso the wise, raymond lully, peter of toledo and albert the great." "because they are the only men who have really loved a life, sowed ideas that live, and labored at the grand question of to be or not to be." "there are two ways of living, master." "i only know of one--existing. but to return to your brace of philosophers. with their help you intend to----" "grasp the present and sap the future." "how stupid they must be in this country to be lured away by ideas." "no, it is because they have too much brains that they are led by ideas. and then, i have a more powerful help than all the philosophers--the fact that monarchy has lasted sixteen hundred years in france, and the french are tired of it." "hence, they are going to overturn the throne, and you are backing them with all your forces! you fool! what good is the upsetting of this monarchy going to do you?" "it will bring me nothing, at the best, but it will be happiness for others." "come, come, i am in a good humor to-day, and can listen to your nonsense. explain to me how you will obtain the general weal and what it consists of." "a ministry is in power which is the last rampart defending the monarchy; it is a cabinet, brave, industrious and intelligent, which might sustain this wornout and staggering monarchy for yet twenty years. my aids will overturn it." "your philosophers?" "oh, no, for they are in favor of the ministry, for its head is a philosopher too." "then they are a selfish pack. what great imbeciles!" "i do not care to discuss what they are, for i do not know," said balsamo, who was losing his patience. "i only know that they will all cry down the next ministry when this one is destroyed." "this new cabinet will have against it the philosophers and then the parliament. they will make such an uproar that the cabinet will persecute the philosophers and block the parliament. then in mind and matter will be organized a sullen league, a tenacious, stubborn, restless opposition, which will attack everything, undermining and shaking. instead of parliament they will try to rule with judges appointed by the king; they will do everything for their appointer. with reason they will be accused of venality, corruption and injustice. the people will rise, and at last royalty will have arrayed against it philosophy, which is intelligence, parliament, which is the middle class, and the mob, which is the people; in other words, the lever with which archimedes can raise the world." "well, when you have lifted it, you will have to let it fall again." "yes, but when it falls it will smash the royalty." "to use your figurative language, when this wormeaten monarchy is broken, what will come out of the ruins?" "freedom." "the french be free? well, then, there will be thirty millions of freemen in france?" "yes." "among them do you not think there will be one with a bigger brain than another, who will rob them of freedom some fine morning that he may have a larger share than his proper one for himself? do you not remember a dog we had at medina which used to eat as much as all the rest together?" "yes, and i remember that they all together pitched on him one day and devoured him." "because they were dogs; men would have continued to give in to the greediest." "do you set the instincts of animals above the intelligence of man?" "forsooth, the examples abound by which to prove it. among the ancients was one julius cæsar, and among the moderns one oliver cromwell, who ate up the roman and the english cake, without anybody snatching many crumbs away from them." "well, supposing such an usurper comes, he must die some day, being mortal, but before dying he must do good to even those whom he oppressed; for he would have changed the nature of the upper classes. obliged to have some kind of support, he will choose the popular as the strongest. to the equality which abases, he will oppose the kind which elevates. equality has no fixed water mark, but takes the level of him who makes it. in raising the lowest classes he will have hallowed a principle unknown before his time. the revolution will have made the french free; the protectorate of another cæsar or cromwell will have made them equal." "what a stupid fellow this is!" said althotas, starting in his chair. "to spend twenty years in bringing up a child so that he shall came and tell you, who taught him all you knew--'men are equal.' before the law, maybe; but before death? how about that? one dies in three days--another lives a hundred years! men, equals before they have conquered death? oh, the brute, the triple brute!" althotas sat back to laugh more freely at balsamo, who kept his head lowered, gloomy and thoughtful. his instructor took pity on him. "unhappy sophist that you are, bear in mind one thing, that men will not be equals until they are immortal. then they will be gods, and these alone are undying." "immortal--what a dream!" sighed the mesmerist. "dream? so is the steam, the electric fluid, all that we are hunting after and not yet caught--a dream. but we will seize and they will be realities. move with me the dust of ages, and see that man in all times has been seeking what i am engaged upon, under the different titles of the bliss, the best, the perfection. had they found it, this decrepit world would be fresh and rosy as the morning. instead, see the dry leaf, the corpse, the carrion heap! is suffering desirable--the corpse pleasant to look upon--the carrion sweet?" "you yourself are saying that nobody has found this water of life," observed balsamo, as the old man was interrupted by a dry cough. "i tell you that nobody will find it." "by this rule there would be no discoveries. do you think discoveries are novelties which are invented? not so--they are forgotten things coming up anew. why were the once-found things forgotten. because the inventor's life was too short for him to derive from it all its perfection. twenty times they have nearly consummated the water of life. chiron would have made achilles completely immortal but for the lack of the three drops of blood which you refuse me. in the flaw death found a passage, and entered. i repeat that chiron was another althotas prevented by an acharat from completing the work which would save all mankind by shielding it from the divine malediction. well, what have you to say to that?" "merely," said balsamo, visibly shaken, "that you have your work and i mine. let each accomplish his, at his risks and perils. but i will not second yours by a crime." "a crime? when i ask but three drops of blood--one child--and you would deluge a country with billions of gallons! tell me now who is the cannibal of us two? ha, ha! you do not answer me." "my answer is that three drops would be nothing if you were sure of success." "are you sure, who would send millions to the scaffold and battle-field? can you stand up before the creator and say, 'o master of life, in return for four millions of slain men, i will warrant the happiness of humanity.'" "master, ask for something else," said balsamo, eluding the point. "ha! you do not answer; you cannot answer," taunted althotas triumphantly. "you must be mistaken on the efficacy of the means. it is impossible." "it looks as if you argued with me, disputed, deem me a liar," said the old alchemist, rolling with cold anger his gray eyes under his white brows. "no, but i am in contact with men and things, and you dwell in a nook, in the pure abstraction of a student; i see the difficulties and have to point them out." "you would soon overcome such difficulties if you liked, or believed." "i do not believe." "but do you believe that death is an incontestable thing, invincible and infinite? and when you see a dead body, does not the perspiration come to your brow, and a regret is born in your breast?" "no regret comes in to my breast because i have familiarized myself to all human miseries; and i esteem life as a little thing: but i say in presence of the corpse: 'dead! thou who wert mighty as a god! o death! it is thou who reign sovereignly, and nothing can prevail against thee.'" althotas listened in silence, with no other token of impatience than fidgeting with a scalpel in his hands. when his disciple had finished the solemn and doleful phrase, he smiled while looking round. his eyes, so burning that no secrets seemed to exist for him, stopped on a nook in the room, where a little dog trembled on a handful of straw. it was the last of three of a kind, which balsamo had provided on request of the elder for his experiments. "bring that dog to this table," said he to balsamo, who laid the creature on a marble slab. seeming to foresee its doom and having probably already been handled by the dissector, the animal shuddered, wriggled and yelped at contact of the cold stone. "so you believe in life, since you do in death?" squeaked althotas. "this dog looks live enough, eh?" "certainly, as it moves and whines." "how ugly black dogs are! i should like white ones another time. howl away, you cur," said the vivisectionist with his lugubrious laugh; "howl, to convince grand seignior acharat that you live." he pierced the animal at a certain muscle so that he whimpered instead of barking. "good! push the bell of the air pump hither. but stay, i must ask what kind of death you prefer for him--deem best?" "i do not know what you mean; death is death, master." "very correct, what you say, and i agree with you. since one kind of death is the same as another, exhaust the air, acharat." balsamo worked the air pump, and the air in the bell of glass hissed out at the bottom, so that the little puppy grew uneasy at the first, looked around, began to sniff, put his paw to the issue till the pain of the pressure made him take it away, and then he fell suffocated, puffed up and asphyxiated. "behold the dog dead of apoplexy," pronounced the sage; "this is a fine mode with no long suffering. but you do not seem fully convinced. i suppose you know how well laden i am with resources, and you think i have the method of restoring the respiration." "no, i am not supposing that. the dog is truly not alive." "never mind, we will make assurance doubly sure by killing the canine twice. lift off the receiver, acharat." the glass bell was removed and there lay the victim, never stirring, with eyes shut and heart without a beat. "take the scalpel and sever the spinal column without cutting the larynx." "i do so solely because you say it." "and to finish the poor creature in case it be not dead," said the other, with the smile of obstinacy peculiar to the aged. with one incision balsamo separated the vertebral column a couple of inches from the brain, and opened a yawning gash. the body remained unmoving. "he is an inert animal, icy cold, forever without movement, eh? you say nothing prevails against death? no power can restore even the appearance of life, far less life itself, to this carcass?" "only the miracle of heaven!" "but heaven does not do such things. supreme wisdom kills because there is reason or benefit in the act. an assassin said so, and he was quite right. nature has an interest in the death. now, what will you say if this dog opens his eyes and looks at you?" "it would much astonish me," said the pupil smiling. "i am glad to hear that it would do as much as that." as he drew the dog up to an apparatus which we know as a voltaic pile, he rounded off his words with his false and grating laugh. the pile was composed of a vessel containing strips of metal separated by felt. all were bathed in acidulated water; out of the cup came the two ends of wire--the poles to speak technically. "which eye shall it open, acharat?" inquired the experimentalist. "the right." the two extremities were brought together, but parted by a little silk, on a neck muscle. in an instant the dog's right eye opened and stared at balsamo, who could not help recoiling. "look out," said the infernal jester, with his dry laugh; "our dead dog is going to bite you!" indeed, the animal, in spite of its sundered spine, with gaping jaws and tremulous eye, suddenly got upon its four legs, and tottered on them. with his hair bristling, balsamo receded to the door, uncertain whether to flee or remain. "but we must not frighten you to death in trying to teach you," said althotas, pushing back the cadaver and the machine; the contact broken, the carcass fell back into immovability. "you see that we may arrive at the point i spoke of, my son, and prolong life since we can annul death?" "not so, for you have only obtained a semblance of life," objected balsamo. "in time, we shall make it real. the roman poets--and they were esteemed prophets--assert that cassidæus revived the dead." "but one objection: supposing your elixir perfect and a dog given some, it would live on--until it fell into the hands of a dissector who would cut its throat." "i thought you would take me there," chuckled the old wizard, clapping his hands. "your elixir will not prevent a chimney falling on a man, a bullet going clear through him, or a horse kicking his skull open?" althotas eyed the speaker like a fencer watching his antagonist make a lunge which lays him open to defeat. "no, no, no, and you are a true logician. no, my dear acharat, such accidents cannot be avoided; the wounds will still be made, but i can stop the vital spirit issuing by the hole. look!" before the other could interfere he drove the lancet into his arm. the old man had so little blood that it was some time flowing to the cut; but when it came it was abundantly. "great god! you have hurt yourself!" cried the younger man. "we must convince you." taking up a phial of colorless fluid, he poured a few drops on the wound; instantly the liquid congealed, or rather threw out fibres materializing, and, soon a plaster of a yellow hue covered in the gash and stanched the flow. balsamo had never seen collodion, and he gazed in stupefaction at the old sage. "you are the wisest of men, father!" "at least if i have not dealt death a death-blow, i have given him a thrust under which he will find it hard to rise. you see, my son, that the human frame has brittle bones--i will harden and yet supple them like steel. it has blood which, in flowing out, carries life with it--i will stop the flow. the skin and flesh are soft--i will tan them so that they will turn the edge of steel and blunt the points of spears, while bullets will flatten against it. only let an althotas live three hundred years. well, give me what i want, and i shall live a thousand. oh, my dear acharat, all depends on you. bring me the child." "i will think it over, and do you likewise reflect." the sage darted a look of withering scorn on his adept. "go!" he snarled, "i will convince you later. besides, human blood is not so precious that i cannot use a substitute. go, and let me seek--and i shall find. i have no need of you. begone!" balsamo walked over to the elevator, and with a stamp of the foot, caused it to carry him down to the other floor. mute, crushed by the genius of this wizard, he was forced to believe in impossible things by his doing them. chapter xlii. the king's new amour. this same long night had been employed by countess dubarry in trying to mold the king's mind to a new policy according to her views. above all she had dwelt upon the necessity of not letting the choiseul party win possession of the dauphiness. the king had answered carelessly that the princess was a girl and choiseul an old statesman, so that there was no danger, since one only wanted to sport and the other to labor. enchanted at what he thought a witticism, he cut short further dry talk. but jeanne did not stay stopped, for she fancied the royal lover was thinking of another. he was fickle. his great pleasure was in making his lady-loves jealous, as long as they did not sulk too long or become too riotous in their jealous fits. jeanne dubarry was jealous naturally, and from fear of a fall. her position had cost her too much pains to conquer and was too far from the starting-point for her to tolerate rivals as lady pompadour had done. hence she wanted to know what was on the royal mind. he answered by these memorable words, of which he did not mean a jot: "i intend to make my daughter-in-law very happy and i am afraid that my son will not make her so." "why not, sire?" "because he looks at other women a good deal, and very seldom at her." "if any but your majesty said that, i should disbelieve them, for the archduchess is sweetly pretty." "she might be rounded out more; that mademoiselle de taverney is the same age and she has a finer figure. she is perfectly lovely." fire flashed in the favorite's eyes and warned the speaker of his blunder. "why, i wager that you were plump as watteau's shepherdesses at sixteen," said he quickly, which adulation improved matters a little, but the mischief was done. "humph," said she, bridling up under the pleased smile, "is the young lady of the taverney family so very, very fair?" "i only noticed that she was not a bag of bones. you know i am short-sighted and the general outline alone strikes me. i saw that the new-comer from austria was not plump, that is all." "yes, you must only see generally, for the austrian is a stylish beauty, and the provincial lady a vulgar one." "according to this, jeanne, you would be the vulgar kind," said the monarch. "you are joking, i think." "that is a compliment, but it is wrapped up in a compliment to another," thought the favorite, and aloud she said: "faith, i should like the dauphiness to choose a bevy of beauties for maids of honor. a court of old tabbies is frightful." "you are talking over one won to your side, for i was saying the same thing to the dauphin; but he is indifferent." "however, she begins well, you think, to take this taverney girl. she has no money?" "no, but she has blood. the taverney redcastles are a good old house and long-time servants of the realm." "who is backing them?" "not the choiseuls, for they would be overfeasted with pensions in that case." "i beg you not to bring in politics, countess!" "is it bringing in politics to say the choiseuls are blood-sucking the realm?" "certainly." and he arose. an hour after he regained the grand trianon palace, happy at having inspired jealousy, though he said to himself, as a richelieu might do at thirty: "what a bother these jealous women are!" dubarry went into her boudoir, where chon was impatiently waiting for the news. "you are having fine success," she exclaimed; "day before yesterday presented to the dauphiness, you dined at her table yesterday." "that's so--but much good in such nonsense." "nonsense, when a hundred fashionable carriages are racing to bring you courtiers?" "i am vexed, sorry for them, as they will not have any smiles from me this morning. let me have my chocolate." "stormy weather, eh?" chon rang and zamore came in to get the order. he started off so slowly, and humping up his back, that the mistress cried: "is that slowcoach going to make me perish of hunger? if he plays the camel and does not hurry, he'll get a hundred lashes on his back." "me no hurry--me gubbernor," replied the black boy, majestically. "you a governor?" screamed the lady, flourishing a fancy riding whip kept to maintain order among the spaniels. "i'll give you a lesson in governing." but the negro ran out yelling. "you are quite ferocious, jeanne," remarked her sister. "surely i have the right to be ferocious in my own house?" "certainly; but i am going to elope, for fear i may be devoured alive." three knocks on the door came to interrupt the outbreak. "hang it all--who is bothering now?" cried the countess, stamping her foot. "he is in for a nice welcome," muttered chon. "it will be a good thing if i am badly received," said jean, as he pushed open the door as widely as though he were a king, "for then i should take myself off and not come again. and you would be the greater loser of the two." "saucebox----" "because i am not a flatterer. what is the matter with the girl this morning, chon?" "she is not safe to go near." "oh, here comes the chocolate! good-morning, chocolate," said the favorite's brother, taking the platter and putting it on a small table, at which he seated himself. "come and tuck it in, chon! those who are too proud won't get any, that's all." "you are a nice pair," said jeanne, "gobbling up the bread and butter instead of wondering what worries me." "out of cash, i suppose?" said chon. "pooh, the king will run out before i do." "then lend me a thousand--i can do with it," said the man. "you will get a thousand _fillips_ on the nose sooner than a thousand _louis_." "is the king going to keep that abominable choiseul?" questioned chon. "that is no novelty--you know that they are sticks-in-the-mud." "has the old boy fallen in love with the dauphiness?" "you are getting warm; but look at the glutton, ready to burst with swilling chocolate and will not lift a finger to help me out of my quandary." "you never mean to say the king has another fancy?" cried chon, clasping her hands, and turning pale. "if i did not say so your brother would, for he will either choke with the chocolate or get it out." thus adjured, jean managed to gasp the name: "andrea of taverney!" "the baron's daughter--oh, mercy!" groaned chon. "i do not know what keeps me from tearing his eyes out, the lazybones, to go puffing them up with sleep when our fortunes stagger." "with want of sleep you mean," returned jean. "i am sleepy, as i am hungry, for the same reason--i have been running about the streets all night." "just like you." "and all the morning." "you might have run to some purpose, and found out where that intriguing jade is housed." "the very thing--i questioned the driver of the carriage lent to them, and he took them to coq heron street. they are living in a little house at the back, next door to armenonville house." "jean, jean, we are good friends again," said the countess. "gorge as you like. but we must have all the particulars about her, how she lives, who calls on her, and what she is about. does she get any love letters--these are important to know." "i have got us started on the right road anyway," said jean; "suppose you do a little now." "well," suggested chon, "there must be rooms to let in that street." "excellent idea," said the countess. "you must be off quickly to the place, jean, and hire a flat there, where a watcher can mark down all her doings." "no use; there are no rooms to hire there; i inquired; but i can get what we want in the street at the back, overlooking their place, plastrière street." "well, quick! get a room there." "i have done that," answered jean. "admirable fellow--come, let me buss thee!" exclaimed the royal favorite. jean wiped his mouth, received the caress and made a ceremonious bow to show that he was duly grateful for the honor. "i took the little suite for a young widow. young widow, you, chon." "capital! it shall be chon who will take the lodgings and keep an eye on what goes on. but you must not lose any time. the coach," cried dubarry, ringing the bell so loudly that she would have roused all the spellbound servants of the palace of the sleeping beauty. the three knew how highly to rate andrea, for at her first sight she had excited the king's attention; hence she was dangerous. "this girl," said the countess while the carriage was being got ready; "cannot be a true country wench if she has not made some sweetheart follow her to paris. let us hunt up this chap and get her married to him offhand. nothing would so **** off the king as rustic lovers getting wedded." "i do not know so much about that," said jean. "let us be distrustful. his most christian majesty is greedy for what is another's property." chon departed in the coach, with jean's promise that he would be her first visitor in the new lodgings. she was in luck, for she had hardly more than taken possession of the rooms, and gone to look out of the window commanding a view of the rear gardens than a young lady came to sit at the summer-house window, with embroidery in her hand. it was andrea. chapter xliii. two birds with one stone. chon had not been many minutes scanning the taverney lady, when viscount jean, racing up the stairs four at a time like a schoolboy, appeared on the threshold of the pretended widow's room. "hurrah, jean, i am placed splendidly to see what goes on, but i am unfortunate about hearing." "you ask too much. oh, i say, i have a bit of news, marvelous and incomparable. those philosophic fellows say a wise man ought to be ready for anything, but i cannot be wise, for this knocked me. i give you a hundred chances to guess who i ran up against at a public fountain at the corner; he was sopping a piece of bread in the gush, and it was--our philosopher." "who? gilbert?" "the very boy, with bare head, open waistcoat, stockings ungartered, shoes without buckles, in short, just as he turned out of bed." "then he lives by here? did you speak to him?" "we recognized one another, and when i thrust out my hand, he bolted like a harrier among the crowd, so that i lost sight of him. you don't think i was going to run after him, do you?" "hardly, but then you have lost him." "what a pity!" said the girl sylvie, whom chon had brought along as her maid. "yes, certainly," said jean; "i owe him a hundred stripes with a whip, and they would not have spoilt by keeping any longer had i got a grip of his collar; but he guessed my good intentions and fled. no matter, here he is in town; and when one has the ear of the chief of police, anybody can be found." "shut him up when you catch him," said sylvie, "but in a safe place." "and make you turnkey over him," suggested jean, winking. "she would like to take him his bread and water." "stop your joking, brother," said chon; "the young fellow saw your row over the post-horses, and he is to be feared if you set him against you." "how can he live without means?" "tut, he will hold horses or run errands." "never mind him; come to our observatory." brother and sister approached the window with infinity of precautions. jean had provided himself with a telescope. andrea had dropped her needlework, put up her feet on a lower chair, taken a book, and was reading it with some attention, for she remained very still. "fie on the studious person!" sneered chon. "what an admirable one!" added jean. "a perfect being--what arms, what hands! what eyes! lips that would wreck the soul of st. anthony--oh, the divine feet--and what an ankle in that silk hose?" "hold your tongue! this is coming on finely," said chon. "you are smitten with her, now. this is the drop that fills the bucket." "it would not be a bad job if it were so, and she returned me the flame a little. it would save our poor sister a lot of worry." "let me have the spyglass a while. yes, she is very handsome, and she must have had a sweetheart out there in the woods. but she is not reading--see, the book slips out of her hand. i tell you, jean, that she is in a brown study." "she sleeps, you mean." "not with her eyes open--what lovely eyes! this a good glass, jean--i can almost read in her book." "what is the book, then?" chon was leaning out a little when she suddenly drew back. "gracious! look at that head sticking out of the garret window----" "gilbert, by jove! with what burning eyes he is glaring on the taverney girl!" "i have it: he is the country gallant of his lady. he has had the notice where she was coming to live in paris and he has taken a room close to her. a change of dovecote for the turtle-doves." "sister, we need not trouble now, for he will do all the watching----" "for his own gain." "no, for ours. let me pass, as i must go and see the chief of police. by jupiter, what luck we have! but don't you let philosopher catch a glimpse of you--he would decamp very quick." chapter xliv. the plan of action. sartines had allowed himself to sleep late, as he had managed the multitude very well during the dauphiness' reception, and he was trying on new wigs at noon as a kind of holiday when chevalier jean dubarry was announced. the minister of police was sure that nothing unpleasant had occurred, as the favorite's brother was smiling. "what brings you so early?" "to begin with," replied jean, always ready to flatter those of whom he wanted to make use, "i am bound to compliment you on the admirable way in which you regulated the processions." "is this official?" "quite, so far as luciennes is concerned." "is not that ample--does not the sun rise in that quarter?" "it goes down there very often, eh?" and the pair laughed. "but, the compliments apart, i have a service to ask of you." "two, if you like." "tell me if anything lost in paris can be found?" "yes, whether worthless or very valuable." "my object of search is not worth much," responded jean, shaking his head. "only a young fellow of eighteen, named gilbert, who was in the service of the taverneys in lorraine, but was picked up on the road by my sister chon. she took him to luciennes, where he abused the hospitality." "stole something?" "i do not say so, but he took flight in a suspicious manner." "have you any clue to his hiding place?" "i met him at the fountain at the corner of plastrière street, where i suppose he is living, and i believe i could lay my hand on the very house." "all right, i will send a sure agent, who will take him out of it!" "the fact is, this is a special affair, and i should like you to manage it without a third party." "oh, in that case, let me pick out a becoming wig and i am with you." "i have a carriage below." "thank you, i prefer my own; it gets a new coat of paint every month, so as not to betray me." he had tried on his twentieth peruke when the carriage was waiting at the door. "there it is, the dirty house," said jean, pointing in the direction of a dwelling in plastrière street. "whew!" said sartines, "dash me if i did not suspect this. you are unlucky, for that is the dwelling of rousseau, of geneva." "the scribbler? what does that matter?" "it matters that rousseau is a man to be dreaded." "pooh! it is not likely my little man will be harbored by a celebrity." "why not, as you nicknamed him a philosopher? birds of a feather--you know----" "suppose it is so. why not put this rousseau in the bastille if he is in our way?" "well, he would be more in our way there than here. you see the mob likes to throw stones at him, but they would pelt us if he was no longer their target, and they want him for themselves. but let us see into this. sit back in the carriage." he referred to a notebook. "i have it. if your young blade is with rousseau, when would he have met him?" "say, on the sixteenth instant." "good! he returned from botanizing in meudon wood on the seventeenth with a youth, and this stranger stayed all night under his roof. you are crossed by luck. give it up or you would have all the philosophers against us in riot." "oh, lord! what will sister jeanne say?" "oh, does the countess want the lad? why not coax him out, and then we would nab him, anywhere not inside rousseau's house?" "you might as well coax a hyena." "i doubt it is so difficult. all you want is a go-between. let me see; a prince will not do; better one of these writers, a poet, a philosopher or a bota--stay, i have him!" "gilbert?" "yes, through a botanist friend of rousseau's. you know jussieu?" "yes, for the countess lets him prowl in her gardens and rifle them." "i begin to believe that you shall have your gilbert, without any noise. rousseau will hand him over, pinioned, so to say. so you go on making a trap for philosophers, according to a plan i will give you, on vacant ground out meudon or marly way. now, let us be off, as the passengers are beginning to stare at us. home, coachman!" chapter xlv. too good a teacher. fatigued by the ceremonies of the dauphin's nuptials, and particularly by the dinner, which was too stately, the king retired at nine o'clock and dismissed all attendants except duke vauguyon, tutor of the royal children. as he was losing his best pupil by the marriage, having only his two brothers to teach, and as it is the custom to reward a preceptor when education of a charge is complete, he expected a recompense. he had been sobbing, and now he slipped out a pockethandkerchief and began to weep. "come, my poor vauguyon," said the king, pointing to a foot-stool in the light, while he would be in the shade, "pray be seated, without any to-do." the duke sighed. "the education is over, and you have turned out in the prince royal the best educated prince in europe." "i believe he is." "good at history, and geography, and at wood-turning----" "the praise for that goes to another, sire." "and at setting timepieces in order. before he handled them, my clocks told the time one after another like wheels of a coach; but he has put them right. in short, the heir to the crown will, i believe, be a good king, a good manager, and a good father of family. i suppose he will be a good father?" he insisted. "why, your majesty," said vauguyon simply, "i consider that as the dauphin has all the germs of good in his bosom, those that constitute that are in the cluster." "come, come, my lord," said the sovereign, "let us speak plainly. as you know the dauphin thoroughly, you must know all about his tastes and his passions----" "pardon me, sire, but i have extirpated all his passions." "confound it all! this is just what i feared!" exclaimed louis xv., with an energy which made the hearer's wig stand its hairs on end. "sire, the duke of berri has lived under your august roof with the innocence of the studious youth." "but the youth is now a married man." "sire, as the guide of----" "yes, well, i see that you must guide him to the very last." "please your majesty." "this is the way of it. you will go to the dauphin, who is now receiving the final compliments of the gentlemen as the dauphiness is receiving those of the ladies. get a candle and take your pupil aside. show him the nuptial chamber which is at the end of a corridor filled with pictures which i have selected as a complete course of the instruction which your lordship omitted----" "ah," said the duke, starting at the smile of his master, which would have appeared cynical on any mouth but his, the wittiest in the kingdom. "at the end of the new corridor, i say, of which here is the key." vauguyon took it trembling. "you will shake your pupil's hand, put the candle into it, wish him good-night, and tell him that it will take twenty minutes to reach the bedroom door, giving a minute to each painting." "i--i understand." "that is a good thing." "your majesty is good enough to excuse me----" "i suppose i shall have to, but you were making this end prettily for my family!" from the window the king could see the candle which passed from the hands of vauguyon into that of his guileless pupil, go the way up the new gallery, and flicker out. "i gave him twenty minutes--i myself found five long enough," muttered the king, "alas, will they say of the dauphin as of the second racine: 'he is the nephew of his grandfather.'" chapter xlvi. a terrible wedding-night. the dauphin opened the door of the anteroom before the wedding chamber. the archduchess was waiting, in a long white wrapper, with the strange anticipation on her brow, along with the sweet expectation of the bride, of some disaster. she seemed menaced with one of those terrors which nervous dispositions foresee and support sometimes with more bravery than if not awaited. lady noailles was seated by the gilded couch, which easily held the princess' frail and dainty body. the maids of honor stood at the back, waiting for the mistress of the attendants to make them the sign to withdraw. these were all ignorant that the dauphin was coming by a new way in. as the corridor was empty and the door at the end ajar, he could see and hear what went on in the room. "in what direction does my lord the dauphin come?" inquired the austrian's pure and harmonious voice though slightly tremulous. "yonder," replied lady noailles, pointing just the wrong way. "what is that noise outside--not unlike the roaring of angry waters?" "it is the tumult of the innumerable sight-seers walking about under the illumination and waiting for the fireworks display." "the illuminations?" said the princess with a sad smile. "they must have been timely this evening, for did you not notice it was very black weather?" at this moment the dauphin, who was tired of waiting, thrust his head in at the door, and asked if he might enter. lady noailles screamed, for she did not recognize the intruder at first. the dauphiness, worked up into a nervous state by the incidents of the day, seized the duchess' arm in her fright. "it is i, madame; have no fear," called out the prince. "but why by that way?" said lady noailles. "because," explained louis the king, showing his head at the half-open door, "because the duke of vauguyon knows so much latin, mathematics and geography as to leave room for nothing else." in presence of the king so untimely arrived, the dauphiness slipped off the couch and stood up in the wrapper, clothed from head to foot like a vestal virgin in her stole. "any one can see that she is thin," muttered the king; "what the deuse made choiseul pick out the skinny chicken among all the pullets of european courts?" "your majesty will please to observe that i acted according to the strict etiquette," said the duchess of noailles, "the infraction was on my lord the dauphin's part." "i take it on myself. so, let us leave the children to themselves," said the monarch. the princess seized the lady's arm with more terror than before. "oh, don't go away!" she faltered; "i shall die of shame." "sire, the dauphiness begs to be allowed to go to rest without any state," said lady noailles. "the deuce--and does 'lady etiquette' herself crave that?" "look at the archduchess----" in fact, marie antoinette, standing up, pale and with her rigid arm sustaining her by a chair, resembled a statue of fright, but for the slight chattering of her teeth, and the cold perspiration bedewing her forehead. "oh, i should not think of causing the young lady any pain," said louis xv., as little strict about forms as his father was the other thing. "let us retire, duchess; besides, the doors have locks." the dauphin blushed to hear these words of his grandfather, but the lady, though hearing, had not understood. king louis xv. embraced his grand-daughter-in-law, and went forth, with lady noailles, laughing mockingly and sadly, for those who did not share his merriment. the other persons had gone out by the other door. the wedded pair were left alone in silence. at last the young husband approached his bride with bosom beating rapidly; to his temples, breast and wrist he felt all his repressed blood rushing hotly. but he guessed that his grandfather was behind the door, and the cynical glance still chilled the dauphin, very timid and awkward by nature. "you are not well, madame," he stammered. "you are very pale, and i think you are trembling." "i cannot conceal that i am under a spell of agitation; there must be some terrible storm overhead, for i am peculiarly affected by thunderstorms." indeed, she shook by spasms as though affected by electrical shocks. at this time, as though to justify her assertion, a furious gust of wind, such as shear the tops off mountains and heap up half the sea against the other--the first whoop of the coming tempest filled the palace with tumult, anguish and many a creaking. leaves were swept off the branches, branches off the boughs and from the trees. a long and immense clamor was drawn from the hundred thousand spectators in the gardens. a lugubrious and endless bellowing ran through the corridors and galleries, composing the most awful notes that had ever vibrated in human ears. then an ominous rattling and jingling succeeded the roar; it was the fall of countless shivers of glass out of the window panes on the marble slabs and cornices. at the same time the gale had opened one of the shutters and banged it to and fro like a wings of a bird of night. wherever the window had been open and where the glass was shivered the lights were put out. the prince went over to the window to fasten the broken shutter, but his wife held him back. "oh, pray, do not open that window, for the lights will be blown out, and i should die of fright." he stopped. through the casement beyond the curtain which he had drawn the tree tops of the park were visible, swayed from side to side as if some unseen giant were waving them by the stems. all the illuminations were extinguished. then could be seen on the dark sky still blacker clouds, coming on with a rolling motion like troops of cavalry wrapped in dust. the pallid prince stood with one hand on the sash-handle. the bride sank on a chair, with a sigh. "you are very much alarmed, madame?" "yes, though your presence supports me. oh, what a storm! all the pretty lights are put out." "yes, it is a southwest wind, always the worst for storms. if it holds out, i do not know how they will be able to set off the fireworks." "what would be the use of them? everybody will be out of the gardens in such weather." "you do not know what our french are when there is a show. they cry for the pyrotechnics, and this is to be superb; the pyrotechnist showed me the sketches. there! look at the first rockets!" indeed, brilliant as long fiery serpents, the trial rockets rushed up into the clouds, but at the same time, as if the storm had taken the flash as a challenge, one stroke of lightning, seeming to split the sky, snaked among the rockets ascending and eclipsed their red glare with its bluish flaring. "verily, it is impiety for man to contest with god," said the archduchess. the trial rockets had preceded the general display by but a few minutes as the pyrotechnist felt the need of hastening, and the first set pieces were fired and were hailed with a cheer of delight. but as though there were really a war between man and heaven, the storm, irritated by the impiety, drowned with its thunder the cheers of the mobs, and all the cataracts on high opened at once. torrents of rain were precipitated from the cloudy heights. in like manner to the wind putting out the illuminations, the rain put out the fireworks. "what a misfortune, the fireworks are spoilt," said the dauphin. "alas, everything goes wrong since i entered france," said marie antoinette. "this storm suits the feast that was given me. it was wanted to hide from the people the miseries of this dilapidated palace of versailles. so, blow, you southwest wind! spout, rain! pile yourselves together, tempestuous clouds, to hide from my eyes the paltry, tawdry reception given to the daughter of the kaisers, when she laid her hand in that of the future king!" the visibly embarrassed dauphin did not know what answer to make to this, these reproaches, and particularly this exalted melancholy, so far from his character; he only sighed. "i afflict you," continued she; "but do not believe that my pride is speaking. no, no, it is nowise in it. would that they had only shown me the pretty little trianon, with its flower gardens, and smiling shades--the rain will but refresh it, the wind but open the blossoms. that charming nest would content me; but these ruins frighten me, so repugnant to my youth, and yet how many more ruins will be created by this frightful storm." a fresh gust, worse than the first, shook the palace. the princess started up aghast. "oh, heavens, tell me that there is no danger!" she moaned; "i shall die of fright." "there is no fear, madame. versailles is built on terraces so as to defy the storm. if lightning fell it would only strike yonder chapel with its sharp roof, or the little tower which has turrets. you know that peaks attract the electric fluid and flat surfaces repel them." he took her frozen yet palpitating hand. just then a vivid flash inundated the room with its violet and livid glare. she uttered a scream and repulsed her husband. "oh, you looked in the lurid gleam like a phantom, pale, headless and bleeding!" "it is the mirage caused by the sulphur," said the prince. "i will explain----" but a deafening peal of thunder cut short the sentence of the phlegmatic prince lecturing the royal spouse. "come, come, madame, let us leave such fears to the common people. physical agitation is one of the conditions of nature. a storm, and this is no more, is one of the most frequent and natural phenomena. i do not know why people are surprised at them." "i should not quail so much at another time; but for a storm to burst on our wedding-night, another awful forwarning joined to those heralding my entry into france! my mother has told me that this century is fraught with horrors, as the heavens above are charged with fire and destruction." "madame, no dangers can menace the throne to which we shall ascend, for we royalties dwell above the common plane. the thunder is at our feet and we wield the bolts." "alas, something dreadful was predicted me, or rather, shown to me in a dish of water. it is hard to describe what was utterly novel to me; a machine reared on high like a scaffold, two upright beams between which glided an axe of odd shape. i saw my head beneath this blade. it descended and my head, severed from the body, leaped to the earth. this is what i was shown." "pure hallucination," said the scoffer; "there is no such an instrument in existence, so be encouraged." "alas! i cannot drive away the odious thought." "you will succeed, marie," said the dauphin, drawing nearer. "beside you will be an affectionate and assiduously protective husband." at the instant when the husband's lips nearly touched the wife's cheek, the picture gallery door opened again, and the curious, covetous look of king louis xv. penetrated the place. but simultaneously a crash, of which no words can give an idea, resounded through the palace. a spout of white flame, streaked with green, dashed past the widow but shivered a statue on the balcony; then after a prodigious ripping and splitting sound, it bounded upward and vanished like a meteor. out went the candles! the dauphin staggered back, dazed and frightened to the very wall. the dauphiness fell, half swooned, on the step of her praying-desk and dwelt in deadly torpor. believing the earth was quaking under him, louis xv. regained his rooms, followed by his faithful valet. in the morning versailles was not recognizable. the ground had drunk up the deluge, and the trees absorbed the sulphur. everywhere was mud and the broken boughs dragging their blackened lengths like scotched serpents. louis xv. went to the bridal chamber for the third time, and looked in. he shuddered to see at the praying-stand the bride, pale and prone, with the aurora tinging her spotless robe, like a magdalen of rubens. on a chair, with his velvet slippers in a puddle of water, the dauphin of france sat as pale as his wife and with the same air of having faced a nightmare. the nuptial bed was untouched. louis xv. frowned; a never-before-experienced pain ran through his brow, cooled by egotism even when debauchery tried to heat it. he shook his head, sighed and returned to his apartments full of grim forebodings over the future which this tragic event had marked on its brow. what dread and mysterious incidents were enfolded in its bosom it will be our mission to disclose in the sequel to this book, entitled "the mesmerist's victim." [illustration] _a book for every family._ how to live well on cents a day. by mrs. gesine lemcke, one of the most noted cooks and housekeepers of the day. it contains a complete bill of fare for every day for six weeks, also valuable hints and helps for housekeepers. the _philadelphia call_ says of it: "utopia discovered! everybody happy and want absolutely abolished. hats off to mrs. lemcke! whether this volume accomplishes its purpose or not is immaterial. it is stuffed full of just the sort of information that is good for young housekeepers and should be widely read, and is worth $ . to any family." this book is for sale by all dealers, or it will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of cents, by j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york. terms to agents. _sample copy by mail, postpaid, cents._ _less than copies, cents per copy._ _one hundred or more copies, cents per copy._ the above prices do not include freight or express charges. _=terms cash with order.=_ address, j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york. are you a woman? and do you want to get married? if so, you ought to buy our new book. "how to get married although a woman." by a young widow. read what _the christian advocate_ says about it: "how to get married although a woman," by a young widow, comes from the j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york. the woman anxious to get married, but unable to do so, will find an immense amount of advice and assistance in this little volume, and will learn what manner of woman is liked and what disliked by men, the reasons of success and failure in the race matrimonial, some unfailing methods of catching a husband, why it is that a plain widow can come into a community and take her pick among the most eligible men, and finally, how to retain the love of a husband when he has been captured and how to get another one when he has been gathered to his fathers. any woman who cannot catch a husband by the rules laid down in this book does not deserve one, and it costs only cents for all this valuable advice and information. this book will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. address _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, lock box . rose st., new york._ catalogue of useful and popular books. any of the books on this list will be mailed postpaid to any address on receipt of price by j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york. _write your name and address very plainly so as to avoid mistakes._ =album writer's friend (the).=--compiled by j. s. ogilvie, mo, pages. paper cover, cents; cloth cents. this is a new and choice selection of gems of prose and poetry, comprising over seven hundred selections, suitable for writing in autograph albums, valentines, and for birthday and wedding celebrations. it also contains a new and choice collection of verses suitable for christmas and new-year cards. it contains pages, with paper cover, price cents: bound in cloth, cents. =amateur's guide to magic and mystery.=--an entirely new work, containing full and ample instructions on the mysteries of magic, sleight-of-hand tricks, card tricks, etc. the best work on conjuring for amateurs published. illustrated. cents. =art of ventriloquism.=--contains simple and full directions by which any one may acquire the amusing art, with numerous examples for practice. also instructions for making the magic whistle, for imitating birds, animals, and peculiar sounds of various kinds. any boy who wishes to obtain an art by which he can develop a wonderful amount of astonishment, mystery, and fun, should learn ventriloquism, as he easily can follow the simple secret given in this book. mailed for cents. =bad boy's diary (a).=--this is one of the most successful humorous books of the present day, filled with fun and good humor, and "will drive the blues out of a bag of indigo." it is printed from new, large type, and on fine, heavy white paper of a superior finish, and contains pages. new, full-page illustrations from unique designs have been prepared expressly for this edition. handsome paper cover, cents. =battle for bread (the).=--this book contains a series of sermons by rev. t. dewitt talmage, the greatest of living preachers. every workingman and those who employ them should read this book, and thus be informed of the real solution of the question of the relations of labor and capital. mo, pages. paper cover, cents; cloth, cents. =black art exposed (the).=--this book contains some of the most marvelous things in ancient and modern magic, jugglery, etc., ever printed, and has to be seen to be fully appreciated. suffice it to say that any boy knowing the secrets it contains will be able to do things that will astonish all. cts. =blunders of a bashful man (the).=--by the popular author of "a bad boy's diary." this is one of the most humorous books ever issued, and has been pronounced _better_ than "a bad boy's diary." mo, pages. handsomely illustrated from original designs, including also the portrait and autograph of "the bashful man." price, paper cover, cents. =boiler-maker's assistant (the)=, and the theoretical and practical boiler-maker and engineer's reference book. by samuel nicholls, foreman boiler-maker. vol. mo, extra cloth, $ . . =complete fortune teller and dream book.=--this book contains a complete dictionary of dreams, alphabetically, with a clear interpretation of each dream, and the lucky numbers that belong to it. it includes palmistry, or telling fortunes by the lines of the hand; fortune telling by the grounds in a tea or coffee cup; how to read your future life by the white of an egg; tells how to know who your future husband will be, and how soon you will be married; fortune-telling by cards; hymen's lottery; good and bad omens, etc. cents. =concert exercises for sunday schools.=-- cents each; cents per dozen; per hundred, by mail, postpaid, $ . . no. , the christian's journey. no. , the story of redeeming love. 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[**right-pointing hand] no man who owns a horse can afford to do without this book. it is very thorough, complete and reliable, and well worth a dozen times the price asked for it. it contains matter not to be found in any other horse book. price, cents. =grand wonder collection.=--a wonderful offer. $ . worth of goods for only cents! everything is now very cheap, and people get a good deal more for their money than they used to, but we have no hesitation in saying that never before was so much offered for the money as is offered in this grand wonder collection. it could not be done, only that we expect to sell thousands of them and are fully satisfied that each one sold will sell a dozen more. the contents of the grand wonder collection--comprising seven complete books in one-- . old secrets and new discoveries. . secrets for farmers. . laughing gas. . the swindlers of america. . preserving and manufacturing secrets. . the housewife's treasure. . fourteen popular songs, words and music. [**right-pointing hand] any person ordering this collection and not fully satisfied, the money will be cheerfully refunded. price, cents. =magic trick cards.=--the magician's own cards, for performing wonderful tricks. every boy a magician! every man a conjurer! every girl a witch! every one astonished! they are the most superior trick cards ever offered for sale, and with them you can perform some of the most remarkable illusions ever discovered. complete illustrated directions accompany each pack. they will be mailed, postpaid, sealed as a letter, for cents a pack. =health hints.=--a new book showing how to acquire and retain bodily symmetry, health, vigor, and beauty. its contents are as follows: laws of beauty--air, sunshine, water, and food--work and rest--dress and ornament--the hair and its management--skin and complexion--the mouth--the eyes, ears, and nose--the neck, hands and feet--growth and marks that are enemies of beauty--cosmetics and perfumery. =fat people.=--it gives ample rules how corpulency may be cured--the fat made lean, comely and active. =lean people.=--it also give directions, the following of which will enable lean, angular, bony or sharp visaged people, to be plump and rosy skinned. =gray hair.=--it tells how gray hair may be restored to its natural color without the aid of dyes, restorers or pomades. =baldness.=--it gives ample directions for restoring hair on bald heads, as well as how to stop falling of the hair, how to curl the hair, etc. =beard and mustache.=--it tells what young men should do to acquire a fine, silky and handsome beard and mustache. =freckles and pimples.=--it gives full directions for the cure of sunburn, freckles, pimples, wrinkles, warts, etc., so that they can be entirely removed. =cosmetics.=--this chapter, among other things, gives an analysis of perry's moth and freckle lotion, balm of white lilies, hagan's magnolia balm, laird's bloom of youth, phalon's enamel, clark's restorative for the hair, chevalier's life for the hair, ayer's hair vigor, professor wood's hair restorative, hair restorer america, gray's hair restorative, phalon's vitalia, ring's vegetable ambrosia, mrs. allen's world's hair restorer, hall's vegetable sicilian hair renewer, martha washington hair restorative, etc., etc. (no room for more), showing how the lead, etc., in these mixtures causes disease and oftentimes premature death. price, cents. =love and courtship cards.=--sparking, courting, and lovemaking all made easy by the use of these cards. they are arranged with such apt conversation that you will be able to ask the momentous question in such a delicate manner that the girl will not suspect what you are at. they may be used by two persons only, or they will make lots of fun for an evening party of young people. there are sixty cards in all, and each answer will respond differently to every one of the questions. price, cents. =miss slimmens' boarding-house.=--by the author of "a bad boy's diary." mo, pages, with nine illustrations. complete edition. paper cover, cents. =housewife's treasure (the).=--a manual of information of everything that relates to household economies. it gives the method of making jackson's universal washing compound, which can clean the dirtiest cotton, linen or woolen clothes in twenty minutes without rubbing or harming the material. this recipe is being constantly peddled through the country at $ . each, and is certainly worth it. it also tells all about soap-making at home, so as to make it cost about one-quarter of what bar soap costs; it tells how to make candles by molding or dipping; it gives seven methods for destroying rats and mice; how to make healthy bread without flour (something entirely new); to preserve clothes and furs from moths; a sure plan for destroying houseflies, cockroaches, beetles, ants, bedbugs and fleas; all about house cleaning, papering, etc., and hundreds of other valuable hints just such as housekeepers are wanting to know. cents. =how to entertain a social party.=--a complete selection of home recreations. profusely illustrated with fine wood-cuts, containing: round games and forfeit games; parlor magic and curious puzzles; comic diversions and parlor tricks; scientific recreations and evening amusements; the blue beard tableaux; tableaux-vivant for acting; the play-room; blindman's buff; one old ox opening oysters; how do you like it? when do you like it? and where do you like it? cross questions and crooked answers; cupid's coming; proverbs; earth, air and water; yes and no; copenhagen; hunt the hare, and a thousand other games. here is family amusement for the million. here is parlor or drawing-room entertainment, night after night, for a whole winter. a young man with this volume may render himself the _beau ideal_ of a delightful companion to every party. price, cents. =how to woo and how to win.=--this interesting work contains full and interesting rules for the etiquette of courtship, with directions showing how to win the favor of the ladies; how to begin and end a courtship; and how love-letters should be written. it not only tells how to win the favor of the ladies, but how to address a lady; conduct a courtship; "pop the question;" write love-letters; all about the marriage ceremony; bridal chamber; after marriage, etc. price, cents. =odell's system of shorthand.=--by which the taking down of sermons, lectures, trials, speeches, etc., may be easily acquired, without the aid of a master. by this plan the difficulties of mastering this useful art are very much lessened, and the time required to attain proficiency reduced to the least possible limits. price cents. =how to talk and debate.=--contents: introduction; laws of conversation; listening; self-possession; appreciativeness; conversation, when confidential; the matter and the manner; proper subjects; trifles; objectionable subjects; politics; rights of women; wit and humor; questions and negatives; our own hobbies; the voice, how to improve; speaking one's mind; public speaking; how to make a speech; opening a debate; division of the subject; the affirmative; the reply, etc., etc. a really valuable book, and one that every man and woman, boy and girl should possess. cents. =life in the backwoods.=--a guide to the successful hunting and trapping of all kinds of animals. it gives the right season for trapping; how to make, set and bait all kinds of traps, traps for minks, weasels, skunks, hawks, owls, gophers, birds, squirrels, musk-rats, foxes, rabbits, raccoons, etc.; how to make and use bird lime. it gives the english secrets for catching alive all kinds of birds; it tells how to know the true value of skins, as well as how to skin all animals; deodorize, stretch, and cure them; to dress and tan skins, furs and leather; to tan with or without the wool or hair; to skin and stuff birds; baits and hooks for fishing; how to fish successfully without nets, lines, spears, snares, "bobs," or bait (a great secret); how to choose and clean guns; how to breed minks for their skins (hundreds of dollars can be made by any boy or young man who knows how to breed minks), etc. this book is by an old trapper, for many years engaged in trapping in the northwest, who has finally consented to publish and disclose these secrets. persons living where wild animals exist, with some traps and the information contained in this book, can make money faster through the trapping season by giving their time and energies to the business than they can by seeking their fortunes in the gold regions or in oil speculations. this is at once the most complete and practical book now in the market. price, cents. =model letter-writer (the).=--a comprehensive and complete guide and assistant for those who desire to carry on epistolary correspondence--containing instructions for writing letters of introduction; letters of business; letters of recommendation; applications for employment; letters of congratulation; letters of condolence; letters of friendship and relationship; love-letters; notes of invitation; letters of favor, of advice, and of excuse, etc., etc., together with appropriate answers to each. this is an invaluable book for those persons who have not had sufficient practice to enable them to write letters without great effort. cents. =napoleon's complete book= of fate and complete fortune teller.--this is the celebrated oracle of human destiny consulted by napoleon the first previous to any of his undertakings, and by which he was so successful in war, business, and love. it is the only authentic and complete copy extant, being translated into english from a german translation of an ancient egyptian manuscript found in the year by m. sonini, in one of the royal tombs near mount libycus, in upper egypt. this oraculum is so arranged that any question on business, love, wealth, losses, hidden treasures, no matter what its nature, the oraculum has an answer for it. it also shows how to learn of one's fate by consulting the planets. price cents. =ogilvie's house plans; or how to build a house.=--a neat new book, containing over thirty finely executed engravings of dwellings of all sizes, from two rooms up; also churches, barns, and out-houses in great variety. this handy, compact, and very useful volume contains, in addition to the foregoing, plans for each floor in each and every dwelling of which an engraving is given. it has, also, valuable information relative to building, such as number of shingles required in a roof, quantity of plaster for a house, quantity of materials required for building a house, etc., etc., and much other information of permanent and practical value. any one of the plans is alone worth very much more than the price asked for the book. it is invaluable to every architect, builder, mason, or carpenter, and particularly do we urge all who anticipate erecting a new or remodeling an old dwelling to send for a copy, as its fortunate possessor may save hundreds of dollars by following the suggestions it contains. cents. =how to behave.=--hand-book of etiquette and guide to true politeness. contents: etiquette and its uses; introductions; cutting acquaintances; letters of introduction; street etiquette; domestic etiquette and duties; visiting; receiving company; evening parties; the lady's toilet; the gentleman's toilet; invitations; etiquette of the ball-room; general rules of conversation; bashfulness and how to overcome it; dinner parties; table etiquette; carving; servants; traveling; visiting cards; letter writing; conclusion. this is the best book of the kind yet published, and every person wishing to be considered well-bred, who wishes to understand the customs of good society, and to avoid incorrect and vulgar habits, should send for a copy. cents. =miss slimmens' window.=--complete edition in one volume now ready. mo, pages. bound in heavy paper covers, with illustrations, cents. =ogilvie's handy monitor and universal assistant=, containing statistical tables of practical value for mechanics, merchants, editors, lawyers, printers, doctors, farmers, lumbermen, bankers, bookkeepers politicians and all classes of workers in every department of human effort, and containing a compilation of facts for reference on various subjects, being an epitome of matters historical, statistical, biographical, political, geographical and general interest. pages bound in paper, cents. no more valuable books have ever been offered containing so much information of practical value in everyday life. =old secrets and new discoveries.=--containing information of rare value for all classes, in all conditions of society. =it tells= all about _electrical psychology_, showing how you can biologize any person, and, while under the influence, he will do anything you may wish him, no matter how ridiculous it may be, and he cannot help doing it. =it tells= how to _mesmerize_. knowing this, you can place any person in a mesmeric sleep, and then be able to do with him as you will. this secret has been sold over and over again for $ . =it tells= how to make persons at a distance think of you--something all lovers should know. =it tells= how you can charm those you meet and make them love you, whether they will or not. =it tells= how spiritualists and others can make writing appear on the arm in blood characters, as performed by foster and all noted magicians. =it tells= how to make a cheap galvanic battery; how to plate and gild without a battery; how to make a candle burn all night, how to make a clock for cents; how to detect counterfeit money; how to banish and prevent mosquitoes from biting; how to make yellow butter in winter; circassian curling fluid; sympathetic or secret writing ink; cologne water; artificial honey; stammering; how to make large noses small; to cure drunkenness; to copy letters without a press; to obtain fresh-blown flowers in winter; to make good burning candles from lard. =it tells= how to make a horse appear as though he was badly foundered; to make a horse temporarily lame; how to make him stand by his food and not eat it; how to cure a horse from the crib or sucking wind; how to put a young countenance on the horse; how to cover up the heaves; how to make him appear as if he had the glanders; how to make a true-pulling horse balk: how to nerve a horse that is lame, etc., etc.--these horse secrets being continually sold at one dollar each. =it tells= how to make the eggs of pharo's serpents, which when lighted, though but the size of a pea, there issues from it a coiling, hissing serpent, wonderful in length and similarity to a genuine serpent. =it tells= how to make gold and silver from block tin (the least said about which the better). also how to take impressions from coins. also how to imitate gold and silver. =it tells= of a simple and ingenious method of copying any kind of drawing or picture. also, more wonderful still, how to print pictures from the print itself. =it tells= how to perform the davenport brothers' "spirit mysteries." so that any person can astonish an audience, as they have done. also scores of other wonderful things which there is no room to mention. =old secrets and new discoveries= is worth $ to any person; but it will be mailed to any address on receipt of only cents. =out in the streets.=--by s. n. cook. price, cents. we take pleasure in offering the strictly moral and very amusing temperance drama entitled, "out in the streets," to all entertainment committees as one that will give entire satisfaction. the parts are taken by six male and six female characters. =phunny phellow's grab bag=; or, jolly tid-bits for mirthful mortals.--josh billings, danbury news man and bret harte rolled into one. it is not too much to say that the book contains the choicest humor in the english language. its size is mammoth, containing more than one thousand of the raciest jests, comical hits, exhilarating stories, flowers of wit, excruciating jokes, uproarious poems, laughable sketches, darky comicalities, clowns' efforts, button-bursting conundrums, endmen's jokes, plantation humors, funny caricatures, hifalutin dialogues, curious scenes, cute sayings, ludicrous drolleries, peculiar repartees, and nearly illustrations. cents. =science of a new life (the).=--by john cowan, m.d. a handsome vo, containing over pages, with more than illustrations, and sold at the following prices: english cloth, beveled boards, gilt side and back, $ . ; leather, sprinkled edges, $ . ; half turkey morocco, marbled edges, gilt back, $ . . =some funny things= said by clever children. who is not interested in children? we are satisfied that this book will give genuine satisfaction to all who are interested in listening to the happy voices of children. this will show that humor is not confined to adult minds by any means. pages, cents. =palliser's american architecture=; or every man a complete builder. the latest and best publication on modern artistic dwellings and other buildings of low cost. this is a new book just published, and there is not a builder or any one intending to build or otherwise interested in building that can afford to be without it. it is a practical work and everybody buys it. the best, cheapest and most popular work of the kind ever issued. nearly four hundred drawings. a $ book in size and style, but we have determined to make it meet the popular demand, to suit the times, so that it can be easily reached by all. this book contains pages, × inches in size, and consists of large × plate pages giving plans, elevations, perspective views, descriptions, owners' names, actual cost of construction, no guess work, and instructions how to build cottages, villas, double houses, brick block houses, suitable for city suburbs, town and country, houses for the farm and workingmen's homes for all sections of the country, and costing from $ to $ , ; also barns, stables, school house, town hall, churches and other public buildings, together with specifications, form of contract, etc., etc., and a large amount of information on the erection of buildings, selection of site, employment of architects, etc., etc. this book of pages, as described above, will be sent by mail, postpaid to any address on receipt of price. price, heavy paper cover, $ ; handsomely bound in cloth, $ . =secrets for farmers.=--this book tells how to restore rancid butter to its original flavor and purity; a new way of coloring butter; how largely to increase the milk of cows; a sure cure for kicking cows; how to make thorley'e celebrated condimental food for cattle; how to make hens lay every day in the year; it gives an effectual remedy for the canada thistle; to save mice-girdled trees; a certain plan to destroy the curculio and peach-borer; how to convert dead animals and bones into manure; barnet's certain preventive for the potato rot, worth $ to any farmer; remedy for smut in wheat; to cure blight in fruit trees; to destroy potato bug; to prevent mildew and rust in wheat; to destroy the cutworm; home-made stump machine, as good as any sold; to keep cellars from freezing, etc., etc. it is impossible to give the full contents of this valuable book here; space will not allow. price, cents. =sidney's stump speaker.=--price, cents. a collection of yankee, dutch, french, irish and ethiopian stump speeches and recitations, burlesque orations, laughable scenes, humorous lectures, button-bursting witticisms, ridiculous drolleries, funny stories, etc., etc. =sunnyside collection of readings and recitations, no .=--compiled by j. s. ogilvie. mo, pages, paper cover, cents. this book contains a choice collection of readings and recitations, which have been selected with great care, and are especially adapted for day and sabbath schools, all adult and juvenile organizations, young people's associations, reading clubs, temperance societies, and parlor entertainments. they comprise prose and poetry--serious, humorous, pathetic, comic, temperance, patriotic. all those who are interested in providing an entertainment should have this collection. =the sunnyside cook book.=-- mo, pages. paper cover, cents; bound in cloth, cents. this book is offered as one of the best and most complete books of the kind published. not only are all the recipes practical, but they are economical and such as come within the reach of families of moderate income. it also contains valuable information in relation to home matters not found in any other publication. it also gives plain and easily understood directions for preparing and cooking, with the greatest economy, every kind of dish, with complete instruction for serving the same. this book is just the thing for a young housekeeper. =how to get married although a woman=; or, the art of pleasing men. by "a young widow." a new book that every woman will buy! the following table of contents indicates the character of the work and will also insure a large demand for it: girls and matrimony, the girls whom men like, the girl who wins, the girl who fails, some unfailing methods, a word of warning, the secret of the widow's power, lady beauty, the loved wife, etc., etc. every unmarried woman, and, indeed, every woman, will be interested in reading this book. it will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. =do you ever dream?= and would you like to know the meaning of any or all of your dreams? if so, you ought to buy the old witches' dream book and complete fortune teller, which contains the full and correct interpretations of all dreams and their lucky numbers. also fortune telling by cards, by the grounds in the coffee cup, how to discover a thief, to know whether a woman shall have the man she wishes, to know what fortune your future husband shall have, to see your future wife or husband. the dumb cake, together with charms, incantations etc., etc. this is a book that every one that wishes to know what is going to happen ought to buy. it will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. =advice to women= on the care of the health, before, during and after confinement. by florence stacpoole, diplomee of the london obstetrical society, and lecturer to the national health society. this is one of the most valuable and practical books ever issued and should be in possession of every married woman. with this book no woman need have any fear in reference to childbirth and confinement. paper cover, cents. =three thousand things worth knowing.=--by r. moore, author of "moore's universal assistant," mo, pages. price, paper cover, cents; cloth, cents. it contains calculations, processes, trade secrets, rules, legal items, business forms, etc., in every occupation, from the household to the manufactory. a work of unequaled utility to every mechanic, farmer, merchant, business man, professional gentleman, and householder, as it embraces the main points in over trades and occupations. it contains pages and is illustrated. until this new edition was printed the book has always sold for $ . . it is worth $ . to any one. =wedding ring (the).=--this book contains a series of sermons delivered by rev. t. dewitt talmage, d.d. no sermons ever delivered have created so great a sensation as this series. hundreds of people could not get into the church to listen to them. if you are married, or expect to be, or if you have father, mother, brother, or sister, you should read this book. the sermons are not only on the relations between husband and wife, but on all the family relations. it tells how, when, and whom you should marry, and gives good advice on all the relations of life. the following is a table of contents: the choice of a wife; the choice of a husband; clandestine marriage; matrimonial harmony or discord; marital duties; costume and morals; duties of wives to husbands; hotels _versus_ homes; the domestic circle; sisters and brothers; the children's patrimony; motherhood; trials of housekeeping. paper cover, cents; cloth, cents. =woman; her power and privileges.=--this is a series of twelve sermons by rev. t. dewitt talmage, and should be read by all who are interested in the home and family, the following is the table of contents: women who fight the battle of life alone; worldly marriages; broken promises of marriage; dominion of fashion; the veil of modesty; wifely ambitions; good and bad; woman's happiness--what can and what cannot make a woman happy; the grandmother; woman's opportunity; the queen of home; parental blunders; christ the song. paper cover, cents; cloth cover, cents. =the sunnyside series.=--this is a new series of paper-covered books. price, cents each, unless otherwise specified. the secret sorrow. by mrs. may agnes fleming. funny stories. funny enough to make a horse laugh. witty sayings selected from all sources. which shall it be? by mrs. m. b. w. parrish. how to entertain a social party. ogilvie's handy monitor of useful facts. the sunnyside cook book. by mrs. jennie harlan. sunnyside collection of readings and recitations. the funny world. illustrations. looking behind. by frederick alva dean. a forced marriage. by frederick w. pearson. the victim of his clothes. by fielding and burton. one hundred poems. by jane a. van allen, a.m. a dark plot. by sylvanus cobb, jr. twenty-five sermons on the holy land. by talmage. a moral inheritance. by lydia hoyt farmer. master and man. by o. o. b. strayer. married for money. by mrs. may agnes fleming. the fugitives of pearl hill. by e. a. young. life of rev. t. de witt talmage, d.d. fun on draught. a comic book. cents. a basket of fun. cover printed in colors. funny fellow's grab-bag. cover printed in colors. twenty good stories. by opie p. read. illustrations. a double life. by ella wheeler wilcox. love and rebellion. by miss m. c. keller. "cy ross." by mellen cole. his evil eye. by harry i. hancock. the widder doodle's courtship. by josiah allen's wife. the handy cook book. price, cents. don't marry. by hildreth. a little nonsense. two hundred old-time songs. this volume contains the _words and music_ of choicest gems of the old and familiar songs we used to sing when we were young. it has been arranged with great care and we have no hesitation in saying that it is the best book of the kind published. read the following =partial table of contents=. the book contains songs besides the ones mentioned here and would cost $ in sheet music form. annie laurie. auld lang syne. angel's whisper, the. black eyed susan. billy boy. baby mine. bell brandon. bonnie dundee. ben bolt. bingen on the rhine. comrades. comin' thro' the rye. caller herrin'. do they miss me at home? don't you go, tommy. flee as a bird. in the gloaming. john anderson, my joe. katie's letter. little annie rooney. larboard watch. life on the ocean wave, a. low backed car, the. mollie, put the kettle on. meet me by moonlight. nancy lee. o, boys carry me 'long. oh! susannah. our flag is there. o had i wings like a dove. old oaken bucket, the. o come, come away. rocked in the cradle of the deep. rock me to sleep, mother. sparkling and bright. there was an old woman. 'tis the last rose of summer. willie, we have missed you. wait for the wagon. oh dear! what can the matter be. oh why do you tease me. oh, would i were a bird. oh, would i were a boy again. over the garden wall. pilgrim fathers, the. pat malloy. pauper's drive, the. paddle your own canoe. robin adair. robinson crusoe. rose of allandale. star spangled banner, the. saint patrick was a gentleman. see saw, margery daw. sing a song of sixpence. see, the conquering hero comes. stop dat knockin'. sally in our alley. scots, what ha'e wi' wallace bled. sword of bunker hill, the. spider and the fly, the. shells of ocean. steal away. take back the heart. three fishers went sailing. ten little niggers. 'tis the last rose of summer. ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay. thou art gone from my gaze. there is a green hill far away. there was a jolly miller. this book of pages containing the above entire list of songs and many others, _words and music_, will be sent by mail postpaid upon receipt of price. paper cover, cents. address all orders to =j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york.= ayer's pills are a sure cure for sick headache, liver and stomach troubles, dyspepsia constipation, and all kindred complaints. taken in season they will break up a cold, prevent la grippe, check fever, and regulate the digestive organs. they received the highest honors at the world's fair. [illustration: easy to take ayer's pills] =cure= "i was troubled a long time with sick headache. it was usually accompanied with severe pains in the temples, a bad taste in my mouth, tongue coated, hands and feet cold, and sickness at the stomach. i tried many remedies, but until i began taking ayer's pills received no benefit. a box of these pills did the work for me, and i am now free from headaches and am a well man."--c. h. hutchings, e. auburn, me. =sick headache= ayer's sarsaparilla purifies the blood. transcriber's note "=" is used in the text to indicate bolded text. inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - "sicil ian" changed to "sicilian" on page - quote removed before "one" on page - quote added after "strong-minded." on page - "become" changed to "became" on page - comma changed to a period added after "form" on page - quote added after "afternoon." on page - quote removed after "voice." on page - "christain" change to "christian" on page - "gentlemen" changed to "gentleman" on page - "has" changed to "had" on page - quote removed from before "startled" on page - quote removed after "seige?" on page - quote added after "five." on page - "ere" changed to "here" on page - "on" changed to "an" on page - "oustretched" changed to "outstretched" on page - "widdow" changed to "window" on page - quote removed after "honor!" on page - single quote changed to a double quote after "properly." on page - quote removed after "then!" on page - "semed" changed to "seemed" on page - question mark changed to an exclamation mark followed by a quote after "us" on page - double quote removed after "princess." on page . - single quote added before "the" on page . - double quote changed to a single quote after "cordial," on page . - "particulary" changed to "particularly" on page - quote removed after "coldly." on page - quote added before "but" on page - comma changed to a period after "gold" on page - "of" added after "lap" on page - quote removed before "the" on page - quote added after "here?" on page - quote removed before "go" on page - comma changed to a period after "jean" on page - "comm" (blotted word) changed to "communed" on page - quote added after "alive?" on page - comma changed to a period added after "chastised" on page - comma changed to a period added after "up" on page - quote added after "lady," on page - exclamation mark changed to a question mark after "chon" on page - quote added after "morally." on page - "said the" added before "viscount" on page - double quote removed and single quotes placed around quotation within a quote on page - quote added after "up." on page - quote added after "to-morrow." on page - period changed to a question mark followed by a quote after "coach." on page - single quote added after "is." on page - quote and indent removed before "blue" on page - period changed to a comma after "angel" on page - duplicate "he" removed after "for" on page - period removed after "countess" on page - "clapping" changed to "clapping" on page - period changed to a comma after "well" on page - quote added before "and" on page - "gramont" changed to "grammont" on page - "abscence" changed to "absence" on page - quote added before "and" on page - quote added after "meet!" on page - duplicate "with" deleted on page - illegible word replaced with "****" on page - quote added before "but" on page - quote added after "knows." on page - single quote added after "for!" on page - "gentlemen" changed to "gentleman" on page - comma changed to a period added after "timidly" on page - quote removed after "up," and placed after "therese," on page - quote added after "them," on page - "every" changed to "every" on page - "harpischord" changed to "harpsichord" on page - "undestand" changed to "understand" on page - "freight" changed to "fright" on page - period changed to a comma after "castle" on page - "pain ful" changed to "painful" on page - "lorenze" changed to "lorenza" on page - "from back" changed to "back from" on page - "prepartions" changed to "preparations" on page - "here" changed to "her" on page - single quote added before "are" on page - double quote changed to a single quote after "me." on page - quote removed after "living." on page - "saint-remy's" changed to "saint-remy's" on page - period changed to a question mark followed by a quote after "highness" on page - duplicate "shall" removed after "i" on page - quote added after "me!" on page - "harmany" changed to "harmony" on page - "anthing" changed to "anything" on page - "to" changed to "too" on page - "employe" changed to "employee" on page - quote added after "master." on page - "why" changed to "why" on page - "fredom" changed to "freedom" on page - quote removed after "help," on page - period changed to a question mark followed by a quote after "driver" on page - "balsmo" changed to "balsamo" on page - "emenience" changed to "eminence" on page - quote removed before "he" on page - quote added after "be." on page - "to day" changed to "to-day" on page - quote added after "destroyed" on page - "parliment" changed to "parliament" on page - quote added before "that" on page - quote removed after "beat." on page - "materializng" changed to "materializing" on page - "shepherdessses" changed to "shepherdesses" on page - quote added after "well," on page - quote removed after "favorite." on page - illegible word replaced by "****" on page - quote added after "concerned." - quote added after "display." on page - quote added after "storm." on page - comma changed to a period after "prince" on page - period added after "$ . " on page - illegible text replaced by "****" on page - illegible text replaced by "****" on page - comma changed to a semicolon after "secret)" on page - "hundred" changed to "hundreds" on page - "has" changed to "have" on page - period changed to a comma after "secrets" on page - period changed to a comma after "items" on page none transcriber's note: italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. price, cents. no. . the sunset series. by subscription, per year, nine dollars. march , . entered at the new york post office as second-class matter. copyright , by j. s. ogilvie. the royal life guard. by alex. dumas. new york: j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street. a great offer! [illustration] the price of each one of these books bound in cloth is cents, but we will send you the five books bound in paper for cents! pages for cents. remarkable but true. we will, for cents, send the leather stocking tales, by j. fenimore cooper, comprising the five separate books, the deerslayer, the pathfinder, the pioneer, the prairie, the last of the mohicans, set in large long primer type, and each bound in heavy lithograph covers. sent by mail, postpaid, for cents, and money refunded if you are not satisfied. address, _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york._ how to get married although a woman, or the art of pleasing men. by a young widow. the following is the table of contents: girls and matrimony. the girls whom men like. the girl who wins and how she does it. the girl who fails. some unfailing methods. a word of warning. the secret of the widow's power. lady beauty. the loved wife. every woman, married or single, should read this book. it will be sent by mail, postpaid, _securely sealed_, on receipt of only cents. address, _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york._ the royal life-guard; or the flight of the royal family. a historical romance of the suppression of the french monarchy. by alexander dumas. author of "balsamo the magician," "monte cristo," "the queen's necklace," "the three musketeers," "chicot the jester," "the countess of charny," "the knight of redcastle," etc. translated from the latest paris edition. by henry llewellyn williams. new york: j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street. _entered according to act of congress in the year , by a. e. smith & co., in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington._ the royal life-guard. chapter i. a new lease of life. france had been changed to a limited monarchy from an absolute one, and king louis xvi. had solemnly sworn to defend the new constitution. but it had been remarked by shrewd observers that he had not attended the te deum at the paris cathedral, with the members of the national assembly: that is, he would tell a lie but not commit perjury. the people were therefore on their guard against him, while they felt that his queen, marie antoinette, the daughter of austria, was ever their foe. but the murders by the rabble had frightened all property holders and when the court bought mirabeau, the popular orator, over to its cause by paying his debts and a monthly salary the majority of the better classes, who had not fled from france in terror, thought the royal family would yet regain their own. in point of fact, mirabeau had obtained from the house of representatives that the king should have the right to rule the army and direct it and propose war, which the assembly would only have the sanction of. he would have obtained more in the reaction after the taking of the bastile but for an unknown hand having distributed full particulars of his purchase by the royalists in a broadside given away by thousands in the streets. hence he retired from the senate broken by his victory, though carrying himself proudly. in face of danger the strong athlete thought of the antagonist, not of his powers. on going home, he flung himself on the floor, rolling on flowers. he had two passionate loves: for the fair sex, because he was an ugly though robust man, and for flowers. this time he felt so exhausted that he resisted his attendant feebly, who wanted to send for a doctor, when "dr. gilbert" was announced. a man still young though with a grave expression like one tried in the furnace of personal and political heats, entered the room. he was clothed in the wholly black suit which he introduced from america, where it was popular among republicans, for he was a friend of washington and marquis lafayette, who like him had returned to make a sister republic of france to that of the thirteen united states. dr. gilbert was a friend of mirabeau, for he wished to preserve the king at the head of the state though he knew it was but the gilded figurehead without which, if knocked off in the tempest, the ship rights itself and lives through all without feeling the loss. nevertheless, gilbert, who was one of the invisibles, that secret society which worked for years to bring about the downfall of monarchy in europe, had been warned by its chief, the grand copt cagliostro, _alias_ balsamo the mesmerist, _alias_ baron zannone--since he had escaped from the papal dungeons under cover of his being supposed dead and buried there--that the queen cajoled him and that royalty was doomed. "i have come to congratulate you, my dear count," said the doctor to the orator, "you promised us a victory, and you have borne away a triumph." "a pyrrhic one--another such and we are lost. i am very ill of it. oh, doctor, tell me of something, not to keep me alive but to give me force while i do live." "how can i advise for a constitution like yours," said the physician, after feeling the nobleman's pulse: "you do not heed my advice. i told you not to have flowers in the room as they spoil the air, and you are smothered in them. as for the ladies, i bade you beware and you answer that you would rather die than be reft of their society." "never mind that. i suffer too much to think of aught but myself. i sometimes think that as i am slandered so that the queen hesitated to trust me, so have i been physically done to death. do you believe in the famous poisons which slay without knowing they are used until too late?" "yes; i believe," for gilbert frowned as he remembered that his secret brotherhood was allowed to use the aqua tofana where an enemy could not be otherwise reached: "but in your case it is the sword wearing out its sheath. the electric spark will explode the crystal chamber in which it is confined. still i can help you." he drew from his pocket a phial holding about a couple of thimblefuls of a green liquid. "one of my friends--whom i would were yours--deeply versed in natural and occult sciences, gave me the recipe of this brew as a sovereign elixir of life. i have often taken it to cure what the english call the blue devils. and i am bound to say that the effect was instant and salutary. will you taste it?" "i will take anything from your hand, my dear doctor." a servant was rung up, who brought a spoon and a little brandy in a glass. "brandy to mollify it," said mirabeau: "it must be liquid fire, then!" gilbert added the same quantity of his elixir to the half-dozen drops of eau-de-vie and the two fluids mixed to the color of wormwood bitters, which the exhausted man drank off. immediately he was invigorated and sprang up, saying: "doctor, i will pay a diamond a drop for that liquor, for it would make me feel invincible." "count, promise me that you will take it only each three days, and i will leave you a phial every week." "give it, and i promise everything." "now, i have come for another matter. i want you to come out of town for carriage exercise and at the same time to select a residence there." "it chances that i was looking for one, and my man found a nice house at argenteuil, recommended by a fellow countryman of his, one fritz, whose master, a foreign banker, had lived in it. it is delightful and being vacant could be moved into at once. my father had a house out there, whence he drove me with his cane." "let us go to argenteuil, then," said gilbert; "your health is so valuable that we must study everything bearing upon it." mirabeau had no establishment and a hack had to be called for the gentlemen. in this they proceeded to the village where, a hundred paces on the besons road, they saw a house buried in the trees. it was called the marsh house. on the right of the road was a humble cottage, in front of which sat a woman on a stool, holding a child in her arms who seemed devoured with fever. "doctor," said the orator, fixing his eyes on the sad sight, "i am as superstitious as an ancient. if that child dies, i would not live in this house. just see what you think of the case." gilbert got down while the carriage went on. a gardener was keeping the house which he showed to the inquirer. it belonged to st. denis abbey and was for sale under the decree confiscating church property. over against the gardener's lodge was another, a summerhouse simply overgrown with flowers. mirabeau's passion for them made this sufficient lure; for this alone he would have taken the house. "is this little cottage, this temple of flora, on the property?" he asked. "yes, sir: it belongs to the big house but it is at present occupied by a lady with her child, a pretty lady, but of course she will have to go if the house and estate are bought." "a lovely neighbor does no harm," said the count: "let me see the interior of the house." the rooms were lofty and elegant, the furniture fine and stylish. in the main room mirabeau opened a window to look out and it commanded a view of the summerhouse. what was more, he had a view of a lady, sewing, half reclining, while a child of five or six played on the lawn among flowering shrubs. it was the lady tenant. it was not only such a pretty woman as one might imagine a queen among the roses, but it was the living likeness of queen marie antoinette and to accentuate the resemblance the boy was about the age of the prince royal. suddenly the beautiful stranger perceived that she was under observation for she uttered a faint scream of surprise, rose, called her son, and drew him inside by the hand, but not without looking back two or three times. at this same moment mirabeau started, for a hand was laid on his shoulder. it was the doctor who reported that the peasant's child had caught swamp fever from being set down beside a stagnant pool while the mother reaped the grass. the disease was deadly but the doctor hoped to save the sufferer by jesuit's bark, as quinine was still styled at this date. but he warned his friend against this house in the marsh, where the air might be as fatal to him as that of the senate house, where bad ventilation made the atmosphere mephitic. "i am sorry the air is not good, for the house suits me wonderfully." "what an eternal enemy you are to yourself? if you mean to obey the orders of the faculty, begin by renouncing the idea of taking this residence. you will find fifty around paris better placed." perhaps mirabeau, yielding to reason's voice, would have promised; but suddenly, in the first shades of evening, behind a screen of flowers, appeared the head of a woman in white and pink flounces: he fancied that she smiled on him. he had no time to assure himself as gilbert dragged him away, suspecting something was going on. "my dear doctor," said the orator, "remember that i said to the queen when she gave me her hand to kiss on our interview for reconciliation: 'by this token, the monarchy is saved.' i took a heavy engagement that time, especially if they whom i defend plot against me; but i shall hold to it, though suicide may be the only way for me to get honorably out of it." in a day mirabeau bought the marsh house. chapter ii. the federation of france. all the realm had bound itself together in the girdle of federation, one which preceded the united europe of later utopists. mirabeau had favored the movement, thinking that the king would gain by the country people coming to paris, where they might overpower the citizens. he deluded himself into the belief that the sight of royalty would result in an alliance which no plot could break. men of genius sometimes have these sublime but foolish ideas at which the tyros in politics may well laugh. there was a great stir in the congress when the proposition was brought forward for this federation ceremony at paris which the provinces demanded. it was disapproved by the two parties dividing the house, the jacobins (so called from the old monastery of jacobins where they met) and the royalists. the former dreaded the union more than their foes from not knowing the effect louis xvi. might have on the masses. the king's-men feared that a great riot would destroy the royal family as one had destroyed the bastile. but there was no means to oppose the movement which had not its like since the crusades. the assembly did its utmost to impede it, particularly by resolving that the delegates must come at their own expense; this was aimed at the distant provinces. but the politicians had no conception of the extent of the desire: all doors opened along the roads for these pilgrims of liberty and the guides of the long procession were all the discontented--soldiers and under-officers who had been kept down that aristocrats should have all the high offices; seamen who had won the indies and were left poor: shattered waifs to whom the storms had left stranded. they found the strength of their youth to lead their friends to the capitol. hope marched before them. all the pilgrims sang the same song: "it must go on!" that is, the revolution. the angel of renovation had taught it to all as it hovered over the country. to receive the five hundred thousand of the city and country, a gigantic area was required: the field of mars did for that, while the surrounding hills would hold the spectators; but as it was flat it had to be excavated. fifteen thousand regular workmen, that is, of the kind who loudly complain that they have no work to do and under their breath thank heaven when they do not find it--started in on the task converting the flat into the pit of an amphitheatre. at the rate they worked they would be three months at it, while it was promised for the fourteenth of july, the anniversary of the taking of the bastile. thereupon a miracle occurred by which one may judge the enthusiasm of the masses. paris volunteered to work the night after the regular excavators had gone off. each brought his own tools: some rolled casks of refreshing drink, others food; all ages and both sexes, all conditions from the scholar to the carter; children carried torches; musicians played all kinds of instruments to cheer the multitude, and from one hundred thousand workers sounded the song "it shall go on!" among the most enfevered toilers might be remarked two who had been among the first to arrive; they were in national guards uniform. one was a gloomy-faced man of forty, with robust and thickset frame; the other a youth of twenty. the former did not sing and spoke seldom. the latter had blue eyes in a frank and open countenance, with white teeth and light hair; he stood solidly on long legs and large feet. with his full-sized hands he lifted heavy weights, rolling dirt carts and pulling hurdles without rest. he was always singing, while watching his comrade out of the corner of the eye, saying joking words to which he did not reply, bringing him a glass of wine which he refused, returning to his place with sorrow, but falling to work again like ten men, and singing like twenty. these two men, newly elected representatives by the aisne district, ten miles from paris, having heard that hands were wanted, ran in hot haste to offer one his silent co-operation, the other his merry and noisy assistance. their names were françois billet and ange pitou. the first was a wealthy farmer, whose land was owned by dr. gilbert, and the second a boy of the district who had been the schoolmate of gilbert's son sebastian. thanks to their help, with that of others as energetic and patriotically inspired, the enormous works were finished on the thirteenth of july . to make sure of having places next day, many workers slept on the battlefield. billet and pitou were to officiate in the ceremonies and they went to join their companions on the main street. hotel-keepers had lowered their prices and many houses were open to their brothers from the country. the farther they came the more kindly they were treated, if any distinction was made. on its part the assembly had received a portion of the shock. a few days before, it had abolished hereditary nobility, on the motion of marquis lafayette. contrarily, the influence of mirabeau was felt daily. a place was assigned in the federation to him as orator. thanks to so mighty a champion, the court won partisans in the opposition ranks. the assembly had voted liberal sums to the king for his civil list and for the queen, so that they lost nothing by pensioning mirabeau. the fact was, he seemed quite right in appealing to the rustics; the federalists whom the king welcomed seemed to bring love for royalty along with enthusiasm for the national assembly. unhappily the king, dull and neither poetical nor chivalric, met the cheers coolly. unfortunately, also, the queen, too much of a lorrainer to love the french and too proud to greet common people, did not properly value these outbursts of the heart. besides, poor woman, she had a spot on her sun: one of those gloomy fits which clouded her mind. she had long loved count charny, lieutenant of the royal lifeguards, but his loyalty to the king, who had treated him like a brother in times of danger, had rendered him invulnerable to the woman's wiles. marie antoinette was no longer a young woman and sorrow had touched her head with her wing, which was making the threads of silver appear in the blonde tresses--but she was fair enough to bewitch a mirabeau and might have enthralled george charny. but, married to save the queen's reputation to a lady of the court, andrea de taverney, he was falling in love with her, she having loved him at first sight, and this love naturally fortified his tacit pledge never to wrong his sovereign. hence the queen was miserable, and all the more as charny had departed on some errand for the king of which he had not told her the nature. probably this was why she had played the flirt with mirabeau. the genius had flattered her by kneeling at her feet. but she too soon compared the bloated, heavy, leonine man with charny. george charny was elegance itself, the noble and the courtier and yet more a seaman, who had saved a war-ship by nailing the colors to the mast and bidding the crew fight on. in his brilliant uniform he looked like a prince of battles, while mirabeau, in his black suit, resembled a canon of the church. the fourteenth of july came impassibly, draped in clouds and promising rain and a gale when it ought to have illumined a splendid day. but the french laugh even on a rainy day. though drenched with rain and dying of hunger, the country delegates and national guards, ranked along the main street, made merry and sang. but the population, while unable to keep the wet off them, were not going to let them starve. food and drink were lowered by ropes out of the windows. similar offerings were made in all the thoroughfares they passed through. during their march, a hundred and fifty thousand people took places on the edges of the field of mars, and as many stood behind them. it was not possible to estimate the number on the surrounding hills. never had such a sight struck the eye of man. the field was changed in a twinkling of the plain into a pit, with the auditorium holding three hundred thousand. in the midst was the altar of the country, to which led four staircases, corresponding with the faces of the obelisk which overtowered it. at each corner smoked incense dishes--incense being decreed henceforth to be used only in offerings to god. inscriptions heralded that the french people were free, and invited all nations to the feast of freedom. one grand stand was reserved for the queen, the court and the assembly. it was draped with the red, white and blue which she abhorred, since she had seen it flaunt above her own, the austrian black. for this day only the king was appointed commander-in-chief, but he had transferred his command to lafayette who ruled six millions of armed men in the national guards of france. the tricolor surmounted everything--even to the distinctive banners of each body of delegates. at the same time as the president of the assembly took his seat, the king and the queen took theirs. alas, poor queen! her court was meager: her best friends had fled in fright: perhaps some would have returned if they knew what money mirabeau had obtained for her; but they were ignorant. she knew that charny, whom she vainly looked for, would not be attracted by the power or by gold. she looked for his younger brother, isidore, wondering why all the queen's defenders seemed absent from their post. nobody knew where he was. at this hour he was conducting his sweetheart, catherine, daughter of the gloomy farmer billet, to a house in bellevue, paris, for refuge from the contumely of her sisters in the village and the wrath of her father. who knows, though, but that the heiress to the throne of the caesars would have consented to be an obscure peasant girl to be loved by george again as isidore loved the farmer's daughter. she was no doubt revolving such ideas when mirabeau, who saw her with glances, half thunderous weather, half sunshine, and could not help exclaiming: "of what is the royal enchantress thinking?" she was brooding over the absence of charny and his love died out. the mass was said by talleyrand, the french "vicar of bray," who swore allegiance to all manner of constitutions himself. it must have been of evil augury. the storm redoubled as though protesting against the false priest who burlesqued the service. here followed the ceremony of taking the oath. lafayette was the first, binding the national guards. the assembly speaker swore for france; and the king in his own name. when the vows were made in deep silence, a hundred pieces of artillery burst into flame at once and bellowed the signal to the surrounding country. from every fortified place an immense flame issued, followed by the menacing thunder invented by man and eclipsing that of heaven if superiority is to be measured by disasters. so the circle enlarged until the warning reached the frontier and surpassed it. when the king rose to declare his purpose the clouds parted and the sun peered out like the eye of god. "i, king of the french," he said, "swear to employ all the power delegated to me by the constitutional law of the state to maintain the constitution." why had he not eluded the solemn pledge as before; for his next step, flight from the kingdom, was to be the key to the enigma set that day. but, true or false, the cannon-fire none the less roared the oath to the confines. it took the warning to the monarchs: "take heed! france is afoot, wishing to be free, and she is ready like the roman envoy to shake peace or war, as you like it, from the folds of her dress." chapter iii. where the bastile stood. night came: the morning festival had been on the great parade ground; the night rejoicing was to be on the site where the bastile had stood. eighty-three trees, one for each department of france, were stuck up to show the space occupied by the infamous states-prison, on whose foundation these trees of liberty were planted. strings of lamps ran from tree to tree. in the midst rose a large pole, with a flag lettered: "freedom!" near the moats, in a grave left open on purpose were flung the old chains, fetters, instruments of torture found in it, and its clock with chained captives the supporters. the dungeons were left open and lighted ghastly, where so many tears and groans had been vainly expanded. lastly, in the inmost courtyard, a ballroom had been set up and as the music pealed, the couples could be seen promenading. the prediction of cagliostro was fulfilled that the bastile should be a public strolling-ground. at one of the thousand tables set up around the bastile, under the shadow of the trees outlining the site of the old fortress, two men were repairing their strength exhausted by the day's marching, and other military manoeuvres. before them was a huge sausage, a four-pound loaf, and two bottles of wine. "by all that is blue," said the younger, who wore the national guards captain's uniform, "it is a fine thing to eat when you are hungry and drink when a-thirst." he paused. "but you do not seem to be hungry or thirsty, father billet." "i have had all i want, and only thirst for one thing----" "what is that?" "i will tell you pitou, when the time for me to sit at my feast shall come." pitou did not see the drift of the reply. pitou was a lover of catherine billet, but he self-acknowledged that he could have no chance against the young nobleman who had captivated the rustic maid. when her father tried to shoot the gallant, he had--while not shielding her or her lover, helped her to conceal herself from billet. it was not he, however, but isidore who had brought the girl to paris, after she had given birth to a boy. this occurred in the absence of billet and pitou, both of whom were ignorant of the removal. pitou had housed her in a quiet corner, and he went to paris without anything arising to cause him sadness. he had found dr. gilbert, to whom he had to report that with money he had given, captain pitou had equipped his guards at haramont in uniform which was the admiration of the county. the doctor gave him five-and-twenty more gold pieces to be applied to maintaining the company at its present state of efficiency. "while i am talking with billet," said gilbert, "who has much to tell me, would you not like to see sebastian?" "i should think i do," answered the peasant, "but i did not like to ask your permission." after meditating a few instants, gilbert wrote several words on a paper which he folded up like a letter and addressed to his son. "take a hack and go find him," he said. "probably from what i have written, he will want to pay a visit; take him thither and wait at the door. he may keep you an hour or so, but i know how obliging you are; you will not find the time hang heavy when you know you are doing me a kindness." "do not bother about that," responded the honest fellow; "i never feel dull; besides, i will get in a supply of something to feed on and i will kill time by eating." "a good method," laughed gilbert; "only you must not eat dry bread as a matter of health, but wash it down with good wine." "i will get a bottle, and some head cheese, too," replied pitou. "brav !" exclaimed the physician. pitou found sebastian in the louis-the-great college, in the gardens. he was a winsome young man of eighteen, or less, with handsome chestnut curls enframing his melancholy and thoughtful face and blue eyes darting juvenile glances like a spring sun. in him were combined the lofty aspirations of two aristocracies: that of the intellect, as embodied in his father, and of race, personified in andrea countess of charny, who had become his mother while unconscious in a mesmeric sleep, induced by balsamo-cagliostro, but perceived by gilbert, who had not in his wild passion for the beauty been able to shrink from profiting by the trance. it was to the countess's that gilbert had suggested his son should go. on the way pitou laid in the provisions to fill up time if he had to wait any great while in the hack for the youth to come out of his mother's. as the countess was at home, the janitor made no opposition to a well-dressed young gentleman entering. five minutes after, while pitou was slicing up his loaf and sausage and taking a pull at his wine, a footman came out to say: "her ladyship, the countess of charny, prays captain pitou to do her the honor to step inside instead of awaiting master sebastian in a hired conveyance." the assembly had abolished titles but the servants of the titled had not yet obeyed. pitou had to wipe his mouth, pack up in paper the uneaten comestibles, with a sigh, and follow the man in a maze. his astonishment doubled when he saw a lovely lady who held sebastian in her arms and who said, as she put out her hand to the new-comer: "captain pitou, you give me such great and unhoped-for joy in bringing sebastian to me that i wanted to thank you myself." pitou stared, and stammered, but let the hand remain untaken. "take and kiss the lady's hand," prompted sebastian: "it is my mother." "your mother? oh, gemini!" exclaimed the peasant, while the other young man nodded. "yes, his mother," said andrea with her glance beaming with delight: "you bring him to me after nine months' parting, and then i had only seen him once before: in the hope you will again bring him, i wish to have no secrets from you, though it would be my ruin if revealed." every time the heart and trust of our rural friend was appealed to, one might be sure that he would lose his hesitation and dismay. "oh, my lady, be you easy, your secret is here," he responded, grasping her hand and kissing it, before laying his own with some dignity on his heart. "my son tells me, captain pitou, that you have not breakfasted," went on the countess; "pray step into the dining-room, and you can make up for lost time while i speak with my boy." soon, on the board were arrayed two cutlets, a cold fowl, and a pot of preserves, near a bottle of bordeaux, a fine venice glass and a pile of china plates. but for all the elegance of the set out edibles, pitou rather deplored the head cheese, bread and common wine in the cab. as he was attacking the chicken after having put away the cutlets, the door opened and a young gentleman appeared, meaning to cross the room. but as pitou lifted his head, they both recognized each other, and uttered a simultaneous cry: "viscount charny!" "ange pitou!" the peasant sprang up; his heart was violently throbbing; the sight of the patrician aroused his most painful memories. not only was this his rival but his successful rival and the man who had wronged catherine billet and caused her to lose her father's respect and her place at her mother's side in the farmhouse. isidore only knew that catherine was under obligations to this country lad; he had no idea of the latter's profound love for his mistress: love out of which pitou drew his devotedness. consequently he walked right up to the other, in whom, spite of the uniform, he only saw still the poacher and farm boy of haramont. "oh, you here, pitou," said he: "delighted to meet you to thank you for all the services you have done us." "my lord viscount, i did all for miss catherine alone," returned the young man, in a firm voice though all his frame thrilled. "that was all well up to your knowing that i loved her; then, i was bound to take my share in the gratitude and as you must have gone to some outlay, say for the letters transmitted to her----" he clapped his hand to his pocket to prick pitou's conscience. but the other stopped him, saying, with the dignity sometimes astonishing to appear in him: "my lord, i do services when i can but not for pay. besides, i repeat, these were for miss catherine solely. she is my friend; if she believes she is in any way indebted to me, she will regulate the account. but you, my lord, owe me nothing; for i did all for her, and not a stroke for you. so you have to offer me nothing." these words, but especially the tone, struck the hearer; perhaps it was only then that he noticed that the speaker was dressed as a captain in the new army. "excuse me, captain pitou," said isidore, slightly bowing: "i do owe you something, and that is my thanks, and i offer you my hand; i hope you will do me the pleasure of accepting one and the honor of accepting the other." there was such grandeur in the speech and the gesture in company with it, that vanquished pitou held out his hand and with the fingers' ends touched isidore's. at this juncture countess charny appeared on the threshold. "you asked for me, my lord," she said; "i am here." isidore saluted the peasant and walked into the next room; he swung the door to behind him but the countess caught it and checked it so that it remained ajar. pitou understood that he was allowed, nay, invited to hear what was spoken. he remarked that on the other side of the sitting room was another door, leading into a bedroom; if sebastian was there, he could hear on that side as well as the captain on this other. "my lady," began isidore, "i had news yesterday from my brother george; as in other letters, he begs me to ask you to remember him. he does not yet know when he is to return, and will be happy to have news from you either by letter or by your charging me." "i could not answer the letter he sent me from want of an address; but i will profit by your intermediation to have the duty of a submissive and respectful wife presented him. if you will take charge of a letter for my lord, one shall be ready on the morrow." "have it ready," said isidore; "but i cannot call for it till some five or six days as i have a mission to carry out, a journey of necessity, of unknown duration, but i will come here at once on my return and take your message." as he passed through the dining-room he saw that pitou was spooning deeply into the preserves. he had finished when the countess came in, with sebastian. it was difficult to recognize the grave countess charny in this radiant young mother whom two hours of chat with her son had transformed. the hand which she gave to pitou seemed to be of marble still, but mollified and warmed. sebastian embraced his mother with the ardor he infused in all he did. pitou took leave without putting a question, and was silent on the way to the college, absorbing the rest of his head cheese, bread and wine. there was nothing in this incident to spoil his appetite. but he was chilled to see how gloomy farmer billet was. he resolved to dissipate this sadness. "i say, father billet," he resumed, after preparing his stock of words as a sharpshooter makes a provision of cartridges, "who the devil could have guessed, in a year and two days, that since miss catherine received me on the farm, so many events should have taken place." "nobody," rejoined billet whose terrible glance at the mention of catherine had not been remarked. "the idea of the pair of us taking the bastile," continued he, like the sharpshooter having reloaded his gun. "nobody," replied the farmer mechanically. "plague on it, he has made up his mind not to talk," thought the younger man. "who would think that i should become a captain and you a federalist, and we both be taking supper under an arbor in the very spot where the old prison stood?" "nobody," said billet for the third time, with a more sombre look than before. the younger man saw that there was no inducing the other to speak but he found comfort in the thought that this ought not to alienate his right. so he continued, leaving billet the right to speak if he chose. "i suppose, like the bastile, all whom we knew, have become dust, as the scriptures foretold. to think that we stormed the bastile, on your saying so, as if it were a chicken-house, and that here we sit where it used to be, drinking merrily! oh, the racket we kicked up that day. talking of racket," he interrupted himself, "what is this rumpus all about?" the uproar was caused by the passing of a man who had the rare privilege of creating noise wherever he walked: it was mirabeau, who, with a lady on his arm, was visiting the bastile site. another than he would have shrank from the cheers in which were mingled some sullen murmurs; but he was the bird of the storm and he smiled amid the thunderous tempest, while supporting the woman, who shivered under her veil at the simoon of such dreadful popularity. pitou jumped upon a chair and waved his cocked hat on the tip of his sword as he shouted: "long live mirabeau!" billet let escape no token of feelings either way; he folded his arms on his burly chest and muttered in a hollow voice: "it is said he betrays the people." "pooh, that has been said of all great men, from antiquity down," replied his friend. in his excitement he only now noticed that a third chair, drawn up to their table, was occupied by a stranger who seemed about to accost them. to be sure it was a day of fraternity, and familiarity was allowable among fellow-citizens, but pitou, who had not finished his repast, thought it going too far. the stranger did not apologize but eyed the pair with a jeering manner apparently habitual to him. billet was no doubt in no mood to support being "quizzed," as the current word ran, for he turned on the new-comer; but the latter made a sign before he was addressed which drew another from billet. the two did not know each other, but they were brothers. like billet, he was clad like one of the delegates to the federation. but he had a change of attire which reminded billet that so were dressed the party with anacharsis clootz, the german anarchist, representing mankind. chapter iv. the lodge of the invisibles. "you do not know me, brothers," said the stranger, when billet had nodded and pitou smiled condescendingly, "but i know you both. you are captain pitou, and you, farmer billet. why are you so gloomy? because, though you were the first to enter the bastile, they have forgotten to hang at your buttonhole the medal for the conquerors of the bastile and to do you the honors accorded to others this day?" "did you really know me, brother," replied the farmer with scorn, "you would know that such trifles do not affect a heart like mine." "is it because you found your fields unproductive when you returned home in october?" "i am rich--a harvest lost little worries me." "then, it must be," said the stranger, looking him hard in the face, "that something has happened to your daughter catherine----" "silence," said the farmer, clutching the speaker's arm, "let us not speak of that matter." "why not if i speak in order that you may be revenged?" "then that is another thing--speak of it," said the other, turning pale but smiling at the same time. pitou thought no more of eating or drinking, but stared at their new acquaintance as at a wizard. "but what do you understand by revenge?" went on he with a smile: "tell me. in a paltry manner, by killing one individual, as you tried to do?" billet blanched like a corpse: pitou shuddered all over. "or by pursuing a whole class?" "by hunting down a whole caste," said billet, "for of such are the crimes of all his like. when i mourned before my friend dr. gilbert, he said: 'poor billet, what has befallen you has already happened to a hundred thousand fathers; what would the young noblemen have in the way of pastime if they did not steal away the poor man's daughter, and the old ones steal away the king's money?'" "oh, gilbert said that, did he?" "do you know him?" "i know all men," replied the stranger, smiling: "as i know you two, and viscount charny, isidore, lord of boursonnes; as i know catherine, the prettiest girl of the county." "i bade you not speak her name, for she is no more--she is dead." "why, no, father billet," broke in pitou, "for she----" he was no doubt going to say that he saw her daily, but the farmer repeated in a voice admitting of no reply, "she is dead." pitou hung his head for he understood. "ha, ha," said the stranger: "if i were my friend diogenes, i should put out my lantern, for i believe i have found an honest man." rising, he offered his arms to billet, saying: "brother, come and take a stroll with me, while this good fellow finishes the eatables." "willingly," returned billet, "for i begin to understand to what feast you invite me. wait for me here," he added to his friend; "i shall return." the stranger seemed to know the gastronomical taste of pitou for he sent by the waiter some more delicacies, which he was still discussing, while wondering, when billet reappeared. his brow was illumined with something like pleasure. "anything new, father billet?" asked the captain. "only that you will start for home to-morrow while i remain." this is what billet remained for. a week after, he might have been seen, in the dress of a well-to-do farmer, in plastriere street. two thirds up the thoroughfare was blocked by a crowd around a ballad singer with a fiddler to accompany him, who was singing a lampoon at the characters of the day. billet paused only an instant to listen to the strain, in which, from the assembly being on the site of the old horse-training ground, the attributes of horses were given to the members, as "the roarer," to mirabeau, etc. slipping in at an alleyway at the back of the throng, he came to a low doorway, over which was scrawled in red chalk--symbols effaced each time of usage: "l. p. d." this was the way down into a subterranean passage. billet could not read but he may have understood that these letters were a token, he took the underground road with boldness. at its end a pale light glimmered, by which a seated man was reading or pretending to read a newspaper, as is the custom of the paris janitor of an evening. at the sound of steps he got up and with a finger touching his breast waited. billet presented his forefinger bent and laid it like the ring of a padlock on his lips. this was probably the sign of recognition expected by the door-guard, for he opened a door on his right which was wholly invisible when shut, and pointed out to the adventurer a narrow and steep flight of steps going down into the earth. when billet entered, the door shut behind him swiftly and silently. he counted seventeen steps, and though he was not talkative could not help saying: "good, i am going right." before a door floated tapestry: he went straight to it, lifted it and was within a large circular hall where some fifty persons were gathered. the walls were hung with red and white cloth, on which were traced the square, the compass and the level. a single lamp, hung from the center of the ceiling, cast a wan light insufficient to define those who preferred to stand out of its direct beams. a rostrum up which four steps led, awaited orators or new members, and on this platform, next the wall, a desk and chair stood for the chairman. in a few minutes the hall filled so that there was no moving about. the men were of all conditions and sorts from the peasant to the prince, arriving like billet solitarily, and standing wherever they liked, without knowing or being known to each other. each wore under his overcoat the masonic apron if only a mason, or the scarf of the illuminati, if affiliated to the grand mystery. only three restricted themselves to the masonic apron. one was billet; another a young man, and the third a man of forty-two who appeared by his bearing to belong to the highest upper class. some seconds after he had arrived, though no more noticed than the meanest, a second panel opened and the chairman appeared, wearing the insignia of the grand orient and the grand copt. billet uttered faintly his astonishment, for the master was the man who had accosted him at the bastile. he mounted the dais and turning to the assembly, said: "brothers, we have two pieces of business to do this day: i have to receive three new candidates; and i have to render account of how the work has gone on: for as it grows harder and harder, it is meet that you should know if i am ever worthy of your trust and that i should know if i still deserve it. it is only by receiving light from you and imparting it that i can walk in the dark way. let the chiefs alone stay in the lodge to receive or reject the applicants. they dealt with, all are to return into session, from the first to the last, for it is in the presence of all and not only within the supreme circle, i wish to lay bare my conduct and receive censure or ask for recompense." at these words a door flew open opposite that he had come in by; vast vaulted depths were beheld, as the crypt of an ancient basilica. the arcades were feebly lighted by brass lamps hung so as to make darkness visible. only three remained, the novices. chance fixed it that they should be standing up by the wall at nearly regular distances. they looked at each other with astonishment, only thus and now learning that they were the heroes of the occasion. at this instant the door by which the chairman had come, opened to admit six masked men who came to place themselves beside the master, three on each hand. "let numbers two and three disappear for the time," said the master; "none but the supreme chiefs must know the secrets of the reception or refusal of a would-be mason in the order of the illuminated." the young man and the high-born one retired by the lobby by which they had come, leaving billet alone. "draw nearer," said the chairman. "what is your name among the profane?" he demanded when obeyed. "françois billet, and it is strength, among the elect." "where did you first see the light?" "in the lodge of the soissons friends of truth." "how old are you?" "seven years," replied billet, making the sign to show what rank he had attained in the order. "why do you want to rise a step and be received among us?" "because i am told that it is a step nearer the universal light." "have you supporters?" "i have no one to speak for me save him who came to me and offered to have me welcomed." he looked fixedly at the chairman. "with what feelings would you walk in the way which we may open unto you?" "with hate of the powerful and love for equality." "what answers for these feelings?" "the pledge of a man who has never broken his word." "what inspired your wish for equality?" "the inferior condition in which i was born." "what the hatred of those above you?" "that is my secret; yet it is known to you; why do you want me to say aloud what i hesitate to say in a whisper to myself?" "will you walk in the way to equality and with you lead all those whom you can control?" "yes." "as far as your will and strength can go, will you overthrow all obstacles opposing the freedom of france and the emancipation of the world?" "i will." "are you free from any anterior engagement or if made will you break it if contrary to this new pledge?" "i am ready." turning to the chiefs, the master said: "brothers, this man speaks the truth. i invited him to be one of ours. a great grief binds him to our cause by the ties of hatred. he has already done much for the revolution and may do more. i propose him, and answer for him in the past, the present and the future." "receive him," said all the six. the presiding officer raised his hand and said in a slow and solemn voice: "in the name of the architect of the universe, swear to break all carnal bonds still binding you to parents, sister, brother, wife, kinsmen, mistress, kings, benefactors, and to whomsoever you have promised faith, obedience, service or gratitude." billet repeated in a voice as firm as the speaker's. "good! henceforth you are freed from the so-called oath of allegiance made to the country and the laws. swear therefore to reveal to your new chief what you see and do, hear or learn, read or divine, and moreover to seek out and find which is not offered to the sight." "i swear," said billet. "swear to honor and respect steel, fire and poison as sure and prompt means necessary to purge the world by the death of those who try to lessen truth or snatch it from our hands. "swear to avoid naples, rome, spain and all accursed places. to shun the temptation of revealing anything seen and heard in our meetings, for the lightning is not swifter to strike than our invisible and inevitable knife, wherever you may hide. and now, live in the name of the three!" a brother hidden in the crypt, opened the door where the inferior members were strolling till the initiation was over. the master waved billet to go there, and, bowing, he went to join those whom the dreadful words he had uttered made his associates. the second candidate was the famous st. just, the revolutionist whom robespierre sent to the guillotine. he was initiated in the same terms as billet and similarly joined the band. the third candidate was louis philippe, duke of orleans whom hatred of his relatives had induced to take this step to have the aid of powerful partners in his attempt to seize the throne. he was already at the degree of rose-croix. he took the oath which was administered in a different order from before in order to test him at the outset, and instead of saying, yes, he repeated the very words of the section binding him to break all ties, of affection or allegiance to royalty. when he darted into the crypt he exclaimed: "at last i shall have my revenge!" chapter v. the conspirators account. on being left together, the six masked men and the chairman whispered among themselves. "let all come in," said cagliostro, for he was the master; "i am ready to make the report i promised." the door was instantly opened: the members of the league walked in; to crowd the hall once more. hardly was the door closed behind the last before the master said holding up his hand quickly like one who knew the value of time, and wished not to lose a second: "brothers, there may be some here who were present at a meeting held just twenty years ago, a couple of miles from danenfels, in a cavern of thunder mountain, five miles from the rhine; if so, let the venerable upholders of the great cause which we have embraced, signify the same by holding up the hand, saying: 'i was there!'" five or six hands were held above the throng and as many voices cried: "i was there." "so far good," continued the speaker; "the others are in the temple above, or scattered over the earth, working at the common and holy work, for it is that of all mankind. twenty years ago, this work which we have pursued in its different periods was scarce commenced. the light was at its dawning and the steadiest eyes beheld the future only through the cloud which none but the eyes of the chosen could pierce. at that meeting, i explained by what miracle death did not exist for me, it being merely for man forgetfulness of the past, or rather how, during twenty centuries, i had dwelt in succeeding bodies for my immortal soul. slowly i saw peoples pass from slavery to serfdom, from serfdom to the state of those aspirations for freedom which precede it. like the stars of the night hinting what a sun can be, we have seen the republics try their rules, at genoa, venice, switzerland; but this is not what we needed. "a great country was wanted to give the impetus, a wheel in which should be cogged all the others, a planet which should illumine the world." a cheering murmur ran through the audience and cagliostro proceeded with an inspired air: "heaven indicated to me, france. indeed, having tried all systems, she appeared likely to suit our purpose, and we decided on her being first freed. but look back on france twenty years ago, and grant that it was great boldness or rather sublime faith to undertake such a task. in louis xv.'s hands so weakly, it was still the realm of louis xiv., an aristocratic kingdom, where the nobles had all the rights and the rich all the privileges. at the head was a man who represented at once the lowest and the loftiest, the grandest and the paltriest, heaven and the masses. with a word he could make you wealthy or a beggar, happy or miserable, free or captive, keep you living or send you to death. "he had three grandsons, young princes called to succeed him. chance had it that he whom nature designated was also the choice of the people, if the people had any choice at the epoch. he was accounted kind, just, honest, learned, almost a lover of wisdom. in order to quench the wars which the fatal succession of charles ii. enkindled, the daughter of maria theresa was chosen for his wife: the two nations were to be indissolubly united which are the counterbalances west and east of europe, france and austria. so calculated maria theresa the foremost politician of europe. "it was at this period, none the less, when france, supported on austria, spain and italy, was to enter on a new and desired reign that we determined--not that she should be the chief of kingdoms but that the french should be the first people free. "it was demanded who would be the new theseus to rush into the den of this minotaur, thread the innumerable turnings of the maze while guided by the light of truth, and face the royal monster. i replied it should be me. some eager spirits, uneasy characters, wanted to know how long a time it would take to accomplish the first period of my enterprise, divided into three portions, and i required twenty years. they cried out against that. can you understand this? man had been serf or slave for twenty centuries, and he mocked at me because i wanted twenty years to make him free!" he looked upon the meeting, where his last words had provoked ironical smiles. "in short, i obtained the twenty years. i gave my brothers the famous device: 'lilia pedibus destrue--the lilies shall be trodden underfoot!' and i set to work, urging all to do likewise. i entered france under arches of triumph; the rose and the laurel made the road from strasburg to paris one trellis garlanded with flowers. everybody was shouting: 'long live the dauphiness! our future queen!' now, far from me to take credit to myself for the initiative or the merit of events; the builder had planned all this and he laid each stone well and truly. he allowed this humble mason who officiates in this fane to see the hand divinely wielding the line and the level and, praise unto him! i have done some levelling: the rocks have been removed off the way, the bridge has been thrown over the flood, and the gulfs have been filled up so that the car has rolled smoothly. list brothers, to what has been performed in a score of years. "parliaments broken up: louis xv., called once the well-beloved, dies amid general scorn! the queen, after seven years, unfruitful wedlock, gives birth to children whose paternity is contested, so that she is defamed as mother of the crown prince, and dishonored as a woman in the case of the diamond necklace. "the new king consecrated under the name of louis the desired, impotent in politics as in love, tries one utopia after another, until he reaches national bankruptcy, and has all kinds of ministers down to a calonne. the assembly of worthies decrees the states general congress, which appointed by universal suffrage, declares itself the national assembly. the clergy and nobility are overcome by the other classes; the bastile is stormed and the foreign troops driven out of the capital; the night of aug. th, , shows the aristocracy that they are reduced to nothing; on the th and th october, the king and queen are shown that royalty is nothing; on the th of july, , the unity of france is shown to the world. "the princes are deprived of popularity by their absconding; the king's brother loses his hold by the favras conspiracy showing that he casts off his friends to save his neck. lastly, the constitution is sworn unto, on the altar of the country; the speaker of the house of representatives sits on a chair on the level with the king's; it is the law and the nation sitting side by side; attentive europe leans towards us, silently watching--all who do not applaud are trembling. now, is not france the cornerstone on which free europe shall be laid, the wheel which turns all the machine, the sun which shall illuminate the old world?" "yea, yea, yea!" shouted all voices. "but, brothers," continued the magician, "do you believe the work is so far advanced that we may leave it to get on by itself? although the constitution has been sworn to, can we trust to the royal vow?" "nay, nay, nay," cried every voice. "then we begin the second stage of the revolutionary work," pursued cagliostro. "as your eyes see, i perceive with delight that the federation of is not the goal but a halting-place: after the repose the court will recommence the task of counter-revolution: let us also gird up our loins and start afresh. no doubt for timid hearts there will be hours of weakening and of distrust; often the beam from the all-seeing eye will seem to be eclipsed--the hand that beckons us will cease to be seen. more than once during the second period, the cause will appear injured, even lost, by some unforeseen and fortuitous accident; all will seem to show that we are wrong; circumstances will look as if unfavorable; our enemies will have some triumph, our fellow-citizens will be ungrateful. after many real fatigues and apparent uselessness, many will ask themselves if they have not gone astray on the bad path. "no, brothers, no; i tell you at this hour for the words to ring everlastingly in your ears, in victory as a blast of trumpets, in defeat as the rallying cry--no! leading races have their providential mission which must be unerringly accomplished. the arch-designer laid down the road and found it true and straight; his mysterious goal cannot be revealed until it is attained in its full splendor; the cloud may obscure it and we think it gone; an idea may recoil but, like the old-time knights, it is but to set the lance in rest and rush forward to hurl over the dragon. "brothers, brothers, our goal is the bonfire on the high mount, believed extinct because the ridge concealed it as we sank in the vale: then the weaklings muttered as they halted and whined: 'we have no beacon--we are blundering in the dark: let us stay where we are; what is the good of getting lost?' but the strong hearts keep right on confidently smiling, and soon will the light on the height reappear, albeit it may disappear again, but each time it is brighter and clearer because it is more near! "thus will it be with the chosen band who, struggling, pressing on, persevering and above all believing in the republic to be, arrive at the foot of the lighthouse of which the radiance will join that cast across the atlantic by the republic which we have also helped to throw off the tyrant's yoke. let us swear, brothers, for ourselves and our descendants, since the eternal idea and principle serves many a generation, never to stop until we establish on this temple of the architect the holy device of which we have conquered one portion: 'liberty, equality and fraternity.'" the speech was hailed with uproarious approbation. "but do not confine it to france solely: inscribe it on the banner of mankind as the whole world's motto. and now, brothers, go out upon your task, which is great, so great that, through whatever vale of tears and of the shadow of death you must pass, your descendants will envy the holy errand you shall have accomplished, and like the crusaders who became more and more numerous and eager as their foregoers were slain, they march over the road whitened by the bones of their fathers. be of good cheer, apostles; courage, pilgrims of freedom; courage, soldiers, apostles, converts! pilgrims, march on! soldiers, fight!" cagliostro stopped, but that would have happened from the applause. three times the cheering rose and was extinguished in the gloomy vaults like an earthquake's rumbling. then the six masked men bowed to him one after another, kissed his hand and retired. each of the brothers, bowing unto the platform where the new peter the hermit preached the renewal of the political crusade, passed out, repeating the motto: "we shall trample the lilies under." as the last went forth, the lamps were extinguished. alone remained the arch-revolutionist, buried in the bowels of the earth, lost in silence and darkness like those divinities of the indies, into whose mysteries he asserted himself to have been initiated two thousand years before. chapter vi. women and flowers. some months after recorded events, about the end of march, , dr. gilbert was hurriedly called to his friend mirabeau, by the latter's faithful servant deutsch, who had been alarmed. mirabeau had spoken in the house on the question of mines, the interests of owners and of the state not being very clearly defined. to celebrate his victory, he gave a supper to some friends and was prostrated by internal pains. gilbert was too skillful a physician not to see how grave the invalid was. he bled him and the black blood relieved the sufferer. "you are a downright great man," said he. "and you a great blockhead to risk a life so precious to your friends for a few hours of fictitious pleasure," retorted his deliverer. the orator smiled almost ironically, in melancholy. "i think you exaggerate and that my friends and france do not hold me so dear." "upon my honor," replied gilbert laughing, "great men complain of ingratitude and they are really the ungrateful ones. if it were a most serious malady of yours, all paris would flock under your window; were you to die, all france would come to your obsequies." "what you say is very consoling, let me tell you," said the other, merrily. "it is just because you can see one without risking the other that i say it, and indeed, you need a great public demonstration to restore your morale. let me take you to paris within a couple of hours, my dear count; let me tell the first man on the street corner that you are ailing and you will see the excitement." "i would go if you put off the departure till this evening, and let me meet you at my house in paris at eleven." gilbert looked at his patient and the latter saw that he was seen through. "my dear count, i noticed flowers on the dining-room table," said he: "it was not merely a supper to friends." "you know that i cannot do without flowers; they are my craze." "but they were not alone." "if they are a necessity i must suffer from the consequences they entail." "count, the consequences will kill you." "confess, doctor, that it will be a delightful kind of suicide." "i will not leave you this day." "doctor, i have pledged my word and you would not make me fail in that." "i shall see you this night, though?" "yes, really i feel better." "you mean you drive me away?" "the idea of such a thing." "i shall be in town; i am on duty at the palace." "then you will see the queen," said mirabeau, becoming gloomy once more. "probably; have you any message for her?" mirabeau smiled bitterly. "i should not take such a liberty, doctor; do not even say that you have seen me: for she will ask if i have saved the monarchy, as i promised, and you will be obliged to answer no! it is true," he added with a nervous laugh, "that the fault is as much hers as mine." "you do not want me to tell her that your excess of exertions in the tribune is killing you." "nay, you may tell her that," he replied after brief meditation: "you may make me out as worse than i am, to test her feelings." "i promise you that, and to repeat her own words." "it is well: i thank you, doctor--adieu!" "what are you prescribing?" "warm drinks, soothing, strict diet and--no nurse-woman less than fifty----" "rather than infringe the regulation i would take two of twenty-five!" at the door gilbert met deutsch, who was in tears. "all this through a woman--just because she looks like the queen," said the man; "how stupid of a genius, as they say he is." he let out gilbert who stepped into his carriage, muttering: "what does he mean by a woman like the queen?" he thought of asking deutsch, but it was the count's secret, and he ordered his coachman to drive to town. on the way he met camille desmoulins, the living newspaper of the day, to whom he told the truth of the illness because it was the truth. when he announced the news to the king, the latter inquired if the count had lost his appetite. "yes, sire," was the doctor's reply. "then it is a bad case," sighed the monarch, shifting the subject. when the same words were repeated to the daughter of maria theresa, her forehead darkened. "why was he not so stricken on the day of his panegyric on the tricolor flag?" she sneered. "never mind," she went on, as if repenting the expression of her hatred before a frenchman, "it would be very unfortunate for france if this malady makes progress. doctor, i rely on your keeping me informed about it." at the appointed hour, gilbert called on his patient at his town house. his eyes caught sight of a lady's scarf on a chair. "glad to see you," said mirabeau, quickly as though to divert his attention from it, "i have learnt that you kept half your promise. deutsch has been busy answering friendly inquiries from our arrival. are you true to the second part? have you been to the palace and seen the king and queen?" "yes; and told them you were unwell. the king sincerely condoled when he heard that you had lost your appetite. the queen was sorry and bade me keep her informed." "but i want the words she used." "well, she said that it was a pity you were not ill when you praised the new flag of the country." he wished to judge of the queen's influence over the orator. he started on the easy chair as if receiving the discharge of a galvanic battery. "ingratitude of monarchs," he muttered. "that speech of mine blotted out remembrance of the rich civil list and the dower i obtained for her. this queen must be ignorant that i was compelled to regain the popularity i lost for her sake; but she no more remembers it than my proposing the adjournment of the annexation of avignon to france in order to please the king's religious scruples. but these and other faults of mine i have dearly paid for," continued mirabeau. "not that these faults will ruin them, but there are times when ruin must come, whether faults help them forward or not. the queen does not wish to be saved but to be revenged; hence she relishes no reasonable ideas. "i have tried to save liberty and royalty at the same time; but i am not fighting against men, or tigers, but an element--it is submerging me like the sea: yesterday up to the knee, today up to the waist, to-morrow i shall be struggling with it up to my neck. i must be open with you, doctor; i felt chagrin first, then disgust. i dreamt of being the arbiter between the revolution and monarchy. i believed i should have an ascendancy over the queen as a man, and some day when she was going under the flood, i meant to leap in and rescue her. but, no! they would not honestly take me; they try to destroy my popularity, ruin me, annihilate me, and make me powerless to do either good or evil. so, now that i have done my best, i tell you, doctor, that the best thing i can do is die in the nick of time; fall artistically like the dying gladiator, and offer my throat to be cut with gracefulness; yield up the ghost with decency." he sank back on the reclining chair and bit the pillow savagely. gilbert knew what he sought, on what mirabeau's life depended. "what will you say if the king or the queen should send to inquire after your health?" he asked. "the queen will not do it--she will not stoop so low." "i do not believe, but i suppose, i presume----" "i will wait till to-morrow night." "and then?" "if she sends a confidential man i will say you are right and i wrong. but if on the contrary none come, then it will be the other way." "keep tranquil till then. but this scarf?" "i shall not see her, on my honor," he said, smiling. "good, try to get a good quiet night, and i will answer for you," said gilbert, going out. "your master is better, my honest deutsch," said he to the attendant at the door. the old valet shook his head sadly. "do you doubt my word?" "i doubt everything since his bad angel will be beside him." he sighed as he left the doctor on the gloomy stairs. at the landing corner gilbert saw a veiled shadow which seemed waiting: on perceiving him, it uttered a low scream and disappeared so quickly by a partly opened door that it resembled a flight. "who is that woman?" questioned the doctor. "the one who looks like the queen," responded deutsch. for the second time gilbert was struck by the same idea on hearing this phrase: he took a couple of steps as though to chase the phantom, but he checked himself, saying, "it cannot be." he continued his way, leaving the old domestic in despair that this learned man could not conjure away the demon whom he believed the agent of the inferno. next day all paris called to inquire after the invalid orator. the crowd in the street would not believe deutsch's encouraging report but forced all vehicles to turn into the side streets so that their idol should not be disturbed by their noise. mirabeau got up and went to the window to wave a greeting to these worshipers, who shouted their wishes for his long life. but he was thinking of the haughty woman who did not trouble her head about him, and his eyes wandered over the mob to see if any servants in the royal blue livery were not trying to make their way through the mass. by evening his impatience changed into gloomy bitterness. still he waited for the almost promised token of interest, and still it did not come. at eleven, gilbert came; he had written his best wishes during the day: he came in smiling, but he was daunted by the expression on mirabeau's face, faithful mirror of his soul's perturbations. "nobody has come," said he. "will you tell me what you have done this day?" "why, the same as usual----" "no, doctor and i saw what happened and will tell you the same as though present. you called on the queen and told her how ill i was: she said she would send to ask the latest news, and you went away, happy and satisfied, relying on the royal word. she was left laughing, bitter and haughty, ignorant that a royal word must not be broken--mocking at your credulity." "truly, had you been there, you could not have seen and heard more clearly," said gilbert. "what numbskulls they are," exclaimed mirabeau. "i told you they never did a thing at the right time. men in the royal livery coming to my door would have wrung shouts of 'long live the king!' from the multitude and given them popularity for a year." he shook his head with grief. "what is the matter, count?" asked gilbert. "nothing." "have you had anything to eat?" "not since two o'clock." "then take a bath and have a meal." "a capital idea!" mirabeau listened in the bath until he heard the street door close after the doctor. then he rang for his servant, not deutsch but another, to have the table in his room decked with flowers, and "madam oliva" invited to sup with him. he closed all the doors of the supper-room except that to the rooms of the strange woman whom the old german called his bad angel. at about four in the morning, deutsch who sat up, heard a violent ring of the room bell. he and another servant rushed to the supper-room, but all the doors were fastened so that they had to go round by the strange lady's rooms. there they found her in the arms of their master, who had tried to prevent her giving the alarm. she had rung the table-bell from inability to get at the bell pull. she was screaming as much for her own relief as her lover's, as he was suffocating her in his convulsive embrace. it seemed to be death trying to drag her into the grave. jean ran to rouse dr. gilbert while deutsch got his master to a couch. in ten minutes the doctor drove up. "what is it now?" he asked of deutsch, in the hall. "that woman again and the cursed flowers! come and see." at this moment something like a sob was heard; gilbert, ran up the stairs at the top step of which a door opened, and a woman in a white wrapper ran out suddenly and fell at the doctor's feet. "oh, gilbert," she screamed, "save him!" "nicole legay," cried the doctor; "was it you, wretch, who have killed him?" a dreadful thought overwhelmed him. "i saw her bully beausire selling broadsides against mirabeau, and she became his mistress. he is undoubtedly lost, for cagliostro set himself against him." he turned back into his patient's room, fully aware that no time was to be lost. indeed, he was too versed in secrets of his craft still to hope, far less to preserve any doubt. in the body before his eyes, it was impossible to see the living mirabeau. from that time, his face assumed the solemn cast of great men dying. meanwhile the news had spread that there was a relapse and that the doom impended. then could it be judged what a gigantic place one man may fill among his fellows. the entire city was stirred as on great calamities. the door was besieged by persons of all opinions as though everybody knew they had something to lose by his loss. he caused the window to be opened that he might be soothed by the hum of the multitude beneath. "oh, good people," he murmured: "slandered, despised and insulted like me, it is right that those royals should forget me and the plebes bear me in mind." night drew near. "my dear doctor," he said to him who would not leave him, "this is my dying day. at this point nothing is to be done but embalm my corpse and strew flowers roundabout." scarcely had jean, to whom everybody rushed at the door for news, said he wanted flowers for his master, than all the windows opened, and flowers were offered from conservatories and gardens of the rarest sorts. by nine in the morning the room was transformed into a bower of bloom. "my dear doctor, i beg a quarter of an hour to say good-bye to a person who ought to quit the house before i go. i ask you to protect her in case they hoot her." "i leave you alone," said gilbert, understanding. "before going, kindly hand me the little casket in the secretary." gilbert did as requested; the money-box was heavy enough to be full of gold. at the end of half an hour, spent by gilbert in giving news to the inquirers, jean ushered a veiled lady out to a hackney-carriage at the door. gilbert ran to his patient. "put the casket back," said he in a faint voice. "odd, is it not?" he continued, seeing how astonished the doctor looked at its being as heavy as before, "but where the deuce will disinterestedness next have a nest?" near the bed, gilbert picked up a lace handkerchief wet with tears. "ah, she would take nothing away--but she left something," remarked mirabeau. feeling it was damp he pressed it to his forehead. "tears? is she the only one who has a heart?" he murmured. he fell back on the bed, with closed eyes; he might have been believed dead or swooning but for the death-rattle in his breast. how came it that this man of athletic, herculean build should die? was it not because he had held out his hand to stay the tumbling throne from toppling over? was it not because he had offered his arm to that woman of misfortune known as marie antoinette? had not cagliostro predicted some such fate to gilbert for mirabeau? and the two strange creatures--one, beausire, blasting the reputation, the other, nicole, blasting the health of the great orator who had become the supporter of the monarchy--were they not for him, gilbert, a proof that all things which were obstacles to this man--or rather the idea he stood for--must go down before him as the bastile had done? nevertheless he was going to try upon him the elixir of life which he owed to cagliostro; it was irony to save his victim with his own remedy. the patient had opened his eyes. "nay," said he, "a few drops will be vain. you must give me the whole phial. i had the stuff analyzed and found it was indian hemp; i had some compounded for myself and i have been taking it copiously not to live but to dream." "unhappy man that i am," sighed gilbert; "he has led to my dealing out poison to my friend." "a sweet poison, by which i have lengthened out the last moments of my life a hundredfold. in my dream i have enjoyed what has really escaped me, riches, power, and love. i do not know whether i ought to thank god for my life, but i thank you, doctor, for your drug. fill up the glass and let me have it." gilbert presented the extract which the patient absorbed with gusto. "ah, doctor," he said after a short pause, as if the veil of the future were raised at the approach of eternity; "blessed are those who die in this year, ! for they will have seen the sunny side of the revolution. never has a great one cost so little bloodshed up to now, because it is the mind that was conquered: but on the morrow the war will be upon facts and in things. perhaps you believe that the tenants of the tuileries will mourn for me? not at all. my death rids them of an engagement. with me, they had to rule in a certain way: i was less support than hindrance. _she_ excused herself for leaning on me, to her brother: 'mirabeau believes that he is advising me--i am only amusing myself with him.' that is why i wished that woman, her likeness, to be my mistress, and not my queen. "what a fine part he shall play in history who undertook to sustain the young nation with one hand and the old monarchy in the other, forcing them to tread the same goal--the happiness of the governed and the respect of the governors. it might have been possible and might be but a dream; but i am convinced that i alone could have realized the dream. my sorrow is not in dying, but in dying with work unfinished. who will glorify my idea left mangled, an abortion? what will be known of me will be the part that should be buried in oblivion--my wild, reckless, rakish life and my obscene writings. "i shall be blamed for having made a bond with the court out of which comes gain for no man; i shall be judged, dying at forty-two, like one who lived man's full age. they will take me to task as if instead of trying to walk on the waters in a storm, i had trodden a broad way paved with laws, statutes, and regulations. to whom shall i league my memory to be cleansed and be an honor to my country? "but i could do nothing without her, and she would not take my helping hand. i pledged myself like a fool, while she remained unfettered. but it is so--all is for the best; and if you will promise one thing, no regret will trouble my last breath." "good god, what would i not promise?" "if my passing from life is tedious, make it easy? i ask the aid not only of the doctor but of the man and the philosopher--promise to aid me. i do not wish to die dead,--but living, and the last step will not be hard to take." the doctor bent his head towards the speaker. "i promised not to leave you, my friend; if heaven hath condemned you--though i hope we have not come to that point--leave to my affection at the supreme instant the care of accomplishing what i ought to do. if death comes, i shall be at hand also." "thanks," said the dying one as if this were all he awaited. the abundant dose of cannabis indicus had restored speech to the doomed one: but this vitality of the mind vanished and for three hours the cold hand remained in the doctor's without a throb. suddenly he felt a start: the awakening had come. "it will be a dreadful struggle," he thought. such was the agony in which the strong frame wrestled that gilbert forgot that he had promised to second death, not to oppose it. but, reminded of his pledge, he seized the pen to write a prescription for an opiate. scarcely had he written the last words than mirabeau rose on the pillow and asked for the pen. with his hand clenched by death he scrawled: "flee, flee, flee!" he tried to sign but could only trace four letters of his name. "for her," he gasped, holding out his convulsed arm towards his companion. he fell back without breath, movement or look--he was dead. gilbert turned to the spectators of this scene and said: "mirabeau is no more." taking the paper whose destination he alone might divine, he rapidly departed from the death chamber. some seconds after the doctor's going, a great clamor arose in the street and was prolonged throughout paris. the grief was intense and wide. the assembly voted a public funeral, and the pantheon, formerly church of st. genevieve, was selected for the great man's resting-place. three years subsequently the convention sent the coffin to the clamart cemetery to be bundled among the corpses of the publicly executed. petion claimed to have discovered a contra-revolutionary plot written in the hand of mirabeau, and congress reversed its previous judgment and declared that genius could not condone corruption. chapter vii. the king's messenger. on the morning of the second of april, an hour before mirabeau yielded up his last breath, a superior officer of the navy, wearing his full dress uniform of captain, entered the tuileries palace like one to whom the ways were familiar. he took the private stairs to the king's apartments, where, by the study, a valet saw him and uttered a cry of surprise. "hue," he said, laying a finger on his lips, "can the king receive me?" "his majesty gave word that you were to be shown in whenever you arrived." he opened a door and as a proof that the king was alone, he called out: "the count of charny!" "let him enter," said the king; "i have been expecting him since yesterday." charny entered quickly and said as he went up to his royal master with respectful eagerness: "sire, i am a few hours behindhand, but i hope to be forgiven when your majesty hears the reasons for the delay." "come, come, my lord; i awaited you with impatience, it is true; but i was of your opinion beforehand that an important cause alone could delay your journey. you have come, and you are welcome." he held out his hand which the courier kissed with reverence. "sire, i received your order early the day before yesterday and i started at three a. m. yesterday from montmedy by the post." "that explains the few hours delay," observed the sovereign, smiling. "sire," went on the count, "i might have dashed on and made better speed but i wanted to study the road as it is generally used so as to remark the posting-houses where the work is well or ill done; i wished to jot the time down by the minute. i have noted everything and am consequently in a position to answer on any point." "bravo, my lord," cried the king. "you are a first-rate servitor; but let me begin by showing how we stand here; you can give me the news of the position out there afterwards." "things are going badly, if i may guess by what i have heard," observed charny. "to such a degree that i am a prisoner in the place, my dear count. i was just saying to general lafayette that i would rather be king at metz than over france; but never mind, you have returned. you know my aunts have taken to flight? it is very plain why. you know the assembly will allow no priests to officiate at the altar unless they take oaths to the country. the poor souls became frightened as easter came near, thinking they risked damnation by confessing to a priest who had sworn to the constitution, and i must confess, it was on my advice that they went to rome. no law opposes their journey and no one can think two poor women will much strengthen the party of the fugitive nobility. they charged narbonne with getting them off; but i do not know how the movement was guessed. a visit of the same nature as we experienced at versailles in october was projected upon them, but they happily got out by one door while the mob rushed in by another. just think of the crosses! not a vehicle was at hand though three had been ordered to be ready. they had to go to meudon from bellevue on foot. "they found carriages there and made the start. three hours afterwards, tremendous uproar in paris: those who went to stop the flight found the nest warm but empty. next day the press fairly howled: marat said that they were carrying away millions; desmoulins that they were taking the dauphin. nothing of the sort: the two poor ladies had a few hundred thousand francs in their purses, and had enough to take care of without burdening themselves with a boy who might bring about their recognition. the proof was that they were recognized, without him, first at a place where they were let go through, and then at arnay, where they were arrested. i had to write to the assembly to get them passed, and spite of my letter the assembly debated all day. however, they were authorized to continue their journey but on condition that the committee of the house should present a bill against quitting the kingdom." "yes," said charny, "but i understood, that, in spite of a magnificent speech from mirabeau, the assembly rejected the proposition." "true, it was thrown out: but beside this slight triumph was great humiliation for me. when the excitement was noticed over the departure of the two ladies, a few devoted friends, more than you may believe being left to me, count--some hundreds of noblemen hastened to the tuileries and offered me their lives. the report was immediately spread that a conspiracy was discovered to spirit me away. lafayette, who had been gulled into going to the bastile under a story that an attempt to rebuild it was under way, came back here furious at the hoax, and entered with sword and bayonet!--my poor friends were seized and disarmed. pistols were found on some, stilettos on others, each having snatched up at home any weapon handy. but the day is written down in history as that of the knights of the dagger!" "oh, sire, in what dreadful times do we live," said charny, shaking his head. "yes, and mirabeau perhaps dying, maybe dead at present speaking." "the more reason to hasten out of this cauldron." "just what we have decided on. have you arranged with bouille? i hope he is strong enough now. the opportunity was presented and i reinforced him." "yes, sire: but the war minister has crossed your orders; the saxon hussars have drawn from him, and the swiss regiments refused. he had trouble to keep the bouillon foot at montmedy fort." "does he doubt now?" "no sire, but there are so many chances less. what matters? in these dashes one must reckon on luck, and we still have ninety per cent of chances. the question is if your majesty holds to the chalons route although the posting at varennes is doubtful?" "bouille already knows my reasons for the preference." "that is why i have minutely mapped out the route." "the route-chart is a marvel of clearness, my dear count. i know the road as though i had myself travelled it." "i have the following directions to add----" "let me look at them by the map." and he unfolded on the table a map drawn by hand with every natural feature laid in. it was a work of eight months. the two stooped over the paper. "sire, the real danger begins at st. menehould and ceases at stenay. on those eighteen leagues must be stationed the soldiers." "could they not be brought nearer paris--say, up to chalons?" "it is difficult," was the response. "chalons is too strong a place for even a hundred men to do anything efficacious to your safety if menaced. besides, bouille does not answer for anything beyond st. menehould. all he can do is set his first troops at sommevelle bridge. that is the first post beyond chalons." "what time will it take?" "the king can go from paris to montmedy in thirty-six hours." "what have you decided about the relay of horses at varennes? where we must be certain not to want for them; it is most important." "i have investigated the spot and decided to place the horses on the other side of the little town. it will be better to dash through, coming full speed from clermont, and change horses five hundred paces from the bridge, guarded and defended if signalled by three or four men." charny gave the king a paper. it was bouille's arrangement of the stations of the troops along the road for the royal escape. the cover would be that the soldiers were waiting to convoy some money sent by the war minister. "everything has been foreseen," said the king delightedly. "but talking of money, do you know whether bouille has received the million i sent him?" "yes, but as assignats are below par, he would lose twenty per cent on the gross amount, only for a faithful subject of your majesty who cashed, as if gold, a hundred thousand crowns' worth." "and the rest?" inquired the king, eyeing the speaker. "count bouille got his banker to take it; so that there will be no lack of the sinews of war." "i thank you, my lord count," said the sovereign. "i should like to know the name of the faithful servitor who perhaps lessened his cash by giving the sum to bouille." "he is rich and consequently there was no merit in what he did. the only condition he put in doing the act was to have his name kept back." "still you know him?" "yes, i know who it is." "then, lord charny," said the monarch with the hearty dignity which he sometimes showed, as he took a ring off his finger, "here is a jewel very dear to me. i took it off the finger of my dying father when his hand was chill in death. its value is therefore that which i attach to it; it has no other; but for a soul which understands me, it will be more precious than the finest diamond. repeat to the faithful servitor what i say, my lord, and give him this gem from me." charny's bosom heaved as he dropped on one knee to receive the ring from the royal hand. at this juncture the door opened. the king turned sharply, for a door to open thus was worse than infraction of etiquette; it was an insult only to be excused by great necessity. it was the queen, pale and holding a paper. she let it drop with a cry of astonishment at seeing count charny at the feet of her consort. the noble rose and saluted the lady, who faltered: "charny here, in the king's rooms, in the tuileries!" and she said to herself: "without my knowing it!" there was such sorrow in the tone that charny guessed the reason and took two steps towards her. "i have just arrived and i was going to crave the king's permission for me to pay my respects to your majesty," he said. the blood reappeared on her cheeks; she had not heard that voice for a long while and the sweet tone charmed her ears. she held out both hands towards him but brought back one upon her heart from its beating too violently. charny noticed all this although in the short space required for the king to pick up the paper, which the draft from the door had floated to the side of the room. the king read without understanding. "what is the meaning of the word 'flee' three times written, and the fragment of a signature?" inquired he. "sire, it seems that mirabeau died ten minutes ago, and that is the advice he sends you." "it is good advice," returned the king, "and this time the instant to put it into execution has come." the queen looked at them both, and said to the count: "follow me, my lord." chapter viii. the husband's promise. the queen sank upon a divan when she had arrived within her own apartments, making a sign for charny to close the door. scarcely was she seated before her heart overflowed and she burst into sobs. they were so sincere and forcible that they went down into the depths of charny's heart and sought for his former love. such passions burning in a man never completely die out unless from one of those dreadful shocks which turn love to loathing. he was in that strange dilemma which they will appreciate who have stood in the same: between old love and the new. he loved his wife with all the pity in his bosom and he pitied the queen with all his soul. he could not help feeling regret and giving words of consolation. but he saw that reproach pierced through this sobbing; that recrimination came to light among the tears, reminding him of the exactions of this love, the absolute will, the regal despotism mingled with the expressions of tenderness and proofs of passion; he steeled himself against the exactions and took up arms against the despotism, entering into the strife against the will. he compared all this with andrea's sweet, unalterable countenance, and preferred the statue, though he believed it to be of snow, to this glowing bronze, heated from the furnace, ever ready to dart from its eyes the lightnings of love, pride and jealousy. this time the queen wept without saying anything. it was more than eight months since she had seen him. before this, for two or three years she had believed that they could not separate without their hearts breaking. her only consolation had been that he was working for her sake in doing some deed for the king. but it was a weak consolation. she wept for the sake of relief, for her pent-up tears would have choked her if she had not poured them forth. was it joy or pain that held her silent? both, perhaps, for many mighty emotions dissolve in tears. with more love even than respect, charny went up to her, took one of her hands away from her face and said as he applied his lips to it: "madam, i am proud and happy to say that not an hour has been without toil for you since i went hence." "oh, charny," retorted the queen, "there was a time when you might have been less busy on my account but you would have thought the more of me." "i was charged by the king with grave responsibility, which imposed the more strict silence until the business was accomplished. it is done at present. i can see and speak with you now, but i might not write a letter up to this period." "it is a fine sample of loyalty, and i regret that it should be performed at the expense of another sentiment, george," she said with melancholy. she pressed his hand tenderly, while eyeing him with that gaze for which once he would have flung away the life still at her service. she noticed that he was not the courier dusty and bloody from spurring, but the courtier spic and span according to the rules of the royal household. this complete attire visibly fretted the woman while it must have satisfied the exacting queen. "where do you come from?" she asked. "montmedy, in postchaise." "half across the kingdom, and you are spruce, brushed and dandified like one of lafayette's aid-de-camps. were the news you brought so unimportant as to let you dally at the toilet table?" "very important; but i feared that if i stepped out of the mud be-splattered postchaise in the palace yard, all disordered with travel, suspicion would be roused; the king had told me that you are closely guarded, and that made me congratulate myself on walking in, clad in my naval uniform like an officer coming to present his devoirs after a week or two on leave." she squeezed his hand convulsively, having a question to put the harder to frame as it appeared so far from important. "i forgot that you had a paris house. of course you dropped in at coq-heron street, where the countess is keeping house?" charny was ready to spring away like a high-mettled steed spurred in the raw; but there was so much hesitation and pain in her words that he had to pity one so haughty for suffering so much and for showing her feelings though she was so strong-minded. "madam," he replied, with profound sadness not wholly caused by her pain, "i thought i had stated before my departure that the countess of charny's residence is not mine. i stopped at my brother isidore's to change my dress." the queen uttered a cry of joy and slid down on her knees, carrying his hand to her lips, but he caught her up in both arms and exclaimed: "oh, what are you doing?" "i thank you--ask me not for what! do you ask me for what? for the only moment of thorough delight i have felt since your departure. god knows this is folly, and foolish jealousy, but it is most worthy of pity. you were jealous once, though you forget it. oh, you men are happy when you are jealous, because you can fight with your rivals and kill or be slain; but we women can only weep, though we perceive that our tears are useless if not dangerous. for our tears part us from our beloved rather than wash us nearer; our grief is the vertigo of love--it hurls us towards the abyss which we see without avail. i thank you again, george; you see that i am happy anew and weep no more." she tried to laugh; but in her repining she had forgotten how to be merry, and the tone was so sad and doleful that the count shuddered. "be blessed, o god!" she said, "for he would not have the power to love me from the day when he pities me." charny felt he was dragged down a steep where in time he would be in the impossibility of checking himself. he made an effort to stop, like those skaters who lean back on their heels at the risk of breaking through the ice. "will you not permit me to offer the fruit of my long absence by explaining what i have been happy to do for your sake?" he said. "oh, charny, i like better to have things as i said just now; but you are right: the woman must not too long forget she is a queen. speak, ambassador, the woman has obtained all she had a right to claim--the queen listens." the count related how he had surveyed the way for the flight of the royal family, and how all was ready. she listened with deep attention and fervent gratitude. it seemed to her that mere devotion could not go so far; that it must be ardent and unquiet love to foresee such obstacles and invent the means to cope with and overcome them. "so you are quite happy to save me?" she asked at the end, regarding him with supreme affection. "oh, can you ask me that? it is the dream of my ambition, and it will be the glory of my life if i attain it." "i would rather it were simply the reward of your love," replied marie antoinette with melancholy. "but let that pass! you ardently desire this great deed of the rescue of the royal family to be performed by you?" "i await but your consent to set aside my life to it." "i understand it, my dear one," said the sovereign: "your dedication ought to be free from all alien sentiment, and material affection. it is impossible that my husband and our children should be saved by a hand which would not dare to be stretched out towards them if they slipped on the road we are to travel in company. i place their lives and mine in your custody, as to a brother: but you will feel some pity for me?" "pity?" "you cannot wish that in one of those crises when one needs all courage, patience and coolness, a mad idea of mine--for in the night one may see the specters which would not frighten in the day--you cannot wish that all should fail because i had not your promise that you loved me?" "lady," interrupted charny, "above all i aim at your majesty's bliss: that of france; the glory of achieving the task i have begun; and i confess that i am sorry the sacrifice i make is so slight; but i swear not to see the countess of charny without your majesty's permission." coldly and respectfully saluting the monarch's consort, he retired without her trying to detain him, so chilled was she by his tone. hardly had he shut the door after him, than she wrung her hands and ruefully moaned: "oh, rather that he made the vow not to see me, but loved me as he loves her!" chapter ix. off and away. spite of all precautions, or perhaps because they necessitated changes in the usual order of things, suspicion was engendered in paris by the plot at the palace. lafayette went straight to the king, who mocked at his half-accusations: bailly sent a denunciatory letter to the queen, having become quite courteous, not to say a courtier. about nine in the night of the th of june, two persons were conversing in the sitting-room of the countess of charny, in coq-heron street. she was apparently calm but was deeply moved, as she spoke with isidore, who wore a courier's dress. it was composed of a buff leather riding jacket, tight breeches of buckskin and top-boots, and he carried a hunting-sword. his round laced hat was held in his hand. "but in short, viscount, since your brother has been two months and a half in town, why has he not come here?" she persisted. "he has sent me very often for news of your health." "i know that, and i am grateful to both of you; but it seems to me that he ought to come to say good-bye if he is going on another journey." "of course, my lady, but it is impossible; so he has charged me to do that." "is the journey to be a long one?" "i am ignorant." "i said 'yours' because it looks from your equipment that you are going too." "i shall probably leave town this midnight." "do you accompany your brother or go by another route?" "i believe we take the same." "will you tell him you have seen me?" "yes, my lady: for he would not forgive me omitting to perform the errand of asking after you, judging by the solicitude he put in charging me, and the reiterated instructions he gave me." she ran her hands over her eyes, sighed, and said after short meditation: "viscount, as a nobleman, you will comprehend the reach of the question i am putting; answer as you would were i really your sister; as you would to heaven. in the journey he undertakes, does my lord charny run any serious danger?" "who can tell where no danger is or is not in these times?" evasively responded young charny. "on the morning of the day when my brother valence was struck down, he would have surely answered no, if he had been asked if he stood in peril. yet he was laid low in death by the morrow. at present, danger leaps up from the ground, and we face death without knowing whence it came and without calling it." andrea turned pale and said, "there is danger of death, then? you think so if you do not say it." "i think, lady, that if you have something important to tell my brother, the enterprise we are committed to is serious enough to make you charge me by word of mouth or writing with your wish or thought to be transmitted to him." "it is well: viscount, i ask five minutes," said the countess, rising. with the mechanical, slow step habitual to her, she went into her room, of which she shut the door. the young gentleman looked at his watch with uneasiness. "a quarter past nine, and the king expects me at half after," he muttered: "luckily it is but a step to the palace." but the countess did not take the time she had stated; in a few seconds she returned with a sealed letter, and said with solemnity, "viscount, i entrust this to your honor." isidore stretched out his hand to take it. "stay, and clearly understand what i am telling you," said andrea: "if your brother count fulfills the undertaking, there is nothing to be said to him beyond what i stated--sympathy for his loyalty, respect for his devotion and admiration for his character. if he be wounded"--here her voice faltered--"badly hurt, you will ask the favor for me to join him, whereupon you will send a messenger who can conduct me straight to him for i shall start directly. if he be mortally injured--" here emotion checked her voice: "hand him this note; if he cannot read it, read it to him, for i want him to know this before he dies. your pledge as a nobleman to do this, my lord?" "on my honor," replied isidore, as much affected as the speaker. he kissed her hand and went out. "oh, if he should die, i must have him know that i love him!" at the same time as he quitted his sister-in-law's and thrust the letter in his breast, beside another of which he had read the address by the light of a street lamp, two men, dressed just like himself, were ushered into the queen's boudoir, but by different ways. these two did not know each other but judging that the same business thus arrayed them they bowed to one another. immediately another door still opened and in walked viscount charny, the third outrider, who was as unknown to the other two, malden and valory, royal lifeguardsmen, as they, it happened, to each other. isidore alone knew the aim of their being brought together, and the common design. no doubt he would have replied to the inquiries they were going to put but the door opened and louis xvi. appeared. "gentlemen," said he to malden and valory, "excuse me disposing of you without your permission but you belonged to my guards and i hold you to be faithful servitors of the crown; so i suggested your going to a certain tailor's and trying one courier's costume which you would find there and be at the palace at half-past nine this evening. your presence proves that you accept the errand with which i have to charge you." the two guardsmen bowed. "sire," said valory, "your majesty was fully aware that he had no need to consult his gentlemen about laying down their lives on his behalf." "sire, my brother-soldier answers for me in answering for himself, and i presume for our third companion," said malden. "your third companion, gentlemen, is an acquaintance good to form, being viscount charny, whose brother was slain defending the queen's door at versailles; we are habituated to the devotion of members of his family, so that we do not thank them for it." "according to this," went on valory, "my lord of charny would know the motive of our gathering, while we are ignorant and eager to learn." "gentlemen," said the king, "you know that i am a prisoner to the national guard, the assembly, the mayor of paris, the mob, to anybody who is for the time being the master. i rely on you to help me shake off this humiliation, and recover my liberty. my fate, that of the queen and of our children, rests in your hands: all is ready for me to make away to-night; will you undertake to get me out of this place?" "give the orders, my lord," said the three young men. "you will understand that we cannot go forth together. we are to meet at the corner of st. nicaise street, where count charny awaits us with a hired carriage. you, viscount, will take care of the queen, and use the name of melchior; you, malden, under the name of jean, escort lady elizabeth and the princess royal; you, valory, guard lady tourzel and the dauphin; they will call you françois. do not forget your new names and await further instructions." he gave his hand all round to them and went out, leaving three men ready to die for him. he went to dress, while the queen and the others were also attiring themselves plainly, with large hats to conceal their faces. louis put on a plain grey suit with short breeches, grey stockings and buckled shoes. for the week past his valet hue had gone in and out in a similar dress so as to get the sentinels used to the sight. he went out by the private door of lord villequier, who had fled the country six months before. in provision of this flight, a room of his quarters had been set aside on the eleventh of the month. here were the queen and the others assembled. this flat was believed uninhabited; the king had the keys: and the sentries at about eleven were accustomed to see a number of the servants, who did not sleep on the premises, quit the palace in a flock. isidore charny, who had been over the road with his brother, would ride on ahead; he would get the postboys ready so that no delay would be incurred. malden and valory, on the driver's box, were to pay the postillions, who were given extra money as the carriage for the journey was a specially built one and very heavy from having to carry so many persons. count charny was to ride inside, ready for all emergencies; he would be well armed, like the three outriders; a pair of pistols for each were to be in the vehicle. at a fair pace they reckoned to be at chalons in thirteen hours. all promised to obey the instructions settled between charny and the count of choiseul. lights were blown out and all groped their way at midnight into villequier's rooms. but the door by which they ought to have passed straightway, was locked. the king had to go to his smithy for keys and a pick-lock. when he opened the door, he looked round triumphantly in the light of a little night-lamp. "i will not say that a locksmith's art is not good sometimes," said the queen; "but it is also well to be the king at others." they had to regulate the order of the sallying forth. lady elizabeth led, with the princess royal. at twenty paces she was followed by lady tourzel and the dauphin. malden came on behind to run to their succor. the children stepped on tiptoe and trembling, with love before and behind them, to enter the ring of glare from the lamps with reflector, lighting the palace doors at the courtyard, but they passed before the sentinel without his appearing to trouble about them. at the carrousel gate, the sentinel turned his back and they could easily pass. had he recognized the illustrious fugitives? they believed so, and sent him a thousand blessings. on the farther side of the wicket they perceived charny's uneasy face. he was wearing a large blue coat with cape, called a garrick from the english actor having made it popular, and his head was covered with a tarpaulin hat. "thank god, you have got through," he said, "what about the king, and the queen?" "they follow us," said lady elizabeth. "come," said he, leading them to the hack in st. nicaise street. another was beside theirs, and its driver might be a spy; so malden jumped into it and ordered the man to drive him to the opera-house as if he were a servant going to join his master there. scarcely had he driven off before the others saw a plain sort of fellow in a gray suit, with his hat cocked over his nose and his hands in his pocket, saunter out of the same gate as had given passage to lady elizabeth, like a clerk who was strolling home after his work was over. this was the king, attended by valory. charny went up to meet them; for he had recognized valory, and not the king. he was one of those who always wish to see a king kinglike. he sighed with pain, almost with shame, as he murmured: "come, sire, come. where is the queen?" he asked of valory. "coming with your brother." "good; take the shortest road and wait for us at st. martin's gate; i will go by the longer way round; we meet at the coach." both arrived at the rendezvous and waited half an hour for the queen. we shall not try to paint the fugitives' anxiety; charny, on whom the whole responsibility fell, was like a maniac. he wanted to go back and make inquiries, but the king restrained him. the little prince wept and cried for his mother. his sister and the two ladies could not console him. their terror doubled when they saw lafayette's carriage dash by, surrounded by soldiers, some bearing torches. when at the palace gates, viscount charny wanted to turn to the left; the queen, on his arm, stopped him and said that the count was waiting at the waterside gate of the tuileries. she was so sure of what she asserted that doubt entered his mind. "be very careful, lady, for any error may be deadly to us," he said. "i heard him say by the waterside," she repeated. so he let her drag him through three courtyards, separated by thick walls and with chains at each opening, which should have been guarded by sentinels. they had to scramble through the gaps and clamber over the chains. not one of the watchers had the idea of saying anything to them. how could they believe that a buxom woman in such dress as a housemaid would wear and climbing over the chains on the arm of a strapping young chap in livery, was the queen of the french? on arriving at the water's edge they found it deserted. "he must mean the other side of the river," said the crazed queen. isidore wanted to return but he said as if in a vertigo: "no, no, there it is!" she drew him upon the royal bridge which they crossed to find the other shore as blank as the nigher one. "let us look up this street," said she. she forced isidore to go up the ferry street a little. at the end of a hundred paces she owned she was wrong, but she stopped, panting; her powers almost fled her. "now, take me where you will," she said. "courage, my lady," said isidore. "it is not courage i lack so much as strength. oh, heaven, will i never get my breath again," she gasped. isidore paused, for he knew that the second wind she panted was necessary to her as to the hunted deer. "take breath, madam," he said: "we have time, for my brother would wait till daylight for your sake." "then you believe that he loves me?" she exclaimed rashly as quickly while pressing his arm against her breast. "i believe that his life is yours as mine is, and that the feeling in others which is love and respect becomes adoration in him." "thanks," she said, "that does me good! i breathe again. on, on!" with a feverish step, she retraced the path they had gone and they went out by the small gate of the carrousel. the large open space was till midnight covered with stalls and prowling cabs. but it was now deserted and gloomy. suddenly they heard a great din of carriages and horses. they saw a light: no doubt the flambeaux accompanying the vehicles. isidore wanted to keep in the dark but the queen pressed forward. he dragged her into the depths of the gateway but the torchlight flooded this cave with its beams. in the middle of the escort of cavalry, half reclining in a carriage, in his costume of general of the national guards, was marquis lafayette. as it whizzed by, isidore felt an arm, strong with will if not real power, elbow him aside. it was the queen's left arm, while with a cane in her right hand she struck the carriage wheels. "a fig for you, jailer!" she said. "i am out of your prison!" "what are you doing, and what are you risking?" ejaculated the viscount. "i am taking my revenge," said the silly victim of spite, "and one may risk a good deal for that." behind the last torch-bearer she bounded along, radiant as a goddess, and gleeful as a child. chapter x. on the highway. the queen had not taken ten paces beyond the gateway before a man in a blue garrick and with his face hidden by a tarpaulin hat, caught her convulsively by the arm and dragged her to a hackney coach stationed at the st. nicaise corner: it was count charny. they expected to see the queen come up, after this half hour of delay, dying, downcast and prostrated, but they saw her merry and gladsome; the cut of the cane which she had given a carriage-wheel and fancied was on the rider, had made her forget her fatigue, her blunder, her obstinacy, the lost time and the consequences of the delay. charny pointed out a saddled horse which a servant was holding at a little distance to his brother who mounted and dashed ahead to pioneer the way. he would have to get the horses ready at bondy. seeing him go, the queen uttered some words of thanks which he did not hear. "let us be off, madam; we have not one second to lose," said charny, with that firmness of will mixed with respect which great men take for grand occasions. the queen entered the hackney-coach, where were five already, the king, lady elizabeth, the princess royal, her brother and lady tourzel. she had to sit at the back with her son on her lap, with the king beside her: the two ladies and the girl were on the front seat. fortunately the hackney carriages, old family coaches, were roomy in those days. charny got upon the box and to avert suspicion, turned the horses round and had them driven to the gate circuitously. their special conveyance was waiting for them there, on the side-road leading to the ditch. this part was lonesome. the traveling carriage had the door open, and malden and valory were on the steps. in an instant the six travelers were out on the road. charny drove the hack to the ditch and upset it in it, before returning to the party. they were inside; malden got up behind; valory joined charny on the box. the four horses went off at a rattling good pace as a quarter past one sounded from the church clock. in an hour they were at bondy, where isidore had better teams ready. he saw the royal coach come up. charny got down to get inside as had been settled; but lady tourzel, who was to be sent back to town alone, had not been consulted. with all her profound devotion to the royal family, she was unalterable on points of court etiquette. she stated that her duty was to look after the royal children, whom she was bound not to quit for a single instant unless by the king's express order, or the queen's; but there being no precedent of a queen having ordered the royal governess away from her charges, she would not go. the queen quivered with impatience, for she doubly wished charny in the vehicle, as a lover who would make it pleasanter and as a queen, as he would guard her. louis did not dare pronounce on the grave question. he tried to get out of the dilemma by a side-issue. lady tourzel stood ready to yield to the king's command but he dared not command her, so strong are the minutest regulations in the courtly-bred. "arrange anyway you like, count," said the fretful queen, "only you must be with us." "i will follow close to the carriage, like a simple servant," he replied: "i will return to town to get a horse by the one my brother came therefrom, and changing my dress i will join you at full speed." "is there no other means?" said marie antoinette in despair. "i see none," remarked the king. lady tourzel took her seat triumphantly and the stage-coach started off. the importance of this discussion had made them forget to serve out the firearms which went back to paris in the hack. by daybreak, which was three o'clock, they changed horses at meaux where the king was hungry. they brought their own provisions in the boot of the coach, cold veal and bread and wine, which charny had seen to. but there were no knives and forks and the king had to carve with "jean," that is, malden's hunting-knife. during this, the queen leaned out to see if charny were returning. "what are you thinking of, madam?" inquired the king, who had found the two guards would not take refreshment. "that lafayette is in a way at this hour," replied the lady. but nothing showed that their departure had been seen. valory said that all would go well. "cheer up!" he said, as he got upon the box with malden and off they rolled again. at eight o'clock they reached the foot of a long slope where the king had all get out to walk up. scattered over the road, the pretty children romping and playing, the sister resting on her brother's arm and smiling: the pensive women looking backward, and all lit up by the june sun while the forest flung a transparent shade upon the highway--they seemed a family going home to an old manor to resume a regular and peaceful life and not a king and queen of france fleeing from the throne which would be converted into their scaffold. an accident was soon to stir up the dormant passions in the bosoms of the party. the queen suddenly stopped as though her feet had struck root. a horseman appeared a quarter-league away, wrapped in the cloud of dust which his horse's hoofs threw up. marie antoinette dared not say: "it is count charny!" but she did exclaim, "news from paris!" everybody turned round except the dauphin who was chasing a butterfly--compared with its capture the news from the capital little mattered. being shortsighted, the king drew a small spy-glass from his pocket. "i believe it is only lord charny," he said. "yes, it is he," said the queen. "go on," said the other: "he will catch up to us and we have no time to lose." the queen dared not suggest that the news might be of value. it was only a few seconds at stake anyhow, for the rider galloped up as fast as his horse could go. he stared as he came up for he could not understand why the party should be scattered all over the road. he arrived as the huge vehicle stopped at the top of the ridge to take up the passengers. it was indeed charny as the queen's heart and the king's eyes had told them. he was now wearing a green riding coat with flap collar, a broad brimmed hat with steel buckle, white waistcoat, tight buckskin breeches, and high boots reaching above the knee. his usually dead white complexion was animated by the ride and sparks of the same flame which reddened his cheeks shot from his eyes. he looked like a conqueror as he rushed along; the queen thought she had never seen him look handsomer. she heaved a deep sigh as the horseman leaped off his horse and saluted the king. turning, he bowed to the queen. all grouped themselves round him, except two guardsmen who stood aloof in respect. "come near, gentlemen," said the king: "what news count charny brings concerns us all." "to begin with, all goes well," said charny: "at two in the morning none suspected our flight." they breathed easier: the questions were multiplied. he related that he had entered the town and been stopped by a patrol of volunteers who however became convinced that the king was still in the palace. he entered his own room and changed his dress: the aid of lafayette who first had a doubt, had become calm and dismissed extra guards. he had returned on the same horse from the difficulty of getting a fresh one so early. it almost foundered, poor beast, but he reached bondy upon it. there he took a fresh one and continued his ride with nothing alarming along the road. the queen found that such good news deserved the favor of her extending her hand to the bearer; he kissed it respectfully, and she turned pale. was it from joy that he had returned, or with sorrow that he did not press it? when the vehicle started off, charny rode by the side. at the next relay house all was ready except a saddle horse for the count which isidore had not foreseen the want of. there would be delay for one to be found. the vehicle went off without him, but he overtook it in five minutes. it was settled that he should follow and not escort it. still he kept close enough for the queen to see him if she put her head out of the window and thus he exchanged a few words with the illustrious couple when the pace allowed it. charny changed horses at montmirail and was dashing on thinking it had a good start of him when he almost ran into it. it had been pulled up from a trace breaking. he dismounted and found a new leather in the boot, filled with repairing stuff. the two guardsmen profited by the halt to ask for their weapons, but the king opposed their having them. on the objection that the vehicle might be stopped he replied that he would not have blood spilt on his account. they lost half an hour by this mishap, when seconds were priceless. they arrived at chalons by two o'clock. "all will go well if we reach chalons without being stopped," the king had said. here the king showed himself for a moment. in the crowd around the huge conveyance two men watched him with sustained attention. one of them suddenly went away while the other came up. "sire, you will wreck all if you show yourself thus," he said. "make haste, you lazybones," he cried to the postboys: "this is a pretty way to serve those who pay you handsomely." he set to work, aiding the hostlers. it was the postmaster. at last the horses were hooked on and the postboys in their saddles and boots. the first tried to start his pair when they went clean off their feet. they got them up and all clear again, when the second span went off their feet! this time the postboy was caught under them. charny, who was looking on in silence, seized hold of the man and dragged him out of his heavy boots, remaining under the horse. "what kind of horses have you given us?" demanded he of the postinghouse master. "the best i had in," replied the man. the horses were so entangled with the traces that the more they pulled at them the worse the snarl became. charny flew down to the spot. "unbuckle and take off everything," he said, "and harness up afresh. we shall get on quicker so." the postmaster lent a hand in the work, cursing with desperation. meanwhile the other man, who had been looking on had run to the mayor, whom he told that the royal family were in a coach passing through the town. luckily the official was far from being a republican and did not care to take any responsibility on himself. instead of making the assertion sure, he shilly-shallied so that time was lost and finally arrived as the coach disappeared round the corner. but more than twenty minutes had been frittered away. alarm was in the royal party; the queen thought that the downfall of the two pair of horses were akin to the four candles going out one after another which she had taken to portend the death of herself, her husband and their two children. still, on getting out of the town, she and the king and his sister had all exclaimed: "we are saved!" but, a hundred paces beyond, a man shouted in at the window: "your measures are badly taken--you will be arrested!" the queen screamed but the man jumped into the hedge and was lost to sight. happily they were but four leagues from sommevelle bridge, where choiseul and forty hussars were to be posted. but it was three in the afternoon and they were nearly four hours late. chapter xi. the queen's hairdresser. on the morning of the twenty-first of june, the count of choiseul, who had notified the king that he could wait no longer but must pick up his detachments along the road and fall back towards bouille, who was also at the end of his patience, was told that a messenger from the queen was at last at his house in paris. it was leonard the queen's hairdresser. he was a favorite who enjoyed immense credit at the court, but the duke could wish for a more weighty confidant. but how could the queen go into exile without the artist who alone could build up her hair into one of those towers which caused her to be the envy of her sex and the stupefaction of the sterner one? he was wearing a round hat pulled down to his eyes and an enormous "wraprascal," which he explained were property of his brother. the queen, in confiding to him her jewels, had ordered him to disguise himself, and placed himself under the command of choiseul. not only verbal was this direction but in a note which the duke read and burned. he ordered a cab to be made ready. when the servant reported it at the door, he said to the hairdresser: "come, my dear leonard." "but where?" "a little way out of town where your art is required." "but the diamonds?" "bring them along." "but my brother will come home and see i have taken his best hat and overcoat--he will wonder what has become of me." "let him wonder! did not the queen bid you obey me as herself?" "true, but lady ange will be expecting me to do up her hair. nobody can make anything of her scanty wisp but me, and----" "lady ange must wait till her hair grows again." without paying farther heed to his lamentations, the lord forced him into his cab and the horse started off at a fast gait. when they stopped to renew the horse, he believed they were going to the world's end, though the duke confessed that their destination was the frontier. at montmirail they were to pass the balance of the night, and indeed at the inn beds were ready. leonard began to feel better, in pride at having been chosen for such an important errand. at eleven they reached sommevelle bridge, where choiseul got out to put on his uniform. his hussars had not yet arrived. leonard watched his preparations, particularly his freshening the pistol primings, with sharp disquiet and heaved sighs which touched the hearer. "it is time to let you into the truth, leonard; you are true to your masters so you may as well know that they will be here in a couple of hours. the king, the queen, lady elizabeth, and the royal children. you know what dangers they were running, and dangers they are running still, but in two hours they will be saved. i am awaiting a hussar detachment to be brought by lieut. goguelat. we will have dinner and take our time over it." but they heard the bugle and the hussars arrived. goguelat brought six blank royal warrants and the order from bouille for choiseul to be obeyed like himself by all military officers, whatever their ranking seniority. the horses were hobbled, wine and eatables served out to the troopers and choiseuil sat at table. not that the lieutenant's news was good. he had found ferment everywhere along the road. for more than a year rumors of the king's flight had circulated as well in the country as in town, and the stationing of the soldiers had aroused talk. in one township the village church bells had sounded the alarm. this was calculated to dull even a choiseuil's appetite. so he got up from the board in an hour, as the clock struck half after twelve, and leaving lieut. boudet to rule the troop of horse, he went out on a hill by the town entrance which commanded a good view. every five minutes he pulled out his watch, and, each time, leonard groaned: "oh, my poor masters, they will not come. something bad has happened them." his despair added to the duke's disquiet. three o'clock came without any tidings. it will be remembered that this was the hour when the king left chalons. while choiseul was fretting, fatality, unless cagliostro had a hand in it, was preparing an event which had much to do with influencing the drama in course of performance. a few days before, some peasants on the duchess of elboeuf's estate, near sommevelle bridge, had refused payment of some unredeemable taxes. they were threatened with the sheriff calling in the military; but the federation business had done its work and the inhabitants of the neighborhood vowed to make common cause with their brothers of the plow and came armed to resist the process-servers. on seeing the hussars ride in, the clowns thought that they were here for this purpose. so they sent runners to the surrounding villages and at three o'clock the alarm-bells were booming all over the country. choiseul went back on hearing this and found lieut. boudet uneasy. threats were heard against the hussars who were the best hated corps in the army. the crowd bantered them and sang a song at them which was made for the occasion: "than the hussars there is no worse, but we don't care for them a curse!" other persons, better informed or keener, began to whisper that the cavalry were here not to execute a writ on the elboeuf tillers but to wait for the king and queen coming through. meanwhile four o'clock struck without any courier with intelligence. the count put leonard in his cab with the diamonds, and sent him on to varennes, with order to say all he could to the commanders of each military troop on the road. to calm the agitation he informed the mob that he and his company were there not to assist the sheriff, but to guard a treasure which the war minister was sending along. this word "treasure," with its double meaning, confirmed suspicions on one side while allaying irritability on the other. in a short time he saw that his men were so outnumbered and as hedged in that they could do nothing in such a mass, and would have been powerless to protect the royal family if they came then. his orders were to "act so that the king's carriage should pass without hindrance," while his presence was becoming an obstacle instead of protection. even had the king came up he had better be out of the way. indeed his departure would remove the block from the highway. but he needed an excuse for the going. the postmaster was there among half-a-dozen leading citizens whom a word would turn into active foes. he was close to choiseul who inquired: "my friend, did you hear anything about this military money-chest coming through?" "this very morning," replied the man, "the stage-coach came along for metz with a hundred thousand crowns; two gendarmes rode with it." "you don't say so?" cried the nobleman, amazed at luck so befriending him. "it is so true that i was one of the escort," struck in a gendarme. "then the minister preferred that way of transmitting the cash," said choiseul, turning to his lieutenant, quietly, "and we were sent only as a blind to highwaymen. as we are no longer needed, i think we can be off. boot and saddle, my men!" the troop marched out with trumpets sounding and the count at the head as the clock struck half-past five. he branched off the road to avoid st. menehould, where great hubbub was reported to prevail. at this very instant, isidore charny, spurring and whipping a horse which had taken two hours to cover four leagues, dashed up to the posthouse to get another; asking about a squad of hussars he was told that it had marched slowly out of the place a quarter of an hour before; leaving orders about the horses for the carriage, he rode off at full speed of the fresh steed, hoping to overtake the count. choiseul had taken the side road precisely as isidore arrived at the post, so that the viscount never met him. chapter xii. mischance. ten minutes after young charny rode out, the king's coach rumbled in. as the duke had foreseen, the crowd had dissolved almost completely. knowing that a detachment of soldiery was to be at sommevelle, charny had thought he need not linger and had galloped beside the door, urging on the postillions and keeping them up to the hand-gallop. on arriving and seeing neither choiseul nor the escort, the king stuck his head out of the window. "for mercy's sake, do not show yourself," said charny; "let me inquire." in five minutes he returned from the postinghouse where he had learnt all, and he repeated it to the monarch. they understood that the count had withdrawn to leave the road open. no doubt he had fallen back on st. menehould where they ought to hasten to find him with the hussars and dragoons. "what am i to do?" asked charny as they were about to proceed again; "does the queen order me to go ahead or ride in the rear?" "do not leave me," said the queen. he bowed, and rode by the carriage side. during this time isidore rode on, gaining on the vehicle, and fearing that the people of st. menehould would also take umbrage at having the soldiers in their town. he was not wrong. the first thing he perceived there was a goodly number of national guards scattered about the streets; they were the first seen since he left the capital. the whole town seemed in a stir and on the opposite side, drums were beating. he dashed through the streets without appearing to notice the tumult: crossing the square he stopped at the postinghouse. on a bench in the square he noticed a dozen dragoons not in their helmets but fatigue caps, sitting at ease. up at a ground floor window lounged marquis dandoins in undress, also, with a riding whip in his hand. isidore passed without seeming to look, presuming that the captain would recognize the royal courier by his uniform and not need any other hint. at the posthouse was a young man whose hair was cut short in the emperor titus fashion which the patriots adopted in the period: he wore his beard all round the lower face from ear to ear. he was in a dressing gown. "what do you want?" challenged the black-whiskered man, seeing that the new-comer was looking round. "to speak to the postmaster." "he is out just now, but i am his son, jean baptiste drouet. if i can replace him, speak." he had emphasized his name as though he fore-felt that it would take a place on the historic page. "i want six horses for two carriages coming after me." drouet nodded to show that he would fulfill the order and walked into the stable yard, calling out: "turn out there! six horses for carriages and a nag for the courier." at this nick marquis dandoins hurriedly came up to isidore. "you are preceding the king's coach, i suppose?" he questioned. "yes, my lord, and i am surprised to see that you and your men are not in the battle array." "we have not been notified; besides, very ugly manifestations have been made around us; attempts to make my men mutiny. what am i to do?" "why, as the king passes, guard the vehicle, act as circumstances dictate, and start off half an hour after the royal family to guard the rear." but he interrupted himself saying: "hush, we are spied. perhaps we have been overheard. get away to your squadron and do all you can to keep your men steadfast." indeed, drouet was at the kitchen door where this dialogue was held. dandoins walked away. at this period, cracking of whips was heard: the royal coach rolled up across the square and stopped at the posthouse. at the noise it made, the population mustered around the spot with curiosity. captain dandoins, whose heart was sore about the oversight, and wanting to explain why his men were standing at ease instead of being ready for action, darted up to the carriage window, taking off his cap and bowing, with all kind of respect to excuse himself to the sovereign and the royal family. to answer him the king put his head out of the window several times. isidore, with his foot in the stirrup, was near drouet who watched the conveyance with profound attention: he had been up to town to the federation festival and he had seen the king whom he believed he recognized. that morning he had received a number of the new issue of _assignats_ the paper money of the state which bore the monarch's head: he pulled one out and compared it with the original. this seemed to cry out to him: "you have the man before you." isidore went round the carriage to the other side where his brother was masking the queen by leaning his elbow on the window. "the king is recognized," he said; "hurry off the carriage and take a good look at that tall dark fellow--the postmaster's son, who has recognized the king. his name is jean baptiste drouet." "right," responded george, "i will look to him. you, be off!" isidore galloped on to clermont to have the fresh horses ready there. scarcely was he through the town before the vehicle started off, by malden and valory pressing and the promise of extra money. charny had lost sight of drouet who did not budge, but was talking with the groom. the count went up to him. "was there no horse ordered for me, sir?" he demanded. "one was ordered, but we are out of them." "what do you mean--when here is a saddled horse in the yard." "that is mine." "but you can let me have it. i do not mind what i pay." "impossible. i have a journey to make, and it cannot be postponed." to insist was to cause suspicions; to take by force was to ruin all. he thought of a means to smoothe over the difficulty. he went over to captain dandoins who was watching the royal carriage going round the corner. he turned on a hand being laid on his shoulder. "hush, i am count charny," said the lifeguard. "i cannot get a horse here. let me have one of your dragoons' as i must follow the king and the queen. i alone know where the relays set by the count of choiseul are, and if i am not at hand the king will be brought to a standstill at varennes." "count, you must take my charger, not one of my men's." "i accept. the welfare of the royal family depends on the least accident. the better the steed the better the chances." the two went through the town to the marquis' lodgings. before departing charny charged a quarter-master to watch young drouet. unfortunately the nobleman's rooms were five hundred paces away. when the horses were saddled a quarter of an hour had gone by; for the marquis had another got ready as he was to take up the rear guard duty over the king. suddenly it seemed to charny that he heard great clamor and could distinguish shouts of "the queen, the queen!" he sprang from the house, begging dandoins to have the horse brought to the square. the town was in an uproar. scarcely had charny and his brother noble gone, as if drouet had waited for it, he shouted out: "that carriage which went by is the king's! in it are the king, the queen, and the royals!" he jumped on his horse; some friends sought to detain him. "where are you off to? what do you intend? what is your project?" "the colonel and the troop are here. we could not stop the king without a riot which might turn out ill for us. what cannot be done here can be done at clermont. keep back the dragoons, that is all i ask." and away galloped he on the track of the king. hence the shouting that the king and the queen had gone through, as charny heard. those shouts set the mayor and councilmen afoot; the mayor ordered the soldiers into the barracks as eight o'clock was striking and it was the hour when soldiers had no business to be about in arms. "horses!" cried charny as dandoins joined him. "they are coming." "have you pistols in the holsters?" "i loaded them myself." "good! now, all hangs on the goodness of your horse. i must catch up with a man who has a quarter-hour's start, and kill him." "you must kill him----" "or, all is lost!" "do not wait for the horses, then." "never mind me; you, get your men out before they are coaxed over; look at the mayor speechifying to them! you have no time to lose either; make haste!" at this instant up came the orderly with the two chargers. charny took the nearest at hazard, snatched the reins from the man's hands, leaped astride, drove in both spurs and burst away on the track of drouet, without clearly comprehending what the marquis yelled after him. yet these words were important. "you have taken my horse and not yours, and the pistols are not loaded!" chapter xiii. stop, king! with isidore riding before it, the royal conveyance flew over the road between st. menehould and clermont. night was falling; the coach entered argonne forest crossing the highway. the queen had noticed the absence of charny, but she could not slacken the pace or question the postboys. she did lean out a dozen times but she discovered nothing. at half-past nine they reached clermont, four leagues covered. count damas was waiting outside the place as he had been warned by leonard and he stopped isidore on recognizing his livery. "you are charles de damas? well; i am preceding the king. get your dragoons in hand and escort the carriage." "my lord," replied the count, "such a breath of discontent is blowing that i am alarmed, and must confess that my men cannot be answered for, if they recognize the king. all i can promise is that i will fall in behind when he gets by, and bar the road." "do your best--here they come!" he pointed to the carriage rushing through the darkness and visible by the sparks from the horses' shoes. isidore's duty was to ride ahead and get the relays ready. in five minutes, he stopped at the posthouse door. almost at the same time, damas rode up with half-a-dozen dragoons, and the king's coach came next. it had followed isidore so closely that he had not had time to remount. without being showy it was so large and well built that a great crowd gathered to see it. damas stood by the door to prevent the passengers being studied. but neither the king nor the queen could master their desire to learn what was going on. "is that you, count damas?" asked the king. "why are not your dragoons under arms?" "sire, your majesty is five hours behind time. my troop has been in the saddle since four p. m. i have kept as quiet as possible but the town is getting fretful; and my men want to know what is the matter. if the excitement comes to a head before your majesty is off again, the alarm bell will be rung and the road will be blocked. so i have kept only a dozen men ready and sent the others into quarters; but i have the trumpeters in my rooms so as to sound the boot-and-saddle at the first call. your majesty sees that all was for the best for the road is free." "very well; you have acted like a prudent man, my lord," said the king; "when i am gone, get your men together and follow me closely." "sire, will you kindly hear what viscount charny has to say?" asked the queen. "what has he to say?" said the king, fretfully. "that you were recognised by the st. menehould postmaster's son, who compared your face with the likeness on the new paper money; his brother the count stayed behind to watch this fellow, and no doubt something serious is happening as he has not rejoined us." "if we were recognized, the more reason to hurry. viscount, urge on the postboys and ride on before." isidore's horse was ready. he dashed on, shouting to the postillions: "the varennes road!" and led the vehicle, which rattled off with lightning speed. damas thought of following with his handful but he had positive orders and as the town was in commotion--lights appearing at windows and persons running from door to door--he thought only of one thing: to stop the alarm bell. he ran to the church tower and set a guard on the door. but all seemed to calm down. a messenger arrived from dandoins, to say that he and his dragoons were detained at st. menehould by the people; besides--as damas already knew--drouet had ridden off to pursue the carriage which he had probably failed to catch up with, as they had not seen him at clermont. then came a hussar orderly, from commandant rohrig, at varennes with count bouille and another. he was a young officer of twenty who was not in the knowledge of the plot but was told a treasure was in question. uneasy at time going by they wanted to know what news damas could give. all was quiet with them and on the road the hussar had passed the royal carriage. "all's well," thought count damas, going home to bid his bugler sound "boot and saddle!" all was therefore going for the best, except for the st. menehould incident, by which dandoins' thirty dragoons were locked up. but damas could dispense with them from having a hundred and forty. returning to the king's carriage, it was on the road to varennes. this place is composed of an upper and a lower town; the relay of horses was to be ready beyond the town, on the farther side of the bridge and a vaulted passage, where a stoppage would be bad. count jules bouille and raigecourt were to guard these horses and charny was to guide the party through the daedalus of streets. he had spent a fortnight in varennes and had studied and jotted down every point; not a lane but was familiar, not a boundary post but he knew it. unfortunately charny was not to the fore. hence the queen's anxiety doubled. something grave must have befallen him to keep him remote when he knew how much he was wanted. the king grew more distressed, too, as he had so reckoned on charny that he had not brought away the plan of the town. besides the night was densely dark--not a star scintillated. it was easy to go wrong in a known place, still more a strange one. isidore's orders from his brother was to stop before the town. here his brother was to change horses and take the lead. he was as troubled as the queen herself at this absence. his hope was that bouille and raigecourt in their eagerness would come out to meet the royal party: they must have learnt the site during three days and would do as guides. consequently on reaching the base of the hill, seeing a few lights sparkling over the town, isidore pulled up irresolutely, and cast a glance around to try and pierce the murkiness. he saw nothing. he ventured to call in a low voice, but louder and louder, for the officers; but no reply came. he heard the rumbling of the stage coming along at a quarter of a league off, like a thunder peal. perhaps the officers were hiding in the woods which he explored along the skirts without meeting a soul. he had no alternative but to wait. in five minutes the carriage came up, and the heads of the royal couple were thrust out of the windows. "have you seen count charny?" both asked simultaneously. "i have not, sire," was the response: "and i judge that some hurt has met him in the chase of that confounded drouet." the queen groaned. "what can be done?" inquired the king who found that nobody knew the place. "sire," said the viscount, "all is silent and appears quiet. please your majesty, wait ten minutes. i will go into the town, and try to get news of count bouille or at least of the choiseul horses." he darted towards the houses. the nearest had opened at the approach of the vehicles, and light was perceptible through the chink of the door. the queen got out, leant on malden's arm and walked up to this dwelling: but the door closed at their drawing near. malden had time to dash up and give it a shove which overpowered the resistance. the man who had attempted to shut it was in his fiftieth year; he wore a night gown and slippers. it was not without astonishment that he was pushed into his own house by a gentleman who had a lady on his arm. he started when he cast a rapid glance at the latter. "what do you want?" he challenged malden. "we are strangers to varennes, and we beg you to point out the stenay road." "but if i give you the information, and it is known, i will be a ruined man." "whatever the risk, sir," said the lifeguardsman, "it will be kindness to a lady who is in a dangerous position----" "yes, but this is a great lady--it is the queen," he whispered to the sham courier. the queen pulled malden back. "before going farther, let the king know that i am recognized," she said. malden took but a second to run this errand and he brought word that the king wanted to see this careful man. he kicked off his slippers with a sigh, and went on tiptoe out to the vehicle. "your name, sir?" demanded the king. "i am major prefontaine of the cavalry, and knight of the st. louis order." "in both capacities you have sworn fealty to me: it is doubly your duty therefore to help me in this quandary." "certainly: but will your majesty please be quick about it lest i am seen," faltered the major. "all the better if you are seen," interposed malden; "you will never have a finer chance to do your duty." not appearing to be of this opinion, the major gave a groan. the queen shook her shoulders with scorn and stamped with impatience. the king waved his hand to appease her and said to the lukewarm royalist: "sir, did you hear by chance of soldiers waiting for a carriage to come through, and have you seen any hussars lately about?" "they are on the other side of the town, sire; the horses are at the great monarch inn and the soldiers probably in the barracks." "i thank you, sir; nobody has seen you and you will probably have nothing happen you." he gave his hand to the queen to help her into the vehicle, and issued orders for the start to be made again. but as the couriers shouted "to the monarch inn!" a shadowy horseman loomed up in the woods and darted crosswise on the road, shouting: "postboys, not a step farther! you are driving the fleeing king. in the name of the nation, i bid ye stand!" "the king," muttered the postillions, who had gathered up the reins. louis xvi. saw that it was a vital instant. "who are you, sir, to give orders here?" he demanded. "a plain citizen, but i represent the law and i speak in the name of the nation. postillions, i order you a second time not to stir. you know me well: i am jean baptiste drouet, son of the postmaster at st. menehould." "the scoundrel, it is he," shouted the two lifeguardsmen, drawing their hunting-swords. but before they could alight, the other had dashed away into the lower town streets. "oh, what has become of charny?" murmured the queen. fatality had ridden at the count's knee. dandoins' horse was a good racer but drouet had twenty minute's start. charny dug in the spurs, and the bounding horse blew steam from his nostrils as it darted off. without knowing that he was pursued, drouet tore along, but he rode an ordinary nag while the other was a thoroughbred. the result was that at a league's end the pursuer gained a third. thereupon the postmaster's son saw that he was chased and redoubled his efforts to keep beyond the hunter. at the end of the second league charny saw that he had gained in the same proportion, while the other turned to watch him with more and more uneasiness. drouet had gone off in such haste that he had forgotten to arm himself. the young patriot did not dread death, but he feared being stopped in his mission of arresting the king, whereupon he would lose the opportunity of making his name famous. he had still two leagues to go before reaching clermont, but it was evident that he would be overtaken at the end of the first league, that is, the third, from his leaving st. menehould. as if to stimulate his ardor, he was sure that the royal carriage was in front of him. he laid on the lash and drove in the spurs more cruelly. it was half after nine and night fell. he was but three quarters of a league from clermont but charny was only two hundred paces away. drouet knew varennes was not a posting station and he surmised that the king would have to go through verdun. he began to despair; before he caught up with the king he would be seized. he would have to give up the pursuit or turn to fight his pursuer and he was unarmed. suddenly, when charny was not fifty paces from him, he met postillions returning with the unharnessed horses. drouet recognized them as those who had ridden the royal horses. "they took the verdun road, eh?" he called out as he forged past them. "no, the varennes road," they shouted. he roared with delight. he was saved and the king lost! instead of the long way he had a short cut to make. he knew all about argonne woods into which he flung himself: by cutting through, he would gain a quarter of an hour over the king, besides being shielded by the darkness under the trees. charny, who knew the ground almost as well as the young man, understood that he would escape him and he howled with rage. "stop, stop!" he shouted out to drouet, as he at the same time urged his horse also on the short level separating the road from the woods. but drouet took good care not to reply: he bent down on his horse's neck, inciting him with whip and spur and voice. all he wanted was to reach the thicket--he would be safe there. he could do it, but he had to run the gauntlet of charny at ten paces. he seized one of the horse-pistols and levelled it. "stop!" he called out again, "or you are a dead man." drouet only leaned over the more and pressed on. the royalist pulled the trigger but the flint on the hammer only shot sparks from the pan: he furiously flung the weapon at the flyer, took out the other of the pair and plunging into the woods after him, shot again at the dark-form--but once more the hammer fell uselessly; neither pistol was loaded. it was then he remembered that dandoins had called out something to him which he had heard imperfectly. "i made a mistake in the horse," he said, "and no doubt what he shouted was that the pistols were not charged. never mind, i will catch this villain, and strangle him with my own hands if needs must." he took up the pursuit of the shadow which he just descried in the obscurity. but he had hardly gone a hundred paces in the forest before his horse broke down in the ditch: he was thrown over its head; rising he pulled it up and got into the seat again but drouet was out of sight. thus it was that he escaped charny, and swept like a phantom over the road to bid the king's conductors to make not another step. they obeyed, for he had conjured them in the name of the nation, beginning to be more mighty than the king's. scarcely had he dived into the lower town and the sound of his horse lessened before they heard that of another coming nearer. isidore appeared by the same street as drouet had taken. his information agreed with that furnished by major prefontaine. the horses were beyond the town at the monarch hotel. lieutenant rohrig had the hussars at the barracks. but instead of filling them with joy by his news he found the party plunged into the deepest stupor. prefontaine was wailing and the two lifeguardsmen threatening someone unseen. "did not a rider go by you at a gallop?" "yes, sire." "the man was drouet," said the king. "then my brother is dead," ejaculated isidore with a deep pang at the heart. the queen uttered a shriek and buried her face in her hands. chapter xiv. the capture. inexpressible prostration overpowered the fugitives, checked on the highway by a danger they could not measure. "sire," said isidore, the first to shake it off; "dead or living, let us not think of our brother, but of your majesty. there is not an instant to lose. these fellows must know the monarch hotel; so, gallop to the grand monarch!" but the postillions did not stir. "did you not hear?" queried the young noble. "yes, sir, we heard----" "well, why do we not start?" "because master drouet forbade us." "what? drouet forbade you? when the king commands and drouet forbids, do you obey a drouet?" "we obey the nation." "then, gentlemen," went on isidore, "there are moments when a human life is of no account. pick out your man; i will settle this one. we will drive ourselves." he grasped the nearest postillion by the collar and set the point of his short sword to his breast. on seeing the three knives flash, the queen screamed and cried: "mercy, gentlemen!" she turned to the postboys: "friends, fifty gold pieces to share among you, and a pension of five hundred a-year if you save the king!" whether they were frightened by the young nobles' demonstration or snapped at the offer, the three shook up their horses and resumed the road. prefontaine sneaked into his house all of a tremble and barred himself in. isidore rode on in front to clear the way through the town and over the bridge to the monarch house. the vehicle rolled at full speed down the slope. on arriving at a vaulted way leading to the bridge and passing under the revenue tower, one of the doors was seen closed. they got it open but two or three wagons were in the way. "lend me a hand, gentlemen," cried isidore, dismounting. just then they heard the bells boom and a drum beat. drouet was hard at work! "the scamp! if ever i lay hold of him--" growled isidore, grinding his teeth. by an incredible effort he dragged one of the carts aside while malden and valory drew off the other. they tugged at the last as the coach thundered under the vault. suddenly through the uprights of the tilt, they saw several musket barrels thrust upon the cart. "not a step or you are dead men!" shouted a voice. "gentlemen," interposed the king, looking out of the window, "do not try to force your way through--i order you." the two officers and isidore fell back a step. "what do they mean to do?" asked the king. at the same time a shriek of fright sounded from within the coach. besides the men who barred the way, two or three had slipped up to the conveyance and shoved their gun barrels under the windows. one was pointed at the queen's breast: isidore saw this; he darted up, and pushed the gun aside by grasping the barrel. "fire, fire," roared several voices. one of the men obeyed but luckily his gun missed fire. isidore raised his arm to stab him but the queen stopped his hand. "oh, in heaven's name, let me charge this rabble," said isidore, enraged. "no, sheathe your sword, do you hear me?" he did not obey her by half; instead of sheathing his sword he let it fall on the ground. "if i only get hold of drouet," he snarled. "i leave you him to wreck your vengeance on," said the queen, in an undertone and squeezing his arm with strange force. "in short, gentlemen," said the king, "what do you want?" "we want to see your passports," returned several voices. "so you may," he replied. "get the town authorities and we will show them." "you are making too much fuss over it," said the fellow who had missed fire with his gun and now levelled it at the king. but the two guardsmen leaped upon him, and dragged him down; in the scuffle the gun went off and the bullet did no harm in the crowd. "who fired?" demanded a voice. "help," called out the one whom the officers were beating. five or six armed men rushed to his rescue. the two lifeguardsmen whipped out their short swords and prepared to use them. the king and the queen made useless efforts to stop both parties: the contest was beginning fierce, terrible and deadly. but two men plunged into the struggle, distinguishable by a tricolored scarf and military uniform; one was sausse the county attorney and the other national guard commandant hannonet. they brought twenty muskets, which gleamed in the torchlight. the king comprehended that these officials were a guarantee if not assistance. "gentlemen," he said, "i am ready to entrust myself and party to you, but put a stop to these rough fellow's brutality." "ground your arms," cried hannonet. the men obeyed but growlingly. "excuse me, sir," said the attorney, "but the story is about that the king is in flight and it is our duty to make sure if it is a fact." "make sure?" retorted isidore. "if this carriage really conveyed his majesty you ought to be at his feet: if it is but a private individual by what right do you stay him?" "sir, i am addressing you," went on sausse, to the king. "will you be good enough to answer me?" "sire, gain time," whispered isidore: "damas and his dragoons are somewhere near and will doubtless ride up in a trice." the king thought this right and replied to sausse: "i suppose you will let us go on if our passes are correct?" "of course," was the reply. "then, baroness," said the monarch to lady tourzel, "be good enough to find the passports and give them to the gentleman." the old lady understood what the speaker meant by saying "find!" so she went to seeking in the pockets where it was not likely to be. "nonsense," said one of the crowd, "don't you see that they have not got any passport." the voice was fretful and full of menace too. "excuse me, sir," said the queen, "my lady the baroness has the paper but not knowing that it would be called for, she does not know where she put it." the bystanders began to hoot, showing that they were not dupes of the trick. "there is a plainer way," said sausse: "postillions, drive on to my store, where the ladies and gentlemen can go in while the matter is cleared up. go ahead, boys! soldiers of the national guard, escort the carriage." this invitation was too much like an order to be dallied with. besides resistance would probably not have succeeded for the bells continued to ring and the drum to beat so that the crowd was considerably augmented, as the carriage moved on. "oh, colonel damas," muttered the king, "if you will only strike in before we are put within this accursed house!" the queen said nothing for she had to stifle her sobs as she thought of charny, and restrained her tears. damas? he had managed to break out of clermont with three officers and twice as many troopers but the rest had fraternized with the people. sausse was a grocer as well as attorney, and his grocery had a parlor behind the store where he meant to lodge the visitors. his wife, half-dressed, came from upstairs as the queen crossed the sill, with the king next, lady elizabeth and lady tourzel following. more than a hundred persons guarded the coach, and stopped before the store which was in a little square. "if the lady has found the pass yet," observed sausse, who had shown the way in, "i will take it to the town council and see if it is correct." as the passport which charny had got from baron zannone, and given to the queen, was in order, the king made a sign that lady tourzel was to hand it over. she drew the precious paper from her pocket and let sausse have it. he charged his wife to do the honor of his house while he went to the town-house. it was a lively meeting, for drouet was there to fan the flames. the silence of curiosity fell as the attorney entered with the document. all knew that he harbored the party. the mayor pronounced the pass perfectly good. "it must be good for there is the royal signature," he said. a dozen hands were held out for it but drouet snatched it up. "but has it got the signature of the assembly?" he demanded. it was signed by a member of the committee though not for the president. "this is not the question," said the young patriot, "these travelers are not baroness von korff, a russian lady, with her steward, her governess and her children, but the king and the queen, the prince and the princess royal and lady elizabeth, a court lady, and their guardsmen--the royal family in short. will you or will you not let the royal family go out of the kingdom?" this question was properly put, but it was too heavy for the town governors of a third-rate town to handle. as their deliberation promised to take up some time, sausse went home to see how his guests were faring. they had refused to lay aside their wraps or sit down as this concession seemed to delay their approaching departure, which they took for granted. all their faculties were concentrated on the master of the house who might be expected to bring the council's decision. when he arrived the king went to meet him. "well, what about the passport?" he asked, with anxiety he vainly strove to conceal. "it causes a grave debate in the council," replied sausse. "why? is its validity doubted by any chance?" proceeded the king. "no; but it is doubted that it is really in the hands of lady korff, and the rumor spreads that it covers the royal family." louis hesitated an instant, but then, making up his mind, he said: "well, yes; i am the king. you see the queen and the children; i entreat you to deal with them with the respect the french have always shown their sovereigns." the street door had remained open to the staring multitude; the words were heard without. unhappily, though they were uttered with a kind of dignity, the speaker did not carry out the idea in his bob wig, grey coat, and plain stockings and shoes. how could anybody see the ruler of the realm in this travesty? the queen felt the flush come to her eyes at the poor impression made on the mob. "let us accept madam sausse's hospitality," she hastened to say, "and go upstairs." meanwhile the news was carried to the town house and the tumult redoubled over the town. how was it this did not attract the soldiers in waiting? at about nine in the evening, count jules bouille--not his brother louis whom we have seen in locksmith's dress--and lieut. raigecourt, with their hussars, were at the monarch inn door, when they heard a carriage coming. but it was the cab containing the queen's hairdresser. he was very frightened. he revealed his personality. "the king got out of paris last evening," he said: "but it does not look as if he could keep on; i have warned colonel damas who has called in his outposts; the dragoon regiment mutinied; at clermont there was a riot--i have had great trouble to get through. i have the queen's diamonds and my brother's hat and coat, and you must give me a horse to help me on the road." "master leonard," said bouille, who wanted to set the hairdresser down a peg, "the horses here are for the king's service and nobody else can use them." "but as i tell you that there is little likelihood of the king coming along----" "but still he may, and he would hold me to task for letting you have them." "what, do you imagine that the king would blame you for giving me his horses when it is to help me out of a fix?" the young noble could not help smiling. leonard was comic in the big hat and misfit coat, and he was glad to get rid of him by begging the landlord to find a horse for the cab. bouille and his brother-officer went through the town and saw nothing on the farther side; they began to believe that the king, eight or ten hours belated, would never come. it was eleven when they returned to the inn. they had sent out an orderly before this, who had reported to damas, as we have seen. they threw themselves, dressed, on the bed to wait till midnight. at half past twelve they were aroused by the tocsin, the drum and the shouting. thrusting their heads out of the window, they saw the town in confusion racing towards the town hall. many armed men ran in the same direction with all sorts of weapons. the officers went to the stables to get the horses out so that they would be ready for the carriage if it crossed the town. they had their own chargers ready and kept by the king's relay, on which sat the postboys. soon they learnt, amid the shouts and menaces that the royal party had been stopped. they argued that they had better ride over to stenay where the little army corps commanded by bouille was waiting. they could arrive in two hours. abandoning the relay, they galloped off, so that one of the main forces foiled the king at the critical moment! during this time, choiseul had been pushing on but he lost three quarters of an hour by threading a wood, the guide going wrong by accident or design. this was the very time while the king was compelled to alight and go into sausse's. at half after twelve, while the two young officers were riding off by the other road, choiseul presented himself at the gate, coming by the cross-road. "who goes there?" was challenged at the bridge where national guards were posted. "france--lauzun hussars," was the count's reply. "you cannot pass!" returned the sentry, who called up the guard to arms. at the instant the darkness was streaked with torchlight, and the cavalry could see masses of armed men and the musket-barrels shine. not knowing what had happened, choiseul parleyed and said that he wanted to be put in communication with the officers of the garrison. but while he was talking he noticed that trees were felled to make a breastwork and that two field pieces were trained on his forty men. as the gunner finished his aiming, the hussar's provost-marshal's squad arrived, unhorsed; they had been surprised and disarmed in the barracks and only knew that the king had been arrested. they were ignorant what had become of their comrades. as they were concluding these thin explanations, choiseul saw a troop of horse advance in the gloom and heard the bridge guards challenge: "who goes there?" "the provence dragoons!" a national guard fired off his gun: "it is damas with his cavalry," whispered the count to an officer. without waiting for more, he shook off the two soldiers who were clinging to his skirts and suggesting that his duty was to obey the town authorities and know nothing beyond. he commanded his men to go at the trot, and took the defenders so well by surprise that he cut through, and rushed the streets, swarming with people. on approaching sausse's store, he saw the royal carriage, without the horses, and a numerous guard before the mean-looking house in the petty square. not to have a collision with the townsfolk, the count went straight to the military barracks, which he knew. as he came out, two men stopped him and bade him appear before the town council; still having his troopers within call, he sent them off, saying that he would pay the council a visit when he found time, and he ordered the sentry to allow no one entrance. inquiring of the stablemen, he learnt that the hussars, not knowing what had become of their leaders, had scattered about the streets where the inhabitants had sympathized with them and treated them to drink. he went back into barracks to count what he might rely upon, say, forty men, as tired as their horses which had travelled more than twenty leagues that day. but the situation was not one to trifle with. he had the pistols inspected to make sure they were loaded; as the hussars were germans and did not understand french, he harangued them in their tongue to the effect that they were in varennes where the royal family had been waylaid and were detained and that they must be rescued or the rescuers should die. short but sharp, the speech made a fine impression; the men repeated in german: "the king! the queen!" with amazement. leaving them no time to cool down, he arranged them in fours and led them with sabres drawn to the house where he suspected the king was held in durance. in the midst of the volunteer guards' invectives, he placed two videttes at the door, and alighted to walk in. as he was crossing the threshold, he was touched on the shoulder by colonel damas on whose assistance he had no little depended. "are you in force?" he inquired. "i am all but alone. my regiment refused to follow me and i have but half-a-dozen men." "what a misfortune! but never mind--i have forty fellows and we must see what we can do with them." the king was receiving a deputation from the town, whose spokesman said: "since there is no longer any doubt that varennes has the honor to receive king louis, we come to have his orders." "my orders are to have the horses put to my carriage and let me depart," replied the monarch. the answer to this precise request will never be known as at this point they heard choiseul's horsemen gallop up and saw them form a line on the square with flashing swords. the queen started with a beam of joy in her eyes. "we are saved," she whispered to her sister-in-law. "heaven grant it," replied the holy woman, who looked to heaven for everything. the king waited eagerly and the town's delegation with disquiet. great riot broke out in the outer room guarded by countrymen with scythes; words and blows were exchanged and choiseul, without his hat and sword in hand, appeared on the sill. above his shoulder was seen the colonel's pale but resolute face. in the look of both was such a threatening expression that the deputies stood aside so as to give a clear space to the royal family. "welcome, lord choiseul," cried the queen going over to the officer. "alas, my lady, i arrive very late." "no matter, since you come in good company." "nay, we are almost alone, on the contrary. dandoins has been held with his cavalry at st. menehould and damas has been abandoned by his troop." the queen sadly shook her head. "but where is chevalier bouille, and lieut. raigecourt?" he looked inquiringly around. "i have not so much as seen those officers," said the king, joining in. "i give you my word, sire, that i thought they had died under your carriage-wheels, or even you had come to this," observed count damas. "what is to be done?" asked the king. "we must save you," replied damas. "give your orders." "my orders?" "sire, i have forty hussars at the door, who are fagged but we can get as far as dun." "but how can we manage?" inquired the king. "i will dismount seven of my men, on whose horses you should get, the dauphin in your arms. we will lay the swords about us and cut our way through as the only chance. but the decision must be instant for in a quarter of an hour perhaps my men will be bought over." the queen approved of the project but the king seemed to elude her gaze and the influence she had over him. "it is a way," he responded to the proposer, "and i daresay the only one; but can you answer for it that in the unequal struggle of thirty men with seven or eight hundred, no shot will kill my boy or my daughter, the queen or my sister?" "sire, if such a misfortune befell through my suggestion, i should be killed under your majesty's eyes." "then, instead of yielding to such mad propositions," returned the other, "let us reason calmly." the queen sighed and retired a few paces. in this regretful movement, she met isidore who was going over to the window whither a noise in the street attracted him; he hoped it was his brother coming. "the townsfolk do not refuse to let me pass," said the king, without appearing to notice the two in conversation, "but ask me to wait till daybreak. we have no news of the count of charny, who is so deeply devoted to us. i am assured that bouille and raigecourt left the town ten minutes before we drove in, to notify marquis bouille and bring up his troops, which are surely ready. were i alone i should follow your advice and break through; but it is impossible to risk the queen, my children, my sister and the others with so small a guard as you offer, especially as part must be dismounted--for i certainly would not leave my lifeguards here." he looked at his watch. "it will soon be three o'clock; young bouille left at half after twelve so that, as his father must have ranged his troops in detachments along the road, he will warn them and they will successively arrive. about five or six, marquis bouille ought to be here with the main body, the first companies outstripping him. thereupon, without any danger to my family, and no violence, we can quit varennes and continue our road." choiseul acknowledged the logic in this argument but he felt that logic must not be listened to on certain occasions. he turned to the queen to beg other orders from her, or to have her get the king to revoke his, but she shook her head and said: "i do not want to take anything upon myself; it is the king's place to command and my duty to obey. besides, i am of his opinion--bouille will soon be coming." choiseul bowed and drew damas aside while beckoning the two lifeguards to join in the council he held. chapter xv. poor catherine. the scene was slightly changed in aspect. the little princess could not resist the weariness and she was put abed beside her brother, where both slumbered. lady elizabeth stood by, leaning her head against the wall. shivering with anger the queen stood near the fireplace, looking alternatively at the king, seated on a bale of goods, and on the four officers deliberating near the door. an old woman knelt by the children and prayed; it was the attorney's grandmother who was struck by the beauty of the children and the queen's imposing air. sausse and his colleagues had gone out, promising that the horses should be harnessed to the carriage. but the queen's bearing showed that she attached little faith to the pledge, which caused choiseul to say to his party: "gentlemen, do not trust to the feigned tranquility of our masters; the position is not hopeless and we must look it in the face. the probability is that at present, marquis bouille has been informed, and will be arriving here about six, as he ought to be at hand with some of the royal germans. his vanguard may be only half an hour before him; for in such a scrape all that is possible ought to be performed. but we must not deceive ourselves about the four or five thousand men surrounding us, and that the moment they see the troops, there will be dreadful excitement and imminent danger. "they will try to drag the king back from varennes, put him on a horse and carry him to clermont, threaten and have a try at his life perhaps--but this will only be a temporary danger," added choiseul, "and as soon as the barricades are stormed and our cavalry inside the town, the route will be complete. therefore we ten men must hold out as many minutes; as the land lays we may hope to lose but a man a minute, so that we have time enough." the audience nodded; this devotion to the death's point, thus plainly set down, was accepted with the same simplicity. "this is what we must do," continued the count, "at the first shot we hear and shout without, we rush into the outer room, where we kill everybody in it, and take possession of the outlets: three windows, where three of us defend. the seven others stand on the stairs which the winding will facilitate our defending as one may face a score. the bodies of the slain will serve as rampart; it is a hundred to one that the troops will be masters of the town, before we are killed to the last man, and though that happens, we will fill a glorious page in history, as recompense for our sacrifice." the chosen ones shook hands on this pledge like spartans, and selected their stations during the action: the two lifeguards, and isidore, whose place was kept though he was absent, at the three casements on the street; choiseul at the staircase foot; next him, damas, and the rest of the soldiers. as they settled their arrangements, bustle was heard in the street. in came a second deputation headed by sausse, the national guards commander hannonet, and three or four town officers. thinking they came to say the horses were put to the coach, the king ordered their admittance. the officers who were trying to read every token, believed that sausse betrayed hesitation but that hannonet had a settled will which was of evil omen. at the same time, isidore ran up and whispered a few words to the queen before he went out again. she went to the children, pale, and leaned on the bed. as the deputation bowed without speaking, the king pretended to infer what they came upon, and said: "gentlemen, the french have merely gone astray, and their attachment to their monarch is genuine. weary of the excesses daily felt in my capital, i have decided to go down into the country where the sacred flame of devotion ever burns; i am assured of finding the ancient devotion of the people here, i am ready to give my loyal subjects the proof of my trust. so, i will form an escort, part troops of the line and part national guards, to accompany me to montmedy where i have determined to retire. consequently, commander, i ask you to select the men to escort me from your own force, and to have my carriage ready." during the silence, sausse and hannonet looked at each other for one to speak. at last the latter bowed and said, "sire, i should feel great pleasure in obeying your majesty, but an article of the constitution forbids the king leaving the kingdom and good frenchmen from aiding a flight." this made the hearer start. "consequently," proceeded the volunteer soldier, lifting his hand to hush the king, "the varennes council decide that a courier must take the word to paris and return with the advice of the assembly before allowing the departure." the king felt the perspiration damp his brow, while the queen bit her pale lips fretfully, and lady elizabeth raised her eyes and hands to heaven. "soho, gentlemen," exclaimed the sovereign with the dignity returning to him when driven to the wall. "am i no longer the master to go my own way? in that case i am more of a slave than the meanest of my subjects." "sire," replied the national guardsman, "you are always the ruler; but all men, king or citizens, are bound by their oath; you swore to obey the law, and ought to set the example--it is also a noble duty to fulfill." meanwhile choiseul had consulted with the queen by glances and on her mute assent he had gone downstairs. the king was aware that he was lost if he yielded without resistance to this rebellion of the villages, for it was rebellion from his point of view. "gentlemen," he said, "this is violence; but i am not so lonely as you imagine. at the door are forty determined men and ten thousand soldiers are around varennes. i order you to have my horses harnessed to the coach--do you hear, i order!" "well said, sire," whispered the queen, stepping up; "let us risk life but not injure our honor and dignity." "what will result if we refuse your majesty?" asked the national guards officer. "i shall appeal to force, and you will be responsible for the blood spilt, which will be shed by you." "have it so then," replied hannonet, "call in your hussars--i will let my men loose on them!" he left the room. the king and the queen looked at one another, daunted; they would perhaps have given way had it not been for an incident. pushing aside her grandmother, who continued to pray by the bedside, madam sausse walked up to the queen and said with the bluntness and plain speech of the common people: "so, so, you are the queen, it appears?" marie antoinette turned, stung at being accosted thus. "at least i thought so an hour ago," she replied. "well, if you are the queen, and get twenty odd millions to keep your place, why do you not hold to it, being so well paid?" the queen uttered an outcry of pain and said to the king: "oh, anything, everything but such insults!" she took up the sleeping prince off the couch in her arms, and running to open the window, she cried: "my lord, let us show ourselves to the people, and learn whether they are entirely corrupted. in that case, appeal to the soldiers, and encourage them with voice and gesture. it is little enough for those who are going to die for us!" the king mechanically followed her and appeared on the balcony. the whole square on which fell their gaze presented a scene of lively agitation. half choiseul's hussars were on horseback; the others, separated from their chargers, were carried away by the mob, having been won over; the mounted men seemed submissive yet to choiseul, who was talking to them in german but they seemed to point to their lost comrades. isidore charny, with his knife in hand, seemed to be waylaying for some prey like a hunter. "the king!" was the shout from five hundred voices. had the sixteenth louis been regally arrayed, or even militarily, with sword or sceptre in his hand, and spoken in the strong, imposing voice seeming still to the masses that of god, he might have swayed the concourse. but in the grey dawn, that wan light which spoils beauty itself, he was not the personage his friends--or even his enemies, expected to behold. he was clad like a waiting-gentleman, in plain attire, with a powderless curly wig; he was pale and flabby and his beard had bristled out; his thick lip and dull eye expressed no idea of tyranny or the family man; he stammered over and over again: "gentlemen, my children!" however, the count of choiseul cried "long live the king!" isidore charny imitated him, and such was the magic of royalty that spite of his not looking to be head of the great realm, a few voices uttered a feeble "god save the king!" but one cheer responded, set up by the national guards commander, and most generally repeated, with a mighty echo--it was: "the nation forever!" it was rebellion at such a time, and the king and the queen could see that part of their german hussars had joined in with it. she uttered a scream of rage, and hugging her son to her, ignorant of the grandeur of passing events, she hung over the rail, muttering between her teeth and finally hurling at the multitude these words: "you beasts!" some heard this and replied by similar language, the whole place being in immense uproar. choiseul, in despair, was only wishful to get killed. "hussars," he shouted, "in the name of honor, save the king!" but at the head of twenty men, well armed, a fresh actor came on the stage. it was drouet, come from the council which he had constrained to stay the king from going. "ha," he cried, stepping up to the count, "you want to take away the king, do ye? i tell you it will not be unless dead." choiseul started towards him with his sword up. "stand, or i will have you shot," interrupted the national guards commander. just then a man leaped out of the crowd, who could not stop him. it was isidore charny who was watching for drouet. "back, back," he yelled to the bystanders, crushing them away from before the breast of his horse, "this wretch belongs to me." but as he was striking at drouet with his short sword, two shots went off together: a pistol and a gun--the bullet of the first flattened on his collarbone, the other went through his chest. they were fired so close to him that the unfortunate young noble was literally wrapt in flame and smoke. through the fiery cloud he was seen to throw up his arms as he gasped: "poor catherine!" letting his weapon drop, he bent back in the saddle, and slipped from the crupper to the ground. the queen uttered a terrible shriek. she nearly let the prince fall, and in her own falling back she did not see a horseman riding at the top of his pace from dun, and plunging into the wake isidore had furrowed in the crowd. the king closed the window behind the queen. it was no longer almost but all voices that roared "the nation forever!" the twenty hussars who had been the last reliance of royalty in distress, added their voices to the cheer. the queen sank upon an armchair, hiding her face in her hands, for she still saw isidore falling in her defense as his brother had been slain at her door at versailles. suddenly there was loud disturbance at the door which forced her to lift her eyes. we renounce describing what passed in an instant in her heart of queen and loving woman--it was george charny, pale and bloody from the last embrace of his brother, who stood on the threshold! the king seemed confounded. chapter xvi. the man of the people. the room was crammed with strangers and national guards whom curiosity had drawn into it. the queen was therefore checked in her first impulse which was to rush to the new arrival, sponge away the blood with her handkerchief and address him some of the comforting words which spring from the heart, and therefore go to them. but she could not help rising a little on her seat, extend her arms towards him and mutter his christian name. calm and gloomy, he waved his hand to the strangers and in a soft but firm voice, said: "you will excuse me, but i have business with their majesties." the national guard began to remonstrate that they were there to prevent anybody talking with the prisoners, but charny pressed his bloodless lips, frowned, opened his riding coat to show that he carried pistols, and repeated in a voice as gentle as before but twice as menacing: "gentlemen, i have already had the honor to tell you that i have private business with the king and the queen." at the same time he waved them to go out. on this voice, and the mastery charny exercised over others, damas and the two bodyguards resumed their energy, temporarily impaired, and cleared the room by driving the gapers and volunteer soldiers before them. the queen now comprehended what use this man would have been in the royal carriage instead of lady tourzel, whom she had let etiquette impose on them. charny glanced round to make sure that only the faithful were at hand, and said as he went nearer marie antoinette: "i am here, my lady. i have some seventy hussars at the town gate. i believe i can depend on them. what do you order me to do?" "tell us first what has happened you, my poor charny?" she said in german. he made a sign towards malden whom he knew to understand the speaker's language. "alas, not seeing you, we thought you were dead," she went on in french. "unhappily, it is not i but my brother who is slain--poor isidore! but my turn is coming." "charny, i ask you what happened and how you came to keep so long out of the way?" continued the queen. "you were a defaulter, george, especially to me," she added in german and in a lower voice. "i thought my brother would account for my temporary absence," he said, bowing. "yes, i know: to pursue that wretch of a man, drouet, and we feared for awhile that you had come to disaster, in that chase." "a great misfortune did befall me, for despite all my efforts, i could not catch up with him. a postboy returning let him know that your carriage had taken the varennes road when he was thinking it had gone to verdun: he turned into the woods where i pulled my pistols on him but they were not loaded--i had taken dandoins' horse and not the one prepared for me. it was fatality, and who could help it? i pursued him none the less through the forest but i only knew the roads, so that i was thrown by my horse falling into a ditch! in the darkness i was but hunting a shadow, and he knew it in every hollow. thus i was left alone in the night, cursing with rage." she offered her hand to him and he touched it with his tremulous lips. "nobody replied to my calls. all night long i wandered and only at daybreak came out at a village on the road from varennes to dun. as it was possible that you had escaped drouet as he escaped me, it was then useless for me to go to varennes; yet but as he might have had you stopped there, and i was but one man and my devotion was useless, i determined to go on to dun. "before i arrived i met captain deslon with a hundred hussars. he was fretting in the absence of news: he had seen bouille and raigecourt racing by towards stenay, but they had said nothing to him, probably from some distrust. but i know deslon to be a loyal gentleman; i guessed that your majesty had been detained at varennes, and that bouille and his companion had taken flight to get help. i told deslon all, adjured him to follow me with his cavalry, which he did, but leaving thirty to guard the meuse bridge. "an hour after we were at varennes, four leagues in an hour, where i wanted to charge and upset everything between us and your majesty: but we found breastworks inside of works; and to try to ride over them was folly. so i tried parleying: a post of the national guards being there, i asked leave to join my hussars with those inside but it was refused me: i asked to be allowed to get the king's orders direct and as that was about to be refused likewise. i spurred my steed, jumped two barricades and guided by the tumult, galloped up to this spot just when my bro--your majesty fell back from the balcony. now, i await your orders," he concluded. the queen pressed his hand in both hers. "sire," she said to the king, still plunged in torpor; "have you heard what this faithful servitor is saying?" the king gave no answer and she went over to him. "sire, there is no time to lose, and indeed too much has been lost. here is lord charny with seventy men, sure, he says, and he wants your orders." he shook his head, though charny implored him with a glance and the queen by her voice. "orders? i have none to give, being a prisoner. do whatever you like." "good, that is all we want," said the queen: "you have a blank warrant, you see," she added to her follower whom she took aside: "do as the king says, whatever you see fit." in a lower voice she appended: "do it swiftly, and with vigor, or else we are lost!" "very well," returned the lifeguards officer, "let me confer a moment with these gentlemen and we will carry out what we determine immediately." choiseul entered, carrying some letters wrapped in a bloodstained handkerchief. he offered this to charny without a word. the count understood that it came from his brother and putting out his hand to receive the tragic inheritance, he kissed the wrapper. the queen could not hold back a sigh. but charny did not turn round to her, but said as he thrust the packet into his breast: "gentlemen, can you aid me in the last effort i intend?" "we are ready for anything." "do you believe we are a dozen men staunch and able?" "we are eight or nine, any way." "well, i will return to my hussars. while i attack the barriers in front, you storm them in the rear. by favor of your diversion, i will force through, and with our united forces we will reach this spot where we will extricate the king." they held out their hands to him by way of answer. "in an hour," said charny to the king and queen, "you shall be free, or i dead." "oh, count, do not say that word," said she, "it causes me too much pain." george bowed in confirmation of his vow, and stepped towards the door without being appalled by the fresh uproar in the street. but as he laid his hand on the knob, it flew open and gave admission to a new character who mingled directly in the already complicated plot of the drama. this was a man in his fortieth year; his countenance was dark and forbidding; his collar open at the throat, his unbuttoned coat, the dust on his clothes, and his eyes red with fatigue, all indicated that he had ridden far and fast under the goad of fierce feeling. he carried a brace of pistols in his sash girdle and a sabre hung by his side. almost breathless as he opened the door, he appeared relieved only when he saw the royal family. a smile of vengeance flittered over his face and without troubling about the other persons around the room and by the doorway itself, which he almost blocked up with his massive form, he thundered as he stretched out his hand: "in the name of the national assembly, you are all my prisoners!" as swift as thought choiseul sprang forward with a pistol in hand and offered to blow out the brains of this intruder, who seemed to surpass in insolence and resolution all they had met before. but the queen stopped the menacing hand with a still swifter action and said in an undertone to the count: "do not hasten our ruin! prudence, my lord! let us gain time for bouille to arrive." "you are right," said choiseul, putting up the firearm. the queen glanced at charny whom she had thought would have been the first to intervene: but, astonishing thing! charny seemed not to want the new-comer to notice him, and shrank into the darkest corner apparently in that end. but she did not doubt him or that he would step out of the mystery and shadow at the proper time. the threatening move of the nobleman against the representative of the national assembly had passed over without the latter appearing to remark his escape from death. besides, another emotion than fear seemed to monopolize his heart: there was no mistaking his face's expression; so looks the hunter who has tracked to the den of the lion, the lioness and their cubs, with their jackals,--amongst whom was devoured his only child! but the king had winced at the word "prisoners," which had made choiseul revolt. "prisoners, in the name of the assembly? what do you mean? i do not understand you." "it is plain, and easy enough," replied the man. "in spite of the oath you took not to go out of france, you have fled in the night, betraying your pledge, the nation and the people; hence the nation have cried 'to arms!' risen, and to say:--by the voice of one of your lowest subjects, not less powerful because it comes from below, though: 'sire, in the name of the people, the nation and the national assembly, you are my prisoner!" in the adjoining room, a cheer burst at the words. "my lady," said choiseul to the queen, in her ear, "do not forget that you stopped me and that you would not suffer this insult if your pity had not interfered for this bully." "it will go for nothing if we are revenged," she replied. "but if not?" she could only groan hollowly and painfully. but charny's hand was slowly reached over the duke's shoulder and touched the queen's arm. she turned quickly. "let that man speak and act--i answer for him," said the count. meanwhile the monarch, stunned by the fresh blow dealt him, stared with amazement at the gloomy figure which had spoken so energetic a language, and curiosity was mingled with it from his belief that he had seen him before. "well, in short, what do you want? speak," he said. "sire, i am here to prevent you and the royal family taking another step towards the frontier." "i suppose you come with thousands of men to oppose my march," went on the king, who became grander during his discussion. "no, sire, i am alone, or with only another, general lafayette's aid-de-camp, sent by him and the assembly to have the orders of the nation executed. i am sent by mayor bailly, but i come mainly on my own behalf to watch this envoy and blow out his brains if he flinches." all the hearers looked at him with astonishment; they had never seen the commoners but oppressed or furious, and begging for pardon or murdering all before them; for the first time they beheld a man of the people upright, with folded arms, feeling his force and speaking in the name of his rights. louis saw quickly that nothing was to be hoped from one of this metal and said in his eagerness to finish with him: "where is your companion?" "here he is, behind me," said he, stepping forward so as to disclose the doorway, where might be seen a young man in staff-officer's uniform, who was leaning against the window. he was also in disorder but it was of fatigue not force. his face looked mournful. he held a paper in his hand. this was captain romeuf, lafayette's aid, a sincere patriot, but during lafayette's dictature while he was superintending the tuileries, he had shown so much respectful delicacy that the queen had thanked him on several occasions. "oh, it is you?" she exclaimed, painfully surprised. "i never should have believed it," she added, with the painful groan of a beauty who feels her fancied invincible power failing. "good, it looks as if i were quite right to come," muttered the second deputy, smiling. the impatient king did not give the young officer time to present his warrant; he took a step towards him rapidly and snatched it from his hands. "there is no longer a king in france," he uttered after having read it. the companion of romeuf smiled as much as to say: "i knew that all along." the queen moved towards the king to question him at these words. "listen, madam," he said, "to the decree the assembly has presumed to issue." in a voice shaking with indignation he read the following lines: "it is hereby ordered by the assembly that the home secretary shall send instantly messengers into every department with the order for all functionaries, national guards, and troops of the line in the country to arrest or have arrested all persons soever attempting to leave the country, as well as to prevent all departure of goods, arms, ammunition, gold and silver, horses and vehicles; and in case these messengers overtake the king, or any members of the royal family, and those who connive at their absconding, the said functionaries, national guards and troops of the line are to take, and hereby are bound to take, all measure possible to check the said absconding, prevent the absconders continuing their route, and give an account immediately to the house of representatives." the queen listened in torpor--but when the king finished she shook her head to arouse her wits and said: "impossible--give it to me," and she held out her hand for the fatal message. in the meantime romeuf's companion was encouraging the national guards and patriots of varennes with a smile. though they had heard the tenor of the missive the queen's expression of "impossible!" had startled them. "read, madam, and if still you doubt," said the king with bitterness; "it is written and signed by the speaker of the house." "what man dares write and sign such impudence?" "a peer of the realm--the marquis of beauharnais." is it not a strange thing, which proves how events are mysteriously linked together, that the decree stopping louis in his flight should bear a name, obscure up to then, yet about to be attached in a brilliant manner with the history of the commencement of the th century? the queen read the paper, frowning. the king took it to re-peruse it and then tossed it aside so carelessly that it fell on the sleeping prince and princess's couch. at this, the queen, incapable of self-constraint any longer, rose quickly with an angry roar, and seizing the paper, crushed it up in her grip before throwing it afar, with the words: "be careful, my lord--i would not have such a filthy rag sully my children." a deafening clamor arose from the next room, and the guards made a movement to rush in upon the illustrious fugitives. lafayette's aid let a cry of apprehension escape him. his companion uttered one of wrath. "ha," he growled between his teeth, "is it thus you insult the assembly, the nation and the people?--very well, we shall see! come, citizens!" he called out, turning to the men without, already excited by the contest, and armed with guns, scythes mounted on poles like spears, and swords. they were taking the second stride to enter the room and heaven only knows what would have been the shock of two such enmities, had not charny sprang forward. he had kept aloof during the scene, and now grasping the national guards man by the wrist as he was about to draw his sabre, he said: "a word with you, farmer billet; i want to speak with you." billet, for it was he, emitted a cry of astonishment, turned pale as death, stood irresolute for an instant, and then said as he sheathed the half-drawn steel: "have it so. i have to speak with you, lord charny." he proceeded to the door and said: "citizens, make room if you please. i have to confer with this officer; but have no uneasiness," he added in a low voice, "there shall not escape one wolf, he or she, or yet a whelp. i am on the lookout and i answer for them!" as if this man had the right to give them orders, though he was unknown to them all--save charny--they backed out and left the inner room free. besides, each was eager to relate to those without what had happened inside, and enjoin all patriots to keep close watch. in the meantime charny whispered to the queen: "romeuf is a friend of yours; i leave him with you--get the utmost from him." this was the more easy as charny closed the door behind him to prevent anybody, even billet, entering. chapter xvii. the feud. the two men, on facing each other, looked without the nobleman making the plebeian cower. more than that, it was the latter who spoke the first. "the count does me the honor to say he wants to speak with me. i am waiting for him to be good enough to do so." "billet," began charny, "how comes it that you are here on an errand of vengeance? i thought you were the friend of your superiors the nobles, and, besides, a faithful and sound subject of his majesty." "i was all that, count: i was your most humble servant--for i cannot say your friend, in as much as such an honor is not vouchsafed to a farmer like me. but you may see that i am nothing of the kind at present." "i do not follow you, billet." "why need you? am i asking you the reason for your fidelity to the king, and your standing true to the queen? no, i presume you have your reasons for doing this, and as you are a good and wise gentleman i expect your reasons are sound or at least meet for your conscience. i am not in your high position, count, and have not your learning; but you know, or you have heard i am accounted an honest and sensible man, and you may suppose that, like yourself, i have my reasons----suiting my conscience, if not good." "billet, i used to know you as far different from what you are now," said charny, totally unaware of the farmer's grounds for hatred against royalty and nobility. "oh, certainly i am not going to deny that you saw me unlike this," replied billet, with a bitter smile. "i do not mind telling you, count, how this is: i was a true lover of my country, devoted to one thing and two persons: the men were the king and dr. gilbert--the thing, my native-land. one day the king's men--i confess that this began to set me against him," said the farmer, shaking his head, "broke into my house and stole away a casket, half by surprise, half by force, a precious trust left me by dr. gilbert. "as soon as i was free i started for paris, where i arrived on the evening of the thirteenth of july. it was right in the thick of the riot over the busts of necker and the duke of orleans. fellows were carrying them about the street, with cheers for those two, doing no harm to the king, when the royal soldiers charged upon us. i saw poor chaps, who had committed no offense but shouting for persons they had probably never seen, fall around me, some with their skulls laid open with sabre slashes, others with their breasts bored by bullets. i saw prince lambesq, a friend of the king, drive women and children inside the tuileries gardens, who had shouted for nobody, and trample under his horse's hoofs an old man. this set me still more against the king. "next day i went to the boarding school where dr. gilbert's son sebastian was kept, and learnt from the poor lad that his father was locked up in the bastile on a king's order sued for by a lady of the court. so i said to myself, this king, whom they call kind, has moments when he errs, blunders or is ignorant, and i ought to amend one of the faults the king so makes--which i proposed to do by contributing all my power to destroying the bastile. we managed that--not without its being a tough job, for the soldiers of the king fired on us, and killed some two hundred of us which gave me a fresh wrinkle on the kindness of the king. but in short, we took the bastile. in one of its dungeons i found dr. gilbert, for whom i had risked death a hundred times, and the joy of finding him made me forget that and a lot more. besides, he was the first to tell me that the king was kind, ignorant for the most part of the shameful deeds perpetrated in his name, and that one must not bear him a grudge but cast it on his ministers. now, as all that dr. gilbert said at that time was gospel, i believed dr. gilbert. "the bastile being captured, dr. gilbert safe and free, and pitou and myself all well, i forgot the charges in the tuileries garden, the shooting in the street, the two hundred men slain by marshal saxe's sackbut, which is or was a gun on the bastile ramparts, and the imprisonment of my friend on the mere application of a court dame. but, pardon me, count," billet interrupted himself, "all this is no concern of yours, and you cannot have asked to speak with me to hear the babble of a poor uneducated rustic--you who are both a high noble and learned gentleman." he made a move to lay hold of the doorknob and re-enter the other room. but charny stopped him for two reasons, the first that it might be important to learn why billet acted thus, and again, to gain time. "no; tell me the whole story, my dear billet," he said; "you know the interest my poor brothers and i always bore you, and what you say engages me in a high degree." billet smiled bitterly at the words "my poor brothers." "well, then," he replied, "i will tell you all; with regret that your poor brothers--particularly lord isidore, are not here to hear me." this was spoken with such singular intonation that the count repressed the feeling of grief the mention of isidore's name had aroused in his soul, and he waved his hand for the farmer to continue, as billet was evidently ignorant of what had happened the viscount whose presence he desired. "hence," proceeded the yeoman, "when the king returned to paris from versailles, i saw in it sheerly the return home of a father among his children. i walked with dr. gilbert beside the royal carriage, making a breastwork for those within it of my body, and shouting 'long live the king!' to split the ear. this was the first journey of the king: blessings and flowers were all around him. on arriving at the city hall it was noticed that he did not wear the white cockade of his fathers, but he had not yet donned the tricolored one. so i plucked mine from my hat and gave it him as they were roaring he must sport it, and therefore he thanked me, to the cheering of the crowd. i was wild with glee at the king wearing my own favor and i shouted long life to him louder than anybody. "i was so enthusiastic about our good king that i wanted to stay in town. my harvest was ripe and cried for me; but pooh, what mattered a harvest? i was rich enough to lose one season and it was better for me to stay beside this good king to be useful, this father of the people, this restorer of french liberty, as we dunces called him at the time. i lost pretty near all the harvest because i trusted it to catherine, who had something else to look after than my wheat. let us say no more on that score. "still, it was said that the king had not quite fairly agreed to the change in things, that he moved forced and constrained; that he might wear the tricolor cockade in his hat but the white one was in his heart. they were slanderers who said this; it was clearly proved that at the guards' banquet, the queen put on neither the national nor the french cockade but the black one of her brother the austrian emperor. i own that this made my doubts revive; but as dr. gilbert pointed out, 'billet, it is not the king who did this but the queen; and the queen being a woman, one must be indulgent towards a woman.' i believed this so deeply that, when the ruffians came from paris to attack the versailles palace, though i did not hold them wholly in the wrong--it was i who ran to rouse general lafayette--who was in the sleep of the blessed, poor dear man! and brought him on the field in time to save the royal family. "on that night i saw lady elizabeth hug general lafayette and the queen give him her hand to kiss, while the king called him his friend, and i said to myself, says i: 'upon my faith, i believe dr. gilbert is right. surely, not from fear would such high folks make such a show of gratitude, and they would not play a lie if they did not share this hero's opinions, howsoever useful he may be at this pinch to them all.' again i pitied the poor queen, who had only been rash, and the poor king, only feeble; but i let them go back to paris without me--i had better to do at versailles. you know what, count charny!" the lifeguardsman uttered a sigh recalling the death of his brother valence. "i heard that this second trip to the town was not as merry as the former," continued billet; "instead of blessings, curses were showered down; instead of shouts of long live! those of death to the lot! instead of bouquets under the horses hoofs and carriage wheels, dead men's heads carried on spear-points. i don't know, not being there, as i stayed at versailles. still i left the farm without a master, but pshaw! i was rich enough to lose another harvest after that of ' ! but, one fine morning, pitou arrived to announce that i was on the brink of losing something dearer which no father is rich enough to lose: his daughter!" charny started, but the other only looked at him fixedly as he went on: "i must tell you, lord, that a league off from us, at boursonne, lives a noble family of mighty lords, terribly rich. three brothers were the family. when they were boys and used to come over to villers cotterets, the two younger of the three were wont to stop on my place, doing me the honor to say that they never drank sweeter milk than my cows gave, or eaten finer bread than my wife made, and, from time to time they would add--i believing they just said it in payment of my good cheer--ass that i was! that they had never seen a prettier lass than my catherine. lord bless you, i thanked them for drinking the milk, and eating the bread, and finding my child so pretty into the bargain! what would you? as i believed in the king, though he is half a german by the mother's side, i might believe in noblemen who were wholly french. "so, when the youngest of all, valence, who had been away from our parts for a long time, was killed at versailles, before the queen's door, on the october riot night, bravely doing his duty as a nobleman, what a blow that was to me! his brother saw me on my knees before the body, shedding almost as many tears as he shed blood--his eldest brother, i mean, who never came to my house, not because he was too proud, i will do him that fair play, but because he was sent to foreign parts while young. i think i can still see him in the damp courtyard, where i carried the poor young fellow in my arms so that he should not be hacked to pieces, like his comrades, whose blood so dyed me that i was almost as reddened as yourself, lord charny. he was a pretty boy, whom i still see riding to school on his little dappled pony, with a basket on his arm--and thinking of him thus, i think i can mourn him like yourself, my lord. but i think of the other, and i weep no more," said billet. "the other? what do you mean." cried the count. "wait, we are coming to it," was the reply. "pitou had come to paris, and let a couple of words drop to show that it was not my crops so much in danger as my child--not my fortune but my happiness. so i left the king to shift for himself in the city. since he meant the right thing, as dr. gilbert assured me, all would go for the best, whether i was at hand or not, and i returned on my farm. "i believed that catherine had brain fever or something i would not understand, but was only in danger of death. the condition in which i found her made me uneasy, all the more as the doctor forbade me the room till she was cured. the poor father in despair, not allowed to go into the sickroom, could not help hanging round the door. yes, i listened. then i learnt that she was at death's point almost out of her senses with fever, mad because her lover--her gallant, not her sweetheart, see! had gone away. a year before, i had gone away, but she had smiled on my going instead of grieving. my going left her free to meet her gallant! "catherine returned to health but not to gladness! a month, two, three, six months passed without a single beam of joy kissing the face which my eyes never quitted. one morning i saw her smile and shuddered. was not her lover coming back that she should smile? indeed a shepherd who had seen him prowling about, a year before, told me that he had arrived that morning. i did not doubt that he would come over on my ground that evening or rather on the land where catherine was mistress. i loaded up my gun at dark and laid in wait----" "you did this, billet?" queried charny. "why not?" retorted the farmer. "i lay in wait right enough for the wild boar coming to make mush of my potatoes, the wolf to tear my lambs' throats, the fox to throttle my fowls, and am i not to lay in wait for the villain who comes to disgrace my daughter?" "but your heart failed you at the test, billet, i hope," said the count. "no, not the heart, but the eye and the hand," said the other: "a track of blood showed me that i had not wholly missed, only you may understand that a defamed maid had not wavered between father and scoundrel--when i entered the house, catherine had disappeared." "and you have not seen her since?" "no. why should i see her? she knows right well that i should kill her on sight." charny shrank back in terror mingled with admiration for the massive character confronting him. "i retook the work on the farm," proceeded the farmer. "what concern of mine was my misfortune if france were only happy? was not the king marching steadily in the road of revolution? was he not to take his part in the federation? might i not see him again whom i had saved in october and sheltered with my own cockade? what a pleasure it must be for him to see all france gathered on the parade-ground at paris, swearing like one man the unity of the country! "so, for a space, while i saw him, i forgot all, even to catherine--no, i lie--no father forgets his child! he also took the oath. it seemed to me that he swore clumsily, evasively, from his seat, instead of at the altar of the country, but what did that matter? the main thing was that he did swear. an oath is an oath. it is not the place where he takes it that makes it holy, and when an honest man takes an oath, he keeps it. so the king should keep his word. but it is true that when i got home to villers cotterets,--having no child now, i attended to politics--i heard say that the king was willing to have marquis favras carry him off but the scheme had fallen through; that the king had tried to flee with his aunts, but that had failed; that he wanted to go out to st. cloud, whence he would have hurried off to rouen, but that the people prevented him leaving town. i heard all this but i did not believe it. had i not with my own eyes seen the king hold up his hand to high heaven on the paris parade-ground and swear to maintain the nation? how could i believe that a king, having sworn in the presence of three hundred thousand citizens, would not hold his pledge to be as sacred as that of other men? it was not likely! "hence, as i was at meaux market yesterday,--i may as well say i was sleeping at the postmaster's house, with whom i had made a grain deal--i was astonished to see in a carriage changing horses at my friend's door, the king, the queen and the dauphin! there was no mistaking them; i was in the habit of seeing them in a coach; on the sixteenth of july, i accompanied them from versailles to paris. i heard one of the party say: 'the chalons road!' this man in a buff waistcoat had a voice i knew; i turned and recognized--who but the gentleman who had stolen away my daughter! this noble was doing his duty by playing the flunky before his master's coach." at this, he looked hard at charny to see if he understood that his brother isidore was the subject; but the hearer was silent as he wiped his face with his handkerchief. "i wanted to fly at him, but he was already at a distance. he was on a good horse and had weapons--i, none. i ground my teeth at the idea that the king was escaping out of france and this ravisher escaping me, but suddenly another thought struck me. why, look ye; i took an oath to the nation, and while the king breaks his, i shall keep mine. i am only ten leagues from paris which i can reach in two hours on a good nag; it is but three in the morning. i will talk this matter over with mayor bailly, an honest man who appears to be one of the kind who stick to the promises they make. this point settled i wasted no time, but begged my friend the postinghouse keeper to lend me his national guards uniform, his sword and pistols and i took the best horse in his stables--all without letting him know what was in the wind, of course. instead, therefore, of trotting home, i galloped hellity-split to paris. "thank god, i got there on time! the flight of the king was known but not the direction. lafayette had sent his aid romeuf on the valenciennes road! but mark what a thing chance is! they had stopped him at the bars, and he was brought back to the assembly, where he walked in at the very nick when mayor bailly, informed by me, was furnishing the most precise particulars about the runaways. there was nothing but the proper warrant to write and the road to state. the thing was done in a flash. romeuf was dispatched on the chalons road and my order was to stick to him, which i am going to do. now," concluded billet, with a gloomy air, "i have overtaken the king, who deceived me as a frenchman, and i am easy about his escaping me! i can go and attend to the man who deceived me as a father; and i swear to you, lord charny, that he shall not escape me either." "you are wrong, my dear billet--woeful to say," responded the count. "how so?" "the unfortunate young man you speak of has escaped." "fled?" cried billet with indescribable rage. "no, he is dead," replied the other. "dead?" exclaimed billet, shivering in spite of himself, and sponging his forehead on which the sweat had started out. "dead," repeated charny, "for this is his blood which you see on me and which you were right just now in likening to that from his brother slain at versailles. if you doubt, go down into the street where you will find his body laid out in a little yard, like that of versailles, struck down for the same cause for which his brother fell." billet looked at the speaker, who spoke in a gentle voice, but with haggard eyes and a frightened face; then suddenly he cried: "of a truth, there is justice in heaven!" he darted out of the room, saying: "i do not doubt your word, lord, but i must assure my sight that justice is done." charny stifled a sigh as he watched him go, and dashed away a tear. aware that there was not an instant to lose, he hurried to the queen's room, and as soon as he walked directly up to her, he asked how she had got on with romeuf. "he is on our side," responded the lady. "so much the better," said charny, "for there is nothing to hope in that quarter." "what are we to do then?" "gain time for bouille to come up." "but will he come?" "yes, for i am going to fetch him." "but the streets swarm with murderers," cried the queen. "you are known, you will never pass, you will be hewn to pieces: george, george!" but smiling without replying, charny opened the window on the back garden, waved his hand to the king and the queen, and jumped out over fifteen feet. the queen sent up a shriek of terror and hid her face in her hands; but the man ran to the wind and by a cheer allayed her fears. charny had scaled the garden wall and was disappearing on the other side. it was high time, for billet was entering. chapter xviii. on the back track. billet's countenance was dark; thoughtfulness lowered the brows over eyes deeply investigating; he reviewed all the prisoners and over the circle he made two remarks. charny's flight was patent; the window was being closed by the colonel after him; by bending forward billet could see the count vaulting over the garden wall. it followed that the agreement made between captain romeuf and the queen was for him to stand neutral. behind billet the outer room was filled as before with the scythe-bearers, musketeers and swordsmen whom his gesture had dismissed. these men seemed to obey this chief to whom they were attracted by magnetic influence, because they divined in one a plebeian like themselves patriotism or hatred equal to their own. his glance behind himself meeting theirs told him that he might rely on them, even in case he had to proceed to violence. "well, have they decided to go?" he asked romeuf. the queen threw on him one of those side looks which would have blasted him if they had the power of lightning, which they resemble. without replying, she clutched the arm of her chair as though to clamp herself to it. "the king begs a little more time as they have not slept in the night and their majesties are dying of fatigue?" said romeuf. "captain," returned billet bluntly, "you know very well that it is not because their majesties are fatigued that they sue for time, but because they hope in a few instants that lord bouille will arrive. but it will be well for their majesties not to dally," added billet with emphasis, "for if they refuse to come out willingly, they will be lugged by the heels." "scoundrel!" cried damas, darting at the speaker with his sword up. billet turned to face him, but with folded arms. he had in truth no need to defend himself, for eight or ten men sprang into the room, and the colonel was threatened by ten different weapons. the king saw that the least word or move would lead to all his supporters being shot or chopped to rags, and he said, "it is well: let the horses be put to. we are going." one of the queen's women who travelled in a cab with her companion after the royal coach, screamed and swooned; this awakened the boy prince and his sister, who wept. "fie, sir, you cannot have a child that you are so cruel to a mother," said the queen to the farmer. "no, madam," replied he, repressing a start, and with a bitter smile, "i have no child now. there is to be no delay about the horses," he went on, to the king, "the horses are harnessed, and the carriage at the door." approaching the window the king saw that all was ready; in the immense din he had not heard the horses brought up. seeing him through the window the mob burst into a shout which was a threat. he turned pale. "what does your majesty order?" inquired choiseul of the queen: "we had rather die than witness this outrage." "do you believe lord charny has got away?" she asked quickly in an undertone. "i can answer for that." "then let us go; but in heaven's name, for your own sake as well as ours, do not quit us." the king understood her fear. "i do not see any horses for lord choiseul and damas," observed he. "they can follow as they like," said billet; "my orders are to bring the king and the queen, and do not speak of them." "but i declare that i will not go without them having their horses," broke forth the monarch with more firmness than was expected from him. "what do you say to that?" cried billet to his men swarming into the room. "here is the king not going because these gentlemen have no horses!" the mob roared with laughter. "i will find them," said romeuf. "do not quit their majesties," interposed choiseul: "your office gives you some power over the people, and it depends on your honor that not a hair of their head should fall." romeuf stopped, while billet snapped his fingers. "i will attend to this," said he, leading the way; but stopping on the threshold he said, frowning: "but you will fetch them along, eh, lads?" "oh, never fear," replied the men, with a peal of laughter evidencing that no pity was to be expected in case of resistance. at such a point of irritation, they would certainly have used roughness and shot down any one resisting. billet had no need to come upstairs again. one of them by the window watched what happened in the street. "the horses are ready," he said: "out you get!" "out, and be off!" said his companions with a tone admitting no discussion. the king took the lead. romeuf was supposed to look particularly after the family, but the fact is he had need to take care of himself. the rumor had spread that he was not only carrying out the assembly's orders with mildness but by his inertia, if not actively, favored the flight of one of the most devoted upholders of the royals, who had only quitted them in order to hurry up marquis bouille to their rescue. the result was that on the sill, while billet's conduct was glorified by the gathering, romeuf heard himself qualified as a traitor and an aristocrat. the party stepped into the carriage and the cab, with the two lifeguards on the box. valory had asked as a favor that the king would let him and his comrade be considered as domestics since they were no longer allowed to act as his soldiers. "as things stand," he pleaded, "princes of the blood royal might be glad to be here; the more honor for simple gentlemen like us." "have it so," said the sovereign tearfully, "you shall not quit me ever." thus they took in reality the place of couriers. choiseul closed the door. "gentlemen," said the king, "i positively give the order that you shall drive me to montmedy. postillions, to montmedy!" but one voice, that of the united populations of more than this town, replied: "to paris!" in the lull, billet pointed with his sword and said: "postboys, take the clermont road." the vehicle whirled round to obey this order. "i take you all for witness that i am overpowered by violence," said louis xvi. exhausted by the effort he had made, the unfortunate king, who had never shown so much will before, fell back on the rear seat, between the queen and his sister. in five minutes, after going a couple of hundred paces, a great clamor was heard behind. as they were placed, the queen was the passenger who could first get her head out of the window. she drew in almost instantly, covering her eyes with both hands, and muttering: "oh, woe to us! they are murdering choiseul." the king tried to rise, but the two ladies pulled him down; anyhow the carriage turned the road and they could not see what passed at twenty paces that way. choiseul and damas had mounted their horses at sausse's door but romeuf's had been taken away from the post-house. he and two cavalrymen followed on foot, hoping to find a horse or two, either of the hussars and dragoons who had been led off by the people, or abandoned by their masters. but they had not gone fifteen steps before choiseul perceived that the three were in danger of being smothered, pressed down and scattered in the multitude. he stopped, letting the carriage go on, and judging that romeuf was of the most value to the royal family in this strait, called to his servant, james brisack, who was mixed up with the press. "give my spare horse to captain romeuf." scarce had he spoken the words than the exasperated crowd enveloped him, yelling: "this is the count of choiseul, one who wanted to take away the king! down with the aristocrat--death to the traitor!" all know with what rapidity the effect follows the threat in popular commotions. torn from his saddle, count choiseul was hurled back and was swallowed up in that horrible gulf of the multitude, from which in that epoch of deadly passions one emerged only in fragments. but at the same time as he fell five persons rushed to his rescue. these were damas, romeuf, brisack and two others, the last having lost the led horse so that his hands were free for his master's service. such a conflict arose as the indians wage around the body of a fallen warrior whom they do not wish scalped. contrary to all probability, choiseul was not hurt, or at least slightly, despite the ugly weapons used against him. a soldier parried with his musket a scythe thrust aimed at him, and brisack warded off another with a stick he had snatched from a hand in the medley. this stick was cleft like a reed, but the cut was so turned as to wound only the count's horse. "this way the dragoons!" it came into adjutant foucq's head to halloa. some soldiers rushed up at the call and cleared a space in their shame at the officer being murdered among them. romeuf sprang into the open space. "in the name of the national assembly, and of general lafayette, whose deputy i am, lead these gentleman to the town-hall!" he vociferated. both names of the assembly and the general enjoyed full popularity at this period and exerted their usual effect. "to the town-hall," roared the concourse. willing hands made a united effort and choiseul and his companions were dragged towards the council rooms. it took well over an hour to get there; each minute had its threat and attempt to murder, and every opening the protectors left was used to thrust with a pike or pitchfork or sabre. however, the municipal building was reached at last, where only one towns officer remained, frightened extremely at the responsibility devolving on him. to relieve him of this charge, he ordered that choiseul, damas and floirac should be put in the cells and watched by the national guards. romeuf thereupon declared that he would not quit choiseul, who had shielded him and so brought on himself what happened. so the town official ordered that he should be put in the cell along with him. choiseul made a sign for his groom brisack to get away and see to the horses. not much pulled about, they were in an inn, guarded by the volunteers. romeuf stayed till the verdun national guard came in, when he entrusted the prisoners to them, and went his way with the officers' pledge that they would keep them well. isidore charny's remains were dragged into a weaver's house, where pious but alien hands prepared them for the grave--less fortunate he than his brother valence, who, at least, was mourned over by his brother and billet, and gilbert. but at that time, billet was a devoted and respectful friend. we know how these feelings changed into hate: as implacable as the better sentiments had been deep. chapter xix. the dolorous way. in the meantime the royal family continued on the road to paris. they advanced slowly, for the carriage could not move but at the gait of the escort, and that was composed mostly of men on foot. their ranks were filled up with women and children, the women lifting their babes up in their arms to see the king dragged back to the capital: probably they would never have seen him under other circumstances. the coach and the cab with the ladies in waiting, seemed in the human sea like a ship with her tender. incidents stirred up the sea into heaving furiously at times when the coach disappeared under the billows and appeared very slow to emerge. though it was six miles to clermont where they arrived, the terrible escort did not lessen in number as those who dropped off were replaced by new-comers from the countryside who wanted to have a peep at the show. of all the captives on and in this ambulatory prison the worst exposed to the popular wrath and the plainest butt of the menaces were the unhappy lifeguards on the large box seat; as the order of the national assembly made the royal family inviolable, the way to vent spite on them by proxy, was to plague these men. bayonets were continually held to their breasts, some scythes, really death's, gleamed over their heads, or some spear glided like a perfidious serpent, in the gaps to pierce the flesh with its keen sting and return to the wielder disgusted that he had not drawn more blood. all at once they saw a man without hat or weapon, his clothing smeared with mud and dust, split the crowd. after having addressed a respectful bow to the king and the queen, he sprang upon the forepart of the carriage and from the trace-chain hooks upon the box between the two lifeguards. the queen's outcry was of fear, joy and pain. she had recognized charny. fear, for what he did was so bold that it was a miracle he had reached the perch without receiving some wound. joy, for she was happy to see that he had escaped the unknown dangers he must have run, all the greater as imagination was outstripped by the reality. pain, for she comprehended that charny's solitary return implied that nothing was to be expected from bouille. in fact, while charny had reached the royalists at grange-au-bois on a horse he picked up on the road, his attempt to guide the army ended in failure: a canal which he had not noted down in his survey, perhaps cut since then, was brimful of water and he nearly lost his life, as he did his horse, in trying to swim across it. all he could do, on scrambling out on the other side from his friends, was to wave them a farewell, for he understood that the cavaliers as a mass could not succeed where he had fallen short. confounded by the audacity of this recruit to the lost cause, the mob seemed to respect him for this boldness. at the turmoil, billet, who was riding at the head, turned and recognized the nobleman. "ha, i am glad that nothing happened him," he said: "but woe to whomsoever tries this again, for he shall certainly pay for the two." at two of the afternoon they arrived at st. menehould. loss of sleep and weariness was telling on all the prisoners, but particularly on the dauphin, who was feverish and wanted to be undressed and put to bed, as he was not well, he said. but st. menehould was the place most enraged against the royal family. so no attention was paid to the king who ordered a stop. a contradictory order from billet led to the change of horses being hooked on the pole. the queen could not withstand her child's complaints and holding the little prince up at the window to show him to the people, shivering and in tears, she said: "gentlemen, in pity for this boy, stop!" "forward, march!" shouted billet. "forward," repeated the people. billet passed the carriage window to take his place in the front when the queen appealed to him: "for shame, sir, it is plain, i repeat that you never were a father." "and i repeat, madam, that i was a father once, but am one no longer." "do as you will, for you are the stronger: but beware! for no voice cries more loudly to heaven than that of these little ones!" the procession went on again. it was cruel work passing through the town. if kings could learn any thing, the enthusiasm excited by sight of drouet, to whom the arrest was due, would have been a dreadful lesson; but both captives saw merely blind fury in the cheers; they saw but rebels in these patriots who were convinced that they were saving their country. perhaps it was the king's impression that paris alone was perverted that urged him into the evil course. he had relied on "his dear provinces." but here were the dear rurals not only escaping him but turning pitilessly against him. the country folk had frightened choiseul in sommevelle, imprisoned dandoins at st. menehould, fired on damas at clermont, and lately killed isidore charny under the royal eyes. all classes rose against him. it would have cut him worse had he seen what the spreading news did; roused all the country to come--not to stare and form an escort--but to kill him. the harvest was so bad that this country was called "blank champagne," and here came the king who had brought in the thievish hussar and the pillaging pandour to trample the poor fields under their horses' hoofs; but the carriage was guarded by an angel and two cherubs. lady elizabeth was twenty-seven but her chastity had kept the unfading brilliancy of youth on her brow: the dauphin, ailing and shivering on his mother's knee; the princess fair as the blondes can be, looking out with her firm while astonished gaze. these men saw these, the queen bent over her boy, and the king downhearted: and their anger abated or sought another object on which to turn it. they yelped at the lifeguardsmen; insulted them, called those noble and devoted hearts traitors and cowards, while the june sun made a fiery rainbow in the chalky dust flung up by the endless train upon those hotheads, heated by the cheap wine of the taverns. half a mile out of the town, an old knight of st. louis was seen galloping over the fields; he wore the ribbon of the order at his buttonhole: as it was first thought that he came from sheer curiosity, the crowd made room for him. he went up to the carriage window, hat in hand, saluted the king and the queen, and hailed them as majesties. the people had measured true force and real majesty, and were indignant at the title being given away from them to whom it was due; they began to grumble and threaten. the king had already learnt what this growl portended from hearing it around the house at varennes. "sir knight," he said to the old chevalier, "the queen and myself are touched by this publicly expressed token of your devotion; but in god's name, get you hence--your life is not safe." "my life is the king's, and the finest day of it will be when laid down for the king." hearing this speech, some growled. "retire," said the king. "make way there, my friends, for chevalier dampierre." those near who heard the appeal, stood back. but unfortunately the horseman was squeezed in and used the whip and spur on the animal unable to move freely. some trodden-on women screamed, a frightened child cried, and on the men shaking their fists the old noble flourished his whip. thereupon the growl changed to a roar: the grand popular and leonine fury broke forth. dampierre was already on the edge of the forest of men; he drove in both spurs which made the steed leap the ditch where it galloped across the country. he turned, and waving his hat, cried: "god save the king!"--a final homage to his sovereign but a supreme insult to the people. off went a gun. he pulled a pistol from his holsters and returned the fire. everyone who had firearms, let fly at him. the horse fell, riddled with bullets. nobody ever knew whether the man was slain outright or not by this dreadful volley. the multitude rushed like an avalanche where rider and steed had dropped, some fifty paces from the royal carriage: one of those tumults arose such as surge upon a dead body in battle: then, out of the disordered movements, the shapeless chaos, the gulf of yells and cheers, up rose a pike surmounted by the white head of the luckless chevalier dampierre. the queen screamed and threw herself back in the vehicle. "monsters, cannibals, assassins!" shouted charny. "hold your tongue, count," said billet, "or i cannot answer for you." "what matters? i am tired of life. what can befall me worse than my poor brother?" "your brother was guilty and you are not," replied billet. charny started to jump down from the box but the other lifeguard restrained him, while twenty bayonets bristled to receive him. "friends," said the farmer in his strong and imposing voice, as he pointed to charny, "whatever this man says or does, never heed--i forbid a hair of his head being touched. i am answerable for him to his wife." "to his wife," muttered the queen, shuddering as though one of the steel points menacing her beloved had pricked her heart, "why does he say to his wife?" billet could not have himself told. he had invoked the name of the count's wife, knowing how powerful such a charm is over a mob composed mainly of men with wives. they were late reaching chalons, where the king, in alighting at the house prepared for the family, heard a bullet whizz by his ear. was it an accident where so many were inexperienced in arms or an attempt at regicide? "some clumsy fellow," said he coolly: "gentlemen, you ought to be careful--an accident soon happens." apart from this shot, there was a calmer atmosphere to step into. the uproar ceased at the house door: murmurs of compassion were heard; the table was laid out with elegance astonishing the captives. there were servants also, but charny claimed their work for himself and the other lifeguards, hiding under the pretended humility, the intention to stay close to the king for any event. marie antoinette understood this; but in her heart rumbled billet's words about charny's wife, like a storm brewing. charny, whom she had expected to take away from france, to live abroad with her, was now returning to paris to see his wife andrea again! he was ignorant of this ferment in her heart, from not supposing she had heard the words; besides, he was busy over some freshly conceived hopes. having been sent in advance to study the route he had conscientiously fulfilled his errand. he knew the political tone of even each village. chalons had a royalist bias from it being an old town, without trade, work or activity, peopled by nobles, retired business men and contented citizens. scarcely were the royal party at table than the county lieutenant, whose house they were in, came to bow to the queen, who looked at him uneasily from having ceased to expect anything good, and said: "may it please your majesty to let the maids of chalons offer flowers?" "flowers?" repeated she, looking with astonishment from him to lady elizabeth. "pray, let them come." shortly after, twelve young ladies, the prettiest they could find in the town, tripped up to the threshold where the queen held out her arms to them. one of them who had been taught a formal speech, was so effected by this warm greeting that she forgot it all and stammered the general opinion: "oh, your majesty, what a dreadful misfortune!" the queen took the bunch of flowers and kissed the girl. "sire," whispered charny to the king meanwhile, "something good may be done here; if your majesty will spare me for an hour, i will go out and inquire how the wind turns." "do so, but be prudent," was the reply: "i shall never console myself if harm befalls you. alas, two deaths are enough in one family." "sire, my life is as much the king's as my brothers'." in the presence of the monarch his stoicism could be worn but he felt his grief when by himself. "poor isidore," he muttered, while pressing his hand to his breast to see if he still had in the pocket the papers of the dead handed him by count choiseul, which he had promised himself to read as he would the last will of his loved one. behind the girls came their parents, almost all nobles or members of the upper middle class; they came timidly and humbly to crave permission to offer their respect to their unfortunate sovereigns. they could hardly believe that they had seen the unfortunate dampierre hewn to pieces under their eyes a while before. charny came back in half an hour. it was impossible for the keenest eye to read the effect of his reconnoitre on his countenance. "all is for the best, sire," replied he to the king's inquiry. "the national guard offer to conduct your majesty to-morrow to montmedy." "so you have arranged some course?" "with the principal citizens. it is a church feast to-morrow so that they cannot refuse your request to go to hear service. at the church door a carriage will be waiting which will receive your majesties; amid the cheering you will give the order to be driven to montmedy and you will be obeyed." "that is well," said louis: "thank you, count, and we will do this if nothing comes between. but you and your companions must take some rest; you must need it more than we." the reception was not prolonged far into the night so that the royal family retired about nine. a sentinel at their door let them see that they were still regarded as prisoners. but he presented arms to them. by his precise movement the king recognized an old soldier. "where have you served, my friend?" he inquired. "in the french guards, sire," answered the veteran. "then i am not surprised to see you here," returned the monarch; for he had not forgotten that the french guards had gone over to the people on the th july, . this sentinel was posted at their sleeping room door. an hour afterwards, he asked to speak with the leader of the escort, who was billet, on his being relieved of guard-mounting. the farmer was taking supper with the rustics who flocked in from all sides and endeavoring to persuade them to stay in town all night. but most of them had seen the king, which was mainly what led them, and they wanted to celebrate the holiday at home. he tried to detain them because the aristocratic tendency of the old town alarmed him. it was in the midst of this discussion that the sentinel came to talk with him. they conversed in a low voice most lively. next, billet sent for drouet, and they held a similar conference. after this they went to the postmaster, who was drouet's friend, and the same line of business made them friendlier still. he saddled two horses and in ten minutes billet was galloping on the road to rheims and drouet to vitry. day dawned. hardly six hundred men remained of the numerous escort, and they were fagged out, having passed the night on straw they had brought along, in the street. as they shook themselves awake in the dawn they might have seen a dozen men in uniform enter the lieutenancy office and come out hastily shortly after. chalons was headquarters for the villeroy company of lifeguards, and ten or twelve of the officers came to take orders from charny. he told them to don full dress and be on their horses by the church door for the king's exit. these were the uniformed men whom we have seen. some of the peasants reckoned their distance from home in the morning and to the number of two hundred more or less they departed, in spite of their comrades' pleadings. this reduced the faithful to a little over four hundred only. to the same number might be reckoned the national guards devoted to the king, without the royal guards officers and those recruited, a forlorn hope which would set the lead in case of emergency. besides, as hinted, the town was aristocratic. when the word was sent to billet and drouet to hear what they said about the king and the queen going to hear mass, they could not be found and nothing therefore opposed the desire. the king was delighted to hear of the absence but charny shook his head: he did not know drouet's character but he knew billet's. nevertheless all the augury was favorable, and indeed the king not only came out of church amid cheers but the royalist gathering had assumed colossal proportions. still it was not without apprehension that charny encouraged the king to make up his mind. he put his head out of the carriage window and said: "gentlemen, yesterday at varennes, violence was used against me; i gave the order to be driven to montmedy but i was constrained to go towards a revolted capital. then i was among rebels, but now i am among honest subjects, to whom i repeat, 'to montmedy!'" "to montmedy!" echoed charny and the others shouted the same, and to the chorus of "long live the king!" the carriage was turned round and retook the road it had yesterday travelled. in the absence of billet and drouet the rustics seemed commanded by the french guardsman who had stood sentry at the royal door. charny watched and saw that he made his men wheel and mutely follow the movement though the scowls showed that they did not approve of it. they let the national guards pass them, and massed in their rear as a rearguard. in the foremost ranks marched the pike and spear-men: then fifty who carried muskets and fowling pieces manoeuvring so neatly that charny was disquieted: but he could not oppose it and he was unable to understand it. he was soon to have the explanation. as they approached the town gates, spite of the cheering, they heard another sound like the dull rolling of a storm. suddenly charny turned pale and laid his hand on the lifeguard next him. "all is lost," he gasped: "do you not hear that drum?" they turned the corner into a square where two streets entered. one came from rheims the other from vitry, and up each was marching a column of national guards; one numbered eighteen hundred, the other more than two thousand. each was led by a man on horseback. one was billet, the other drouet. charny saw why they had disappeared during the night. fore-warned no doubt, of the counteraction in preparation, they had gone off for reinforcements. they had concerted their movements so as to arrive simultaneously. they halted their men in the square, completely blocking the road. without any cries, they began to load their firearms. the procession had to stop. "what is the matter?" asked the king, putting his head out of the window, of charny, pale and gritting his teeth. "why, my lord, the enemy has gone for reinforcements and they stand yonder, loading their guns, while behind the chalons national guards the peasants are ready with their guns." "what do you think of all this?" "that we are caught between two fires, which will not prevent us passing, but what will happen to your majesty i cannot tell." "very well, let us turn back. enough blood has been shed for my sake and i weep bitter tears for it. i do not wish one drop more to flow. let us return." "gentlemen," said charny, jumping down and taking the leader horse by the bridle, "the king bids us turn back." at the paris gate the chalons national guards, become useless, gave place to those from rheims and vitry. "do you not think i behaved properly, madam?" inquired louis of his wife. "yes--but i think count charny obeyed you very easily," was her comment. she fell into one of those gloomy reveries which was not entirely due to the terrible situation in which she was hedged in. chapter xx. mirabeau's successor. the royal carriage sadly travelled the paris road, watched by the two moody men who had forced it to alter its direction. between epernay and dormans, charny, from his stature and his high seat, could distinguish a four-in-hand coach approaching from the way of paris. he guessed that it brought grave news of some important character. indeed, it was hailed with cheers for the national assembly, and contained three officials. one was hatour maubourg, lafayette's right hand man, petion and barnave, members of the house. of the three the oldest stepped up to the royal carriage, leaving his own, and roughly opening the door, he said: "i am petion, and these barnave and latour, members of the assembly, sent by it to serve you as escort and see that the wrath of the populace does not anticipate justice with its own hand. close up there to make room for me." the queen darted on all three one of those disdainful glances which the haughty daughter of maria theresa deigned to let fall from her pride. latour was a gentleman of the old school, like lafayette, and he could not support the glance. he declined to enter the carriage on the ground that the occupants were too closely packed. "i will get into the following one," he said. "get in where you like," said petion; "my place is with the king and the queen, and in i go." he stepped in at the same time. he looked one after another at the king, the queen and lady elizabeth, who occupied the back seat. "excuse me, madam," he said to the last, "but the place of honor belongs to me as representative of the assembly. be obliging enough to rise and take the front seat." "whoever heard of such a thing?" muttered the queen. "sir!" began the king. "that is the way of it; so, rise, madam, and give your place to me." lady elizabeth obeyed, with a sign of resignation to her brother and sister. latour had gone to the cab to ask the ladies to let him travel with them. member barnave stood without, wavering about entering the conveyance where seven persons were. "are you not coming, barnave?" asked petion. "where am i to put myself?" inquired the somewhat embarrassed man. "would you like my place?" demanded the queen tartly. "i thank you, madam," rejoined barnave, stung; "a seat in the front will do for me." it was made by lady elizabeth drawing the princess royal to her side while the queen took the dauphin on her knee. barnave was thus placed opposite the queen. "all ready," cried petion, without asking the king, "on you go!" the vehicle resumed the journey, to cheers for the national assembly. it was the people who stepped into the royal carriage with their representatives. there was silence during which each studied the others except petion who seemed in his roughness to be indifferent to everything. jerome petion, _alias_ villeneuve, was about thirty-two; his features were sharply defined; his merit lay in the exaltation, clearness and straightforwardness of his political opinions. born at chartres, he was a lawyer when sent to paris in , as member of the assembly. he was fated to be mayor of paris, enjoy popularity effacing that of bailly and lafayette and die on the bordeaux salt meadow wastes, devoured by wolves. his friends called him the virtuous petion. he and camille desmoulins were republicans when nobody else in france knew the word. pierre joseph marie barnave was born at grenoble; he was hardly thirty; in the assembly he had acquired both his reputation and great popularity, by struggling with mirabeau as the latter waned. all the great orator's enemies were necessarily friends of barnave and had sustained him. he appeared but five-and-twenty, with bright blue eyes, a largish mouth, turned-up nose and sharp voice. but his form was elegant; a duelist and aggressive, he looked like a young military captain in citizen's dress. he was worth more than he seemed. he belonged to the constitutional royalist party. "gentlemen," said the king as he took his seat, "i declare to you that it never was my intention to quit the kingdom." "that being so, the words will save france," replied barnave, looking at him ere he sat down. thereupon something strange transpired between this scion of the country middle class and the woman descended from the greatest throne of europe. each tried to read the other's heart, not like two political foes, hiding state secrets, but like a man and a woman seeking mysteries of love. barnave aimed in all things to be the heir and successor of mirabeau. in everybody's eyes mirabeau passed for having enjoyed the king's confidence and the queen's affection. we know what the truth was. it was not only the fashion then to spread libels but to believe in them. barnave's desire to be mirabeau in all respects is what led him to be appointed one of the three commissioners to bring back the royal family. he came with the assurance of the man who knows that he has the power to make himself hated if he cannot make himself loved. the queen divined this with her woman's eye if she did not perceive it. she also observed barnave's moodiness. half a dozen times in a quarter of an hour, barnave turned to look at the three lifeguards on the box, examining them with scrupulous attention, and dropping his glance to the queen more hard and hostile than before. barnave knew that one of the trio was charny, but which he was ignorant of: and public rumor accredited charny as the queen's paramour. he was jealous, though it is hard to explain such a feeling in him; but the queen guessed that, too. from that moment she was stronger; she knew the flaw in the adversary's breastplate and she could strike true. "did you hear what that man who was conducting the carriage said about the count of charny?" she asked of louis xvi. barnave gave a start which did not escape the queen, whose knees was touching his. "he declared, did he not, that he was responsible for the count's life?" rejoined the sovereign. "exactly, and that he answered for his life to his wife." barnave half closed his eyes but he did not lose a syllable. "now the countess is my old friend andrea taverney. do you think, on our return to paris, that it will be handsome to give him leave to go and cheer his wife. he has run great risks, and his brother has been killed on our behalf. i think that to claim his continued service beside us would be to act cruelly to the happy couple." barnave breathed again and opened his eyes fully. "you are right, though i doubt that the count will accept it," returned the king. "in that case we shall both have done our duty--we in proposing it and the count in refusing." by magnetic sympathy she felt that barnave's irritation was softening. at the same time that his generous heart understood that he had been unfair to her his shame sprang up. he had borne himself with a high head like a judge, and now she suddenly spoke the very words which determined her innocence of the charge which she could not have foreseen, or her repentance. why not innocence? "we would stand in the better position," continued the queen, "from our not having taken count charny with us, and from my thinking, on my part, that he was in paris when he suddenly appeared by the side of our carriage." "it is so," proceeded the monarch; "but it only proves that the count has no need of stimulant when his duty is in question." there was no longer any doubt that she was guiltless. how was barnave to obtain the queen's forgiveness for having wronged her as a woman? he did not dare address her, and was he to wait till she spoke the first? she said nothing at all as she was satisfied with the effect she had produced. he had become gentle, almost humble; he implored her with a look, but she did not appear to pay him any heed. he was in one of those moods when to rouse a woman from inattention he would have undertaken the twelve labors of hercules, at the risk of the first being too much for him. he was beseeching "the supreme being," which was the fashionable god in , when they had ceased to believe in heaven, for some chance to bring attention upon him, when all at once, as though the ruler, under whatever title addressed, had heard the prayer, a poor priest who waited for the king to go by, approached from the roadside to see the august prisoner the nearer, and said as he raised his supplicating hands and tear-wet eyes: "god bless your majesty!" it was a long time since the crowd had a chance of flying into anger. nothing had presented itself since the hapless knight of st. louis, whose head was still following on the pike-point. this occasion was eagerly embraced. the mob replied to the reverence with a roar: they threw themselves on the priest in a twinkling, and he was flung down and would have been flayed alive before barnave broke from his abstraction had not the frightened queen appealed to him. "oh, sir, do you not see what is going on?" he raised his head, plunged a rapid look into the ocean which submerged the priest, and rolled in growling and tumultuous waves up to the carriage; he burst the door with such violence that he would have fallen out if the princess elizabeth had not caught him by the coat. "you villains!" he shouted. "tigers, who cannot be french men! or france, the home of the brave, has become a den of assassins!" this apostrophe may appear bombastic to us but it was in the style of the period. besides, the denunciator belonged to the national assembly and supreme power spoke by his voice. the crowd recoiled and the old man was saved. he rose and said: "you did well to save an old man, young sir--he will ever pray for you." he made the sign of the cross, and went his way, the throng opening to him, dominated by the voice and attitude of barnave, who seemed the statue of command. when the victim was gone from sight, the young deputy simply and naturally retook his seat, as if he were not aware he had saved a human life. "i thank you, sir," said the queen. these few words set him quivering over all his frame. in all the long period during which we have accompanied marie antoinette, though she had been more lovely, never had she been more touching. he was contemplating so much motherly grace when the prince uttered a cry of pain at the moment when barnave was inclined to fall at the knees of dying majesty. the boy had played some roguish trick on the virtuous petion, who had deemed it proper to pull his ears. the king reddened with anger, the queen turned pale with shame. she held out her arms and pulled the boy from between petion's knees, so that barnave received him between his. she still wished to draw him to her but he resisted, saying: "i am comfortable here." through motherly playfulness or womanly seductiveness, she allowed the boy to stay. it is impossible to tell what passed in barnave's heart: he was both proud and happy. the prince set to playing with the buttons of the member's coat, which bore the motto: "live free or die." "what does that mean?" he wanted to know. as barnave was silent, petion interpreted. "my little man, that means that the french have sworn never to know masters more, if you can understand that? explain it otherwise, barnave, if you can." the other was hushed: the motto, which he had thought sublime, seemed almost cruel at present. but he took the boy's hand and respectfully kissed it. the queen wiped away a tear, risen from her heart. the carriage, moving theatre of this little episode, continued to roll forward through the hooting of the mob, bearing to death six of the eight passengers. chapter xxi. another dupe. on arriving at dormans, the party had to get out at an inn as nothing was prepared for them. either from petion's orders or from the royal family's snubbing him on the journey having vexed him, or because the place was really full, only three garret rooms were available. charny got down the first to have the queen's orders but she gave him a look to imply that he was to keep in the background. he hastened to obey without knowing the cause. it was petion who entered the hotel, and acted as quarter-master; he did not give himself the trouble to come out again and it was a waiter who told the royals that their rooms were ready. barnave was embarrassed as he wanted to offer his arm to the queen, but he feared that she who had been wont to rail at exaggerated etiquette, would nevertheless invoke it now. so he waited. the king stepped out, followed by the queen, who held out her arms for her son, but he said as if he knew his part to please his mother: "no, i want to stay with my friend barnave." marie antoinette submitted with a sweet smile. barnave let lady elizabeth pass out with the princess royal before he alighted, carrying the boy in his arms. lady tourzel closed the march, eager to snatch the royal child from these plebeian arms but the queen made her a sign which cooled the ardor of the aristocratic governess. barnave did not say anything on finding that the virtuous petion had taken the best part of the house, as he set down the prince on the second landing. "mamma, here is my friend barnave going away," cried he. "very right, too," observed the queen on seeing the attics reserved for her and her family. the king was so tired that he wished to lie down, but the bed was so short that he had to get up in a minute and called for a chair. with the cane-bottomed one eking out a wooden one he lengthened the couch. "oh, sire," said malden, who brought the chair, "can you pass the night thus?" "certainly: besides, if what the ministers say be true, many of my subjects would be only too glad to have this loft, these chairs and this pallet." he laid on this wretched bed, a prelude to his miserable nights in the temple prison. when he came in to supper, he found the table set for six: petion had added himself to the royal family. "why not eight, then, for messieurs latour maubourg and barnave?" jeered the king. "m. barnave excused himself, but m. petion persisted," replied the waiter. the grave, austere face of the deputy appeared in the doorway. the king bore himself as if alone and said to the waiter: "i sit at table with my own family solely: or without guests. if not, we do not eat at all." petion went away furious, and heard the door bolted after him. the queen looked for charny during the meal, wishing that he had disobeyed her. her husband was rising after finishing supper when the waiter came to state that the first floor parlors were ready for them. they had been decked out with flowers, by the forethought of barnave. the queen sighed: a few years before she would have had to thank charny for such attentions. moreover, barnave had the delicacy not to appear to receive his reward; just as the count would have acted. how was it a petty country lawyer should show the same attentions and daintiness as the most eminent courtier? there was certainly much in this to set a woman--even a queen, a-thinking. hence she did ponder over this mystery half the night. what had become of count charny during this interval? with his duty keeping him close to his masters, he was glad to have the queen's signal for him to take some leisure for lonely reflection. after having been so busy for others lately, he was not sorry to have time for his own distress. he was the old-time nobleman, more a father than a brother to his younger brothers. his grief had been great at valence's death, but at least he had a comfort in the second brother isidore on whom he placed the whole of his affection. isidore had become more dear still since he was his intermediary with andrea. the less charny saw of andrea the more he thought of her, and to think of her was to love her. she was a statue when he saw her, but when he departed she became colored and animated by the distance. it seemed to him that internal fire sprang up in the alabaster mould and he could see the veins circulate blood and the heart throb. it was in these times of loneliness and separation that the wife was the real rival of the queen: in the feverish nights charny saw the tapestry cleft or the walls melt to allow the transparent statue to approach his couch, with open arms and murmuring lips and kindled eye: the fire of her love beamed from within. he also would hold out his arms, calling the lovely vision, and try to press the phantom to his heart. but, alas! the vision would flee and, embracing vacancy, he would fall from his breathless dream into sad and cold reality. therefore, isidore was dearer to him than valence, and he had not the chance to mourn over him as he had over the cadet of the family. both had fallen for the same fatal woman and into the abyss of the same cause full of pitfalls. for them he would certainly fall. alone in an attic, shut up with a table which bore an old-fashioned three-wicked oil lamp, he drew out the bloodstained papers, the last relics of his brother. he sighed, raised his head and opened one letter. it was from poor catherine billet. charny had suspected the connection some months before billet had at varennes given him confirmation of it. only then had he given it the importance it should have taken in his mind. now he learnt that the title of mistress had become holy by its promotion to that of mother, and in the simple language catherine used, all her woman's life was given in expiation of her fault as a girl. a second and a third, showed the same plans of love, maternal joys, fears of the loving, pains and repentance. suddenly, among the letters, he saw one whose writing struck him. to this was attached a note of isidore's, sealed with his arms in black wax. it was the letter which andrea had enjoined him to give her husband in case he were mortally hurt or read to him if unable. the note explained this and concluded: "i league to my brother the count of charny poor catherine billet, now living with my boy in the village of villedovray." this note had totally absorbed him: but finally he turned his attention to that from his wife. but after reading the explanation three times, he shook his head and said in an undertone: "i have no right to open this letter; but i will so entreat her that she will let me read it." dawn surprised him, devouring with his gaze this letter damp with frequent pressing it with his lips. suddenly in the midst of the bustle for the departure, he heard his name called and he hurried out on the stairs. here he met barnave inquiring for the queen and charging valory to get the order for the start. it was easy to see that barnave had had no more sleep than the count. they bowed to each other, and charny would surely have remarked the jealous gleam in the member's eye if he had been able to think of anything but the letter of his wife which he pressed to his heart under his arm. on stepping into the coach once more the royal pair noticed they had only the population of the town to stare at them and cavalry to escort them. this was an attention of barnave's. he knew what the queen had suffered from the squalid and infected peasants pressing round the wheels, the severed head, the threats to her guards. he pretended to have heard of an invasion by the austrians to help marquis bouille, and he had turned towards the frontier all the irregularly armed men. the hatred of the french for the foreign invader was such that it made them forget for the moment that the queen was one of them. she guessed to whom she owed this boon, and thanked him with a look. as she resumed her place in the conveyance she glanced out to see charny, who had taken the outer seat beside the guards; he wanted to be in the danger, in hopes that a wound would give him the right to open his wife's letter. he did not notice her looking for him, and that made her sigh, which barnave heard. uneasy about it, he stopped on the carriage step. "madam," he said, "i remarked yesterday how incommoded we were in here: if you like i will find room in the other carriage with m. latour-maubourg." while suggesting this, he would have given half his remaining days--not that many were left him!--to have her refuse the offer. "no, stay with us," she quickly responded. at once the dauphin held out his little hands to draw him to him, saying: "my friend barnave! i do not want him to go." barnave gladly took his former place. the prince went over to his knee from his mother's. the queen kissed him on his cheek as he passed and the member looked at the pink spots caused by the pressure like tantalus at the fruit hanging over his head. he asked leave to kiss the little fellow and did it with such ardor that the boy cried out. she lost none of this incident in which barnave was staking his head. perhaps she had no more slept than charny or the deputy; perhaps the animation enflaming her eyes was caused by fever; any way, her purpled lips and rosy cheeks, all made her that perilous siren who with one golden tress would draw her adorers over the whirlpool's edge. the carriage went faster and they could dine at chateau thierry. before they got to meaux, at evening lady elizabeth was overpowered by sleep and laid down in the middle of the vehicle. her giving way had caused her to lean against petion, who deposed in his report that she had tried to tempt him with love and had rested her head on his virtuous shoulder--that pious creature! the halt at meaux was in the bishop's palace, a gloomy structure which still echoed those sinister wails from bossuet's study that presaged the downfall of monarchy. the queen looked around for support and smiled on seeing barnave. "give me your arm," she said, "and be my guide in this old palace. i dare not venture alone lest the great voice is heard which one day made christianity shudder with the outcry: 'the duchess henriette is dead!'" barnave sprang forward to offer his arm, while the lady cast a last glance around, fretted by charny's obstinate silence. "do you seek some one?" he asked. "yes; the king." "oh, he is chatting with petion." appearing satisfied, the queen drew barnave into the pile. she seemed a fugitive, following some phantom and looking neither before her nor behind. she only stopped, breathless, in the great preacher's sleeping chamber, where chance placed her confronting the portrait of a lady. mechanically looking, she read the label: "madam henriette." she started without barnave understanding why. from the name he guessed. "yes," he observed, "not henrietta maria of england, not the widow of the unfortunate charles the first but the wife of the reckless philip of orleans; not she who died of cold in the louvre palace, but she who died of poison at st. cloud and sent her ring to bossuet. rather would i have it her portrait," he said after a pause "for such a mouth as hers might give advice, but, alas! such are the very ones death seals up." "what could charles the first's widow furnish me in the way of advice?" she inquired. "by your leave, i will try to say. 'oh, my sister (seems to say this mouth) do you not see the resemblance between our fates? i come from england as you from austria, and was a foreigner to the english as you are to the french. i might have given my husband good counsel, but was silent or gave him bad; instead of uniting him to his people, i excited him to war against them; i gave him the counsel to march on london with the irish. not only did i maintain correspondence with the enemies of england but twice i went over into france to bring back foreign troops'. but why continue the bloody story which you know?" "continue," said the queen, with dark brow and pleated lip. "the portrait would continue to say: 'sister, finally the scotch delivered up their monarch, so that he was arrested just when he dreamt of escaping into france. a tailor seized him, a butcher led him into prison, a carter packed the jury, a beer-vendor presided over the assembly, and that nothing should be omitted odious in the trial and the sentence, it was carried out by a masked deaths-man striking off the victim's head.' this is what the picture of henrietta maria would say. god knows that nothing is lacking for the likeness. we have our brewer in santerre for cromwell, our butcher in lengedre, not harrison, and all the other plebeians who will conduct the trial; even as the conductor of this array is a lowborn peasant. what do you say to the picture?" "i would say: 'poor dear princess, you are reading me a page of history not giving me advice.'" "if you do not refuse to follow it, the advice would be given you by the living," rejoined barnave. "dead or living, those who can advise ought to do so: if good, it should be followed." "dead or living, one kind alone is given. gain the people's love." "it is so very easy to gain your people's love!" "why, madam, they are more your people than mine, and the proof is that they worshiped you when you first came here." "oh, sir, dwell not on that flimsy thing, popularity." "madam," returned barnave, "if i, springing from my obscure sphere, won this popularity, how much easier for you to keep it than i to conquer it? but no," continued he, warming with the theme, "to whom have you confided this holy cause of monarchy, the loftiest and most splendorous? what voices and what arms do you choose to defend it? never was seen such ignorance of the times and such forgetfulness of the characteristics of france! why, you have only to look at me for one instance--who solicited the mission of coming to you with the single end of offering myself, devoting myself----" "hush, some one is coming," interrupted the queen; "we must refer to this, m. barnave, for i am ready to listen to your counsel and heed you." it was a servant announcing that dinner was waiting. the two lifeguards waited at table, but charny stood in a window recess. though under the roof of one of the first bishops, the meal was nothing to brag of: but the king ate heartily. the dauphin had been asking for strawberries but was told along the road that there were none, though he had seen the country lads devouring them by the handsful. so the poor little fellow had envied the rustic urchins who could seek the fruit in the dewy grass like the birds that revel at nature's bounteous board. this desire had saddened the queen, who called charny in a voice hoarse with emotion. at the third call he heard her and came, but the door opened and barnave appeared on the sill; in his hand was a platter of the fruit. "i hope the king and the queen will excuse my intruding," he said, "but i heard the prince ask for strawberries several times during the day, so that, finding this dish on the bishop's table, i made so bold as to take and bring it." "thank you, count," said the queen to charny, "but m. barnave has divined my want and i have no farther need of you." charny bowed without a word and returned to his place. the dauphin thanked the member, and the king asked him to sit down between the boy and the queen to partake of the meal, bad as it was. charny beheld the scene without a spark of jealousy. but he said, on seeing this poor moth singe its wings at the royal light: "still another going to destruction! a pity, for he is worth more than the others." but returning to his thought, he muttered: "this letter, what can be in this letter?" chapter xxii. the centre of catastrophes. after the repast, the king called the three lifeguards into council with the queen and lady elizabeth. "gentlemen," he began, "yesterday, m. petion proposed that you should flee in disguise, but the queen and i opposed the plan for fear it was a plot. this day he repeats the offer, pledging his honor as a representative, and i believe you ought to hear the idea." "sire, we humbly beg," replied charny for the others, "that we may be free to take the hint or leave it." "i pledge myself to put no pressure on you. your desires be done." the astonished queen looked at charny without understanding the growing indifference she remarked in his determination not to swerve from his duty. she said nothing but let the king conduct the conversation. "now that you reserve freedom, here are petion's own words," he went on. "sire, there is no safeguard for your attendants in paris. neither i, nor barnave nor latour can answer for shielding them even at peril of our lives, for their blood is claimed by the people.'" charny exchanged a look with the other two bodyguards who smiled with scorn. "well?" he said. "m. petion suggests that he should provide three national guards suits and you might in them get away this night." charny consulted his brother officers who replied with the same smile. "sire," he replied, "our days are set apart for your majesty, having deigned to accept the homage, it is easier for us to die than separate. do us the favor to treat us as you have been doing. of all your court and army and lifeguards, three have stood staunch; do not rob them of the only glory they yearn for, namely to be true to the last." "it is well, gentlemen," said, the queen; "but you understand that you are no longer servants but brothers." she took her tablets from her pockets. "let us know the names of your kinsfolk so that, should you fall in the struggle, we can tell the loved ones how it happened and soothe them as far as in our power lies." malden named his old, infirm mother and valory his young orphan sister. the queen stopped in her writing to wipe her eyes. "count," she said, turning to charny, "we know that you have no one to mention as you have lost your two brothers----" "yes, they had the happiness to perish for your sake," said the nobleman "but the latter to fall leaves a poor girl recommended in a kind of will found upon him. he stole her away from her family which will never forgive her. so long as i live she and her child never shall want, but, as your majesty says with her admirable courage, we are all in the face of death, and if death strikes me down, she and her babe will be penniless. madam, deign to write the name of this poor country girl, and if i die like the others of the house of charny, for my august master and noble mistress, lower your generosity to catherine billet and her child, in villedovray." no doubt the idea of george charny expiring like his brothers was too dreadful a picture for the hearer, for in swaying back with a faint cry, she let the tablets fall and sank giddily on a chair. the two guards hastened to her while charny caught up the memo-book and inscribed the name and address. the queen recovered and said: "gentlemen, do not leave me without kissing my hand." the lifeguards obeyed, but when it came charny's turn he barely brushed the hand with his lips. it seemed to him sacrilege when he was carrying andrea's letter on his heart. the queen sighed: never had she so accurately measured the depth of the gulf between her and her lover, widening daily. as the guards therefore replied next day to the committeemen that they would not change their attire from what the king authorized them to wear, barnave had an extra seat placed in front of them with two grenadiers to occupy it so as to shield them in some degree. at ten a. m. they quitted meaux for paris, from which they had been five days absent. what an unfathomable abyss had deepened in those few days. at a league beyond meaux the accompanying sightseers took an aspect more frightful than before. all the dwellers of the paris suburbs flocked to the road. barnave tried to make the postillions go at a trot but the claye national guard blocked the way with their bayonets and it would be imprudent to try to break that dam: comprehending the danger, the queen supplicated the deputies not to vex the mob--it was a formidable storm growling and felt to be coming. such was the press that the horses could hardly move at a walk. it had never been hotter, the air seemed fire. the insolent curiosity of the people pursued the royal prisoners right up to the carriage interior. men mounted upon it and clung to the horses. it was a miracle that charny and his comrades were not killed over and over again. the two grenadiers failed to fend off the attacks: appeals in the name of the assembly were drowned by the hooting. two thousand men formed the vanguard, and double that number closed up the rear. on the flanks rolled an incalculable gathering. the air seemed to fail as they neared paris as though that giant inhaled it all. the queen was suffocating, and when the king begged for a glass of wine it was proposed that he should have a sponge dipped in gall and vinegar. at lavillette, the multitude was beyond the power of sight to estimate; the pavement was so covered that they could not move. windows, walls, doors, all were crammed. the trees were bending under the novel living fruit. everybody wore their hats, for the walls had been placarded: "flogging for whoever salutes the king: hanging for him who insults him." all this was so appalling that the commissioners dared not go down st. martin's street without-the-city, a crowded way full of horrors, where berthier savigny had been torn to pieces and other barbarities committed. so they made the circuit and went by the champs elysees. the concourse of spectators was still more great and broke up the ranks of the soldiery. it was the third time louis had entered by this dread entrance. all paris rushed hither. the king and the queen saw a vast sea of heads, silent, sombre and threatening, with hats on. still more alarming was the double row of national guards, all the way to the tuileries, their muskets held butt up as if at a funeral. it was a funeral procession indeed, for the monarchy of seven centuries! this slowly toiling carriage was the hearse taking royalty to the grave. on perceiving this long file of guards the soldiers of the escort greeted them with "long live the nation!" and that was the cry bursting out along the line from the barrier to the palace. all the bystanders joined in, a cry of brotherhood uttered by the whole of france, but this one family was excluded. behind the cab following the royal carriage came a chaise, open but covered with green boughs on account of the heat; it contained drouet and two others who had arrested the king. fatigue had forced them to ride. billet alone, indefatigable, as if revenge made him bronze, kept on horseback and seemed to lead the whole procession. louis noticed that the statue of his ancestor, on louis xv. square, had the eyes bandaged; in token of the blindness of rulers, petion explained. spite of all, the mob burst all bars and stormed the carriage. suddenly the queen saw at the windows those hideous men with implacable speech who come to the surface on certain days like the sea monsters seen only in tempestuous weather. once she was so terrified that she pulled down the sash, whereupon a dozen furious voices demanded the reason. "i am stifling," she stammered. "pooh, we will stifle you in quite another way, never fear," replied a rough voice while a dirty fist smashed the window. nevertheless the cortege reached the grand terrace steps. "oh, gentlemen, save the lifeguards," cried the queen, particularly to barnave and petion. "have you any preference?" asked the former. "no," she answered, looking at him full and square. she required that the king and the royal children should first alight. the next ten minutes were the cruelest of her life. she was under the impression, not that she would be killed--prompt death would be nothing--but made the sport of the mob or dragged away into jail whence she would issue only after a trial handing her over to ignominious death. as she stepped forth, under the ceiling of steel made by the swords and bayonets of the soldiers, barnave gathered to cover her. even as a giddiness made her close her eyes, she caught a glimpse down the flashing vista of a face she remembered. this face seemed to be the centre of the multitudinous eyes of the mob: from his glance would come the cue for her immolation. it was the terrible man who had in a mysterious manner at taverney manor raised the veil over the future. he whom she had seen at sevres on returning from versailles. he who appeared merely to foretell great catastrophes or to witness their fulfillment. and yet if cagliostro, was he not dead in the dungeons of the pope? to be assured that her sight did not deceive her, she darted down the tunnel of steel, strong against realities but not against this sinister vision. it seemed to her that the earth gave way under her tread; that all whirled round her, palace, gardens, trees, the countless people; that vigorous arms seized her and carried her away amid deafening yells. she heard the lifeguards shouting, calling the wrath upon them to turn it aside from its true aim. opening her eyes an instant, she beheld charny between the pair hurled from the box--pale and handsome, as ever, he fought with ten men at once, with the nobleman's smile of scorn and the martyr's light in his gaze. from charny her eyes went back to the man whose myrmidons ruled the storm and swept her out of the maelstrom. with terror she undoubtedly recognized the magician of taverney and sevres. "you, it is you!" she gasped, trying to repel him with her rigid hands. "yes, it is i," he hissed in her ear. "i still need you to push the throne into its last gulf, and so i save you!" she could support no more, but screaming, she swooned. meanwhile the mob, defrauded of the chief morsel, were tearing the lifeguards to pieces and carrying billet and drouet in triumph. chapter xxiii. the bitter cup. when the queen came to her senses she was in her sleeping room in the tuileries. her favorite bed-chamber women, lady misery and madam campan were at hand. though they told her the dauphin was safe, she rose and went to see him: he was in sleep after the great fright. she looked at him for a long time, haunted by the words of that awful man: "i save you because you are needed to hurl the throne over into the last abyss." was it true that she would destroy the monarchy? were her enemies guarding her that she might accomplish the work of destruction better than themselves? but would this gulf close after swallowing the king, the throne and herself? would not her two children go down in it also? in religions of the past alone is innocence safe to disarm the gods? abraham's sacrifice had not been accepted, but it was not so in jephthaph's case. these were gloomy thoughts for a queen, gloomier still for a mother. she shook her head and went slowly back to her rooms. she noticed the disorder she was in and took a bath and was attired more fitly. the news awaiting her was not so black as she had feared; all three lifeguards had been saved from the mob, mainly by petion who screened a good heart under his rough bark. malden and valory were in the palace, bruised, wounded, but alive. nobody knew where charny was in refuge after having been snatched from the ruffians. at these words from madam campan, such a deadly pallor came over the queen's countenance that the lady thought it was from anxiety about the count and she hastened to say: "but there need be no alarm about his coming back to the palace; the countess has a town house and of course he will hasten there." this was just what she feared and what made her lose color. she wanted to dress, as if she would be allowed to go out of the palace prison to inquire about his fate, when he was announced as present in the other room. "oh, he is keeping his word," muttered the queen which her attendants did not understand. her toilet hastily completed, she ordered the count to be introduced into her sitting room, where she joined him. he had also dressed for the reception, for he wore the naval uniform in which she had first seen him. never had he been calmer, handsomer and more elegant, and she could not believe that this beau was the man whom she had seen the mob fall upon a while before. "oh, my lord, i hope you were told how distressed i was on your behalf and that i was sending out for tidings?" "madam, you may be sure that i did not go away till i learned that you were safe and sound," was his rejoinder. "and now that i am assured by sight, and hearing of the health of your children and the king, i think it proper to ask leave to give personal news to my lady the countess." the queen pressed her hand to her heart as if to ascertain if this blow had not deadened it, and said in a voice almost strangled by the dryness of her throat: "it is only fair, my lord, and i wonder how it is that you did not ask before this." "the queen forgets my promise not to see the countess without her permission." "i suppose, though, in your ardor to see the lady again, you could do without it?" "i think the queen unjust to me," he replied. "when i left paris i believed it was to part from her forever. during the journey i did all that was humanly possible to make the journey a success. it is not my fault that i did not lose my life like my brother or was not cut to pieces on the road or in the tuileries gardens. had i the honor to conduct your majesty across the frontier, i should have lived in exile with you, or if i were fated to die, i should have died without seeing the countess. but, i repeat, i cannot, being again in town, give the lady this mark of indifference, not to show her i am alive, particularly as i no longer have my brother isidore as my substitute; at all events, either m. barnave is wrong or your majesty was of the same opinion only yesterday." the queen glided her arm along the chair-arm and following the movement with her body said: "you must love this woman fondly to give me this pain so coldly?" "madam, at a time when i did not think of such a thing, as there was but one woman the world for me--it will soon be six years--this woman being placed too high above me for me to hope for her, as well as under an indissoluble bond--you gave me as wife mdlle. andrea taverney, imposed her on me! in these six years my hand has not twice touched hers; without necessity i have not spoken a word to her and our glances have not met a dozen times. my life has been occupied by another love, the thousand tasks, cares and combats agitating man's existence in camp and court. i have coursed the king's highways, entangling the thread the master gave me in the intrigues of fatality. i have not counted the days, or months or years, for time has passed most rapidly from my being enwrapt in these tasks. "but not so has fared the countess of charny. since she has had the affliction of quitting your majesty, after having displeased you, i suppose, she has lived lonely in the paris summerhouse, accepting the neglect and isolation without complaining, for she has not the same affections as other women from her heart being devoid of love. but she may not accept without complaint my forgetting the simplest duty and the most commonplace attentions." "good gracious, my lord, you are mightily busy about what the countess thinks of you according to whether you see her or not! before worrying yourself it would be well to know whether she does think of you in the hour of your departure or in that of your return." "i do not know about the hour of my return but i do know that she thought about me when i departed." "so you saw her before you went?" "i had the honor of stating that i had not seen the countess since i promised the queen not to see her." "then she wrote to you? confess it!" cried marie antoinette. "she confided a letter for me to my brother isidore." "a letter which you read? what does she say? but she promised me--but let us hear quickly. what does she say in this letter? speak, see you not that i am on thorns?" "i cannot repeat what it says as i have not read it." "you destroyed it unread?" exclaimed she delightedly, "you threw it in the fire? oh, charny, if you did that, you are the most true of lovers and i was wrong to scold--for i have lost nothing." she held out her arms to lure him to his former place, but he stood firm. "i have not torn it or burnt it," he replied. "but then, how came you not to read it?" questioned she, sinking back on the chair. "the letter was to be given me if i were mortally wounded. but alas! it was the bearer who fell. he being dead, his papers were brought to me and among them was this, the countess's letter." she took the letter with a trembling hand and rang for lights. during the brief silence in the dusk, her breathing could be heard and the hurried throbbing of her heart. as soon as the candlesticks were placed on the mantle shelf, before the servant left the room, she ran to the light. she looked on the paper twice without ability to read it. "it is flame," she said, "oh, god!" she ejaculated, smoothing her forehead to bring back her sight and stamping her foot to calm her hand by force of will. in a husky voice utterly like her own, she read: "this letter is intended not for me but for my brother count charny, or to be returned to the countess. it is from her i had it with the following recommendation. if in the enterprise undertaken by the count, he succeeds without mishap, return the letter to the countess." the reader's voice became more panting as she proceeded. "if he is grievously hurt, but without mortal danger, his wife prays to be let join him." "that is clear," said the queen falteringly and in a scarcely intelligible voice she added: "'lastly, if he be wounded to the death, give him the letter or read it to him if he cannot, in order that he should know the secret contained before he dies.' "do you deny it now, that she loves you?" demanded the queen, covering the count with a flaming look. "the countess love me? what are you saying?" cried charny. "the truth, unhappy woman that i am!" "love me? impossible!" "why, for i love you?" "but in six years the countess has never let me see it, never said a word!" the time had come for marie antoinette to suffer so keenly that she felt the need to bury her grief like a dagger in the depth of his heart. "of course," she sneered, "she would not breathe a word, she would not let a token show, and the reason is because she was well aware that she was not worthy to be your wife." "not worthy?" reiterated charny. "she cherished a secret which would slay your love," continued the other, more and more maddened by her pain. "a secret to kill our love?" "she knew you would despise her after she told it." "i, despise the countess? tut, tut!" "unless one is not to despise the girl who is a mother without being a wife." it was the man's turn to become paler than death and lean on the back of the nearest chair. "madam, you have said too much or too little, and i have the right for an explanation." "do you ask a queen for explanations?" "i do," replied charny. the door opened, and the queen turned to demand impatiently: "what is wanted?" it was a valet who announced dr. gilbert, come by appointment. she eagerly bade him send him in. "you call for an explanation about the countess," she continued to the count: "well, ask it of this gentleman, who can give it, better than anybody else." gilbert had come in so as to hear the final words and he remained on the threshold, mute and standing. the queen tossed the letter to charny and took a few steps to gain her dressing room when the count barred her passage and grasped her wrist. "my lord, methinks that you forget i am your queen," said marie antoinette, with clenched teeth and enfevered eye. "you are an ungrateful woman who slanders her friend, a jealous women who defames another, and that woman the wife of a man who has for three days risked his life a score of times for you--the wife of george count of charny. justice must be rendered in face of her you have calumniated and insulted! sit down and wait." "well, have it so," railed the queen. "dr. gilbert," she pursued, forcing a shallow laugh, "you see what this nobleman desires." "dr. gilbert, you hear what the queen orders," rebuked charny with a tone full of courtesy and dignity. "oh, madam," said gilbert, sadly regarding the queen as he came forward. "my lord count," he went on to the gentleman, "i have to tell you of the shame of a man and the glory of a woman. a wretched earthworm fell in love with his lord's daughter, the lady of taverney. one day, he found her in a mesmeric trance, and without respect for her youth, beauty and innocence, this villain abused her and thus the maid became a woman, the mother before marriage. mdlle. taverney was an angel--lady charny is a martyr!" "i thank dr. gilbert," said the count, wiping his brow. "madam," he proceeded to the queen, "i was ignorant that mdlle. taverney was so unfortunate--that lady charny was so worthy of respect; otherwise, believe me, six years would not have elapsed before i fell at her feet and adored her as she deserves." bowing to the stupefied queen, he stalked forth without the baffled one making a move to detain him. but he heard her shriek of pain when the door closed between them. she comprehended that over those portals the hand of the demon of jealousy was writing the dread doom: "leave hope behind who enter here." chapter xxiv. at last they are happy! it is easy for us who know the state of andrea's heart to imagine what she suffered from the time of isidore's leaving. she trembled for the grand plot failing or succeeding. if succeeding, she knew the count's devotion to his masters too well not to be sure that he would never quit them in exile. if failure, she knew his courage too well not to be sure that he would struggle till the last moment, so long as hope remained, and beyond that. so she had her eye open to every light and her ear to every sound. on the following day, she learnt with the rest of the population that the king had fled from the capital in the night, without any mischance. she had suspected the flight, and as charny would participate, she was losing him by his going far from her. sighing deeply, she knelt in prayer for the journey to be happy. for two days, paris was dumb, without news; then the rumor broke forth that the king had been stopped at varennes. no details, just the word. andrea hunted up on the map the little obscure point on which attention was centred. there she lived on hopes, fears and thought. gradually came the details precious to her, particularly when news came that a charny, one of the royal bodyguard, had been killed: isidore or george? for two days, while this was undecided, andrea's heart oscillated in anguish indescribable. finally the return of the august prisoners were heralded. they slept at meaux. at eleven in the morning, veiled and dressed most plainly she went and waited till three o'clock at the east end, for it was supposed that the party would enter by st. martin's suburb. at that hour the mob began to move away, hearing that the king was going round to enter through the champs elysees. it was half the city to cross afoot as no vehicles could move in the throng, unexampled since the taking of the bastile. andrea did not hesitate and was one of the first on the spot where she had still three mortal hours to wait. at last the procession appeared, we know in what order. she hailed the royal coach with a cry of joy for she saw charny on the box. a scream which seemed an echo of her own, though different in tone, arose, and she saw a girl in convulsions in the crowd. she would have gone to her help, though three or four kind persons flew to her side, but she heard the men around her pour imprecations on the three on the box seat. on them would fall the popular rage as the scapegoats of the royal treachery; when the coach stopped they would be torn to pieces. and charny was one! she resolved to do her utmost to get within the tuileries gardens; this she managed by going round about but the crush was so dense that she could not get into the front. she retired to the waterside terrace where she saw and heard badly, but that was better than not seeing at all. she saw charny, indeed, on the same level, little suspecting that the heart beating for him alone was so near; probably he had no thought for her--solely for the queen, forgetting his own safety to watch over hers. oh, had she known that he was pressing her letter on his heart and offering her the last sigh which he thought he must soon yield! at last the coach stopped amid the howling, groaning and clamor. almost instantly around it rose an immense turbulence, weapons swaying like a steel wheat-field shaken by the breeze. precipitated from the box, the three lifeguards disappeared as if dropped into a gulf. then there was such a back-wave of the crowd that the retiring rear ranks broke against the terrace front. andrea was shrouded in anguish; she could hear and see nothing; breathless and with outstretched arms, she screamed inarticulate sounds into the midst of the dreadful concert of maledictions, blasphemy and death cries. she could no longer understand what went on: the earth turned, the sky grew red, and a roar as of the sea rang in her ears. she fell, half dead, knowing only that she lived from her feeling suffering. a sensation of coolness brought her round: a woman was putting to her forehead a handkerchief dipped in river water. she remembered her as having fainted when the royal coach came into sight, without guessing what sympathy attached her to this mistress of her husband's brother--for this was catherine billet. "are they dead?" was her first question. compassion is intelligent: they around her understood that she asked after the three lifeguardsmen. "no, all three are saved." "the lord be praised! where are they?" "i believe in the palace." rising and shaking her head, seeing where she was in a distracted way, she went around to the princes' court and sprang into the janitor's room. this man knew the countess as having been in attendance when the court first came back from versailles. he had also seen her go away, with sebastian in her carriage. he related that the guardsmen were safe; count charny had gone out for a little while, when he returned dressed in naval uniform to appear in the queen's rooms, where he probably was at that period. andrea thanked the good fellow and hastened home, now that george was safe. she knelt on her praying stand, to thank heaven, with all her soul going up to her maker. she was plunged in ecstasy when she heard the door open, and she wondered what this earthly sound could be, disturbing her in her deepest reverie. the shadow in the doorway was dim but her instinct told her who it was without the girl announcing: "my lord the count of charny." andrea tried to rise but her strength failed her: half turning, she slid down the slope of the stand, leaning her arm on the guard. "the count," she murmured, disbelieving her eyes. the servant closed the door on her master and mistress. "i was told you had recently returned home? am i rude in following you indoors so closely?" he asked. "no, you are welcome, my lord," she tremblingly replied. "i was so uneasy that i left the house to learn what had happened." "were you long out?" "since morning; i was first out to st. martin's bars, and then went to the champs elysees; there i saw--" she hesitated--"i saw the royal family--you, and momentarily i was set at ease, though i feared for you when the carriage should set you down. then i went into the tuileries gardens, where i thought i should have died." "yes, the crowd was great; you were crushed, and i understand----" "no," said andrea, shaking her head, "that was not it. i inquired and learned that you were unhurt, so that i hastened home to thank god on my knees." "since you are so, praying, say a word for my poor brother." "isidore--poor youth! was it he, then?" exclaimed andrea. she let her head sink on her hands. charny stepped forward a few steps to regard the chaste creature at her devotions. in his look was immense commiseration, together with a longing restrained. had not the queen said--or rather revealed that andrea loved him? "and he is no more?" queried the lady, turning round after finishing her prayer. "he died, madam, like valence, and for the same cause, fulfilling the same duty." "and in the great grief which you must have felt, you still thought of me?" asked andrea in so weak a voice that her words were barely audible. luckily charny was listening with the heart as well as ear. "did you not charge my brother with a message for me?" he inquired. "a letter to my address?" she rose on one knee and looked with anxiety upon him. "after poor isidore's death, his papers were handed to me and among them was this letter." "and you have read it--ah!" she cried, hiding her face in her hands. "i ought to know the contents only if i were mortally wounded and you see i have returned safe. consequently, as you see, it is intact, as you gave it to isidore." "oh, what you have done is very lofty--or very unkind," muttered the countess, taking the letter. charny stretched out his hand and caught her hand in spite of an effort to retain it. as charny persisted, uttering a reproachful "oh!" she sighed almost with fright; but she gave way, leaving it quivering in his clasp. embarrassed, not knowing where to turn her eyes, to avoid his glance, which she felt to be fastened on her, and unable to retreat as her back was against the wall, she said: "i understand--you came to restore the letter." "for that, and another matter. i have to beg your pardon heartily, andrea." she shuddered to the bottom of her soul for this was the first time he had addressed her so informally. the whole sentence had been spoken with indescribable softness. "pardon of me, my lord? on what grounds?" "for my behavior towards you these six years." "have i ever complained?" she asked, eyeing him in profound astonishment. "no, because you are an angel." despite herself her eyes were veiled and tears welled out. "you weep, andrea," exclaimed charny. "excuse me, my lord," she sobbed, "but i am not used to being thus spoken to. oh, heavens!" she sank on an easy chair, hiding her face in her hands for a space but then withdrawing them, she said: "really, i must be going mad." she stopped--while she had her eyes hid, charny had fallen on his knees to her. "oh, you, on your knees to me?" she said. "did i not say i must ask your forgiveness?" "what can this mean?" she muttered. "andrea, it means that i love you," he answered in his sweetest voice. laying her hand on her heart, she uttered a cry. springing upright as though impelled by a spring under her feet, she pressed her temples between her hands and cried: "he loves me? this cannot be." "say that it is impossible you should love me, but not that i should love you." she lowered her gaze on the speaker to see if he spoke truly and his eyes said more than his tongue: though she might doubt the words she could not the glance. "oh, god, in all the world is there a being more unfortunate than me?" she cried. "andrea, tell me that you love me," continued charny, "or at least that you do not hate me?" "i, hate you?" she said, with a double flash from the calm eyes usually so limpid and serene. "oh, my lord, it would be very wrong to take for hate the feeling you inspire." "but if not hate or love, what is it?" "it is not love because i am not allowed to love you; but did you not hear me call myself the unhappiest of god's creatures?" "why are you not allowed to love me when i love you with all the strength of my soul?" "oh, that i cannot, dare not, must not tell you," replied she, wringing her hands. "but if another should tell me what you cannot, dare not, must not tell?" he demanded. "heaven!" she gasped, leaning her hands on his shoulder. "suppose i know? and that, considering you the more worthy because of the noble way you have borne that woe, it was that terrible secret which determined me upon telling you that i loved you?" "if you did this, you would be the noblest and most generous of men." "andrea, i love you," cried he, three times. "oh, god, i knew not that there could be such bliss in this world," she said, lifting her arms heavenward. "now, in your turn, tell me that you love me." "oh, no, that i dare not, but you may read that letter," said andrea. while she covered her face with her hands, he sharply broke the letter seal, and exclaimed when he had read the first lines; parting her hands and with the same movement drawing her upon his heart, he said: "how shall i love you enough, saintly creature, to make you forget what you have undergone in these six years!" "oh, god, if this be a dream, let me never awake, or die on awakening," prayed andrea, bending like a reed beneath the weight of so much happiness. and now, let us forget these who are happy to return to those who hate, suffer or are struggling, and perhaps their evil fate will forget them, too. chapter xxv. correcting the petition. on the field of mars the altar of the country still stood, set up for the anniversary of the bastile capture, a skeleton of the past. on this sixteenth of july, it was used as a table on which was spread a petition to the assembly, which considered that the king had practically abdicated by his flight, and that he ought to be replaced by "constitutional methods." this was a cunning way to propose the duke of orleans as regent. politics is a fine veil, but the people see through it if they are given time. there was some discussion by the persons called on to sign over these very words. but they might have been glossed over by the man in charge of the paper, the pen and the ink, but for a man of the people, judging by his manners and dress, who, with a frankness next to roughness, stopped the secretary abruptly. "halt, this is cheating the people," said he. "what do you mean?" "this stuff about replacing the abdicated king by 'constitutional means.' you want to give us king stock instead of king log. you want to rig up royalty again and that is just what we don't want any more of." "no, no more kings--enough of royalty?" shouted most of the lookers on. the secretary was brissot, a jacobin, and strange thing, here were the arch-revolutionists, the jacobins defending royalty! "have a care, gentlemen," cried he and his supporters, "with no royalty, no king; the republic would come, and we are not ripe for anything of that kind." "not ripe?" jeered the commoner: "a few such suns as shone on varennes when we nabbed the skulking king, will ripen us." "let's vote on this petition." "vote," shouted those who had clamored for no more royalty. "let those who do not want louis xvi. or any other king, put up their hand," cried the plebeian in a lusty voice. such a powerful number held up their hands that the ayes had it beyond a necessity of farther trial. "good," said the stranger; "to-morrow is sunday, the seventeenth; let all the boys come out here to sign the petition as amended to our liking. i, billet, will get the right sort ready." at this name everybody recognized farmer billet, the taker of the bastile, the hero of the people, the volunteer envoy who had accompanied lafayette's dandy aid to varennes where he arrested the king whom he had brought back to paris. thus, at the first start, the boldest of the politicians had been surpassed by--a man of the people, the embodied instincts of the masses! the other leaders said that a storm would be raised and that they had best get permission of the mayor to hold this meeting on the morrow. "very well," said billet, "obtain leave, and if refused you, i will wrest it from them." mayor bailly was absent when brissot and desmoulins called for the leave: his deputy verbally granted it, but sent word to the house what he had done. the house was caught napping, for it had done nothing in fixing the status of the king after his flight. as if from an enemy of the rulers, the decree was passed that "the suspension of the executive power will last until the king shall have accepted and signed the constitutional act." thus he was as much of a king as before; the popular petition became useless. whoever claimed the dethronement of a monarch who was constitutionally maintained by the house, so long as the king agreed to accomplish this condition, was a rebel, of course. the decree was to be posted throughout the town next morning at eight. prudent politicians went out of the town. the jacobins retired, and their vulgar member, santerre, the great brewer of the working quarter, was chosen to go and withdraw the petition from the altar of the country. but those meant to attend, spite of governmental warning, who are like the wolves and vultures who flock to the battlefields. marat was confined to his cellar by his monomania, but he yelled for the assembly to be butchered and cried for a general massacre out of which he would wade a universal dictator. verriere, the abominable hunchback, careered about on a horse like the spectre of the apocalypse, and stopped at every crossroad to invite the masses to meet on the field of mars. so the thousands went to the rendezvous, to sign the paper, sing and dance and shout "the nation forever!" the sun rose magnificently. all the petty tradesfolk who cater to the multitude swarmed on the parade-ground where the altar of the country stood up in the middle like a grand catafalque. by half past four a hundred and fifty thousand souls were present. those who rise early are usually bad sleepers, and who has not slept well is commonly in a bad humor. in the midst of the chatter a woman's scream was heard. on the crowd flocking round her, she complained of having been stabbed in the ankle while leaning against the altar. indeed the point of a gimlet was seen sticking through the boards. in a twinkling the planks were torn down and two men were unearthed in the hollow. they were old cronies, sots who had taken a keg of liquor with them and eatables, and stolen a march on the crowd by hiding here overnight. but unfortunately the mob at the woman's cue thought they made peepholes for a mean purpose and cried that the keg contained powder to blow up the signers of the petition. they forgot that these new guido fawkes hardly looked the sort to blow themselves up with their victims. be this as it may, they were taken to the police court where the magistrates laughingly released them; but the washer-women, great sticklers for women not to be probed in the ankle by gimlets, gave them a beating with the paddles used in thumping linen. this was not all: the cry that powder was found getting spread, they were taken from the women and slain. a few minutes after, their heads were cut off and the ready pikes were there to receive them on their points. the news was perverted on its way to the assembly where the heads were stated to be of two friends of order who had lost them while preaching respect to the law. the assembly at once voted the city to be under martial law. santerre, sent by the jacobin club to withdraw their petition before billet transformed it, found that worthy the centre of the immense gathering. he did not know how to write but he had let some one guide his hand when he "put his fist" to it. the brewer went up the steps of the altar, announced that the assembly proclaimed any one a rebel who dared demand the dethronement of the king, and said he was sent to call in the petition. billet went down three steps to face the brewer. the two members of the lower orders looked at each other, examining the symbols of the two forces ruling france, the town and the country. they had fought together to take the bastile and acknowledged that they were brothers. "all right," said billet, "we do not want your petition; take yours back to the jacobins; we will start another." "and fetch it along to my brewery in the st. antoine suburb, where i will sign it and get my men and friends to do the same." he held out his broad hand in which billet clapped his. at sight of this powerful alliance, the mob cheered. they began to know the worth of the brewer, too. he went away with one of those gestures expressive of meeting again, which the lower classes understood. "now, look here," said billet, "the jacobins are afraid. they have a right to back out with their petition, but we are not afraid and we have the right to draw up another." "hurrah for another petition! all be on hand to-morrow." "but why not to-day?" cried billet: "who knows what may happen to-morrow?" "he's right," called out many; "to-day--at once!" a group of enlightened men flocked round billet; they were members of the invisibles like him, and, besides, strength has the loadstone's power to attract. roland and his celebrated wife with dr. gilbert, wrote the petition, which was read in silence, while all bared their head to this document dictated by the people. it declared that the king had abdicated the throne by his flight and called for a fresh house to "proceed in a truly national manner to try the guilty ruler and organize a new executive power." it answered to everybody's wish so that it was applauded at the last phrase. numbered sheets were served out for the signatures to be written on them by the many who sought to sign, all over the place. during this work, which was so quietly done that women were strolling about the groups with their children, lafayette arrived with his special guard, who were paid troops. but he could not see any cause to intervene and marched away. it is true that on the road he had to take one barricade set up by the gang who had slaughtered the two peeping toms of the altar of the country. one of his aids had been fired at in this scuffle; and the report ran to the house that in a severe action lafayette had been shot and his officers wounded. the house sent a deputation to inquire. this party of three found the multitude still signing, and signing a document so harmless that they personally said they would put their own names to it if they were not in an official position. in the conflict of no importance between the mob and the national guards two prisoners had been made by the latter. as usual in such cases they had nothing to do with the riot. the principal petitioners asked their release. "we can do nothing in the matter," replied the deputation; "but send a committee to the city hall and the liberation will be given." billet was unanimously chosen chairman of a party of twelve. they were kept waiting an hour before the mayor bailly came to receive them. bailly was pale but determined; he knew he was unjust but he had the assembly's order at his back and he would carry it out to the end. but billet walked straight up to him, saying, in his firm tone: "mayor, we have been kept waiting an hour." "who are you and what have you to say to me?" "i am surprised you should ask who i am, mayor bailly but those who turn off the right road do not always get back on the track. i am farmer billet." bailly was reminded of one of the takers of the bastile, who had tried to save the objects of public wrath from the slaughterers; the man who had given the king the tricolor cockade; who had aroused lafayette on the night when the royal family were nearly murdered; the leader who had not shrank from making the king and the queen prisoners. "as for what i have to say," continued he, "we are the messengers of the people assembled on the parade-ground: we demand the fulfillment of the promise of your three envoys--that the two citizens unjustly accused and whose innocence we guarantee, shall be set free straightway." "nonsense, whoever heard of promises being kept that were made to rioters?" returned bailly, trying to go by. the committee looked astonished at one another and billet frowned. "rioters? so we are rioters now, eh?" "yes, factious folk, among whom i will restore peace by going to the place." billet laughed roughly in that way which is a menace on some lips. "restore peace? your friend lafayette has been there, and your three delegates, and they will say it is calmer than the city hall square." at this juncture a captain of militia came running up in fright to tell the mayor that there was fighting on the field of mars, "where fifty thousand ragamuffins were making ready to march on the assembly." scarce had he got the words out before he felt billet's heavy hand on his shoulder. "who says this?" demanded the farmer. "the assembly." "then the assembly lies." the captain drew his sword on him, which he seized by the hilt and the point and wrenched from his grasp. "enough, gentlemen," said bailly; "we will ourselves see into this. farmer billet, return the sword, and if you have influence over those you come from, hasten back, to make them disperse." billet threw the sabre at the officer's feet. "disperse be hanged! the right to petition is recognized by decree and till another revokes it, nobody can prevent citizens expressing their wishes--mayor, or national guards commander, or others. come to the place--we will be there before you." those around expected bailly to give orders for the arrest of this bold speaker, but he knew that this was the voice of the people, so loud and lofty. he made a sign and billet and his friends passed out. when they arrived on the parade-ground, the crowd was a third larger, say, sixty thousand, all old, women and men. there was a rush for the news. "the two citizens are not released: the mayor will not answer except that we are all rioters." the "rioters" laughed at this title and went on signing the petition, which had some five thousand names down: by night it would be fifty thousand, and the assembly would be forced to bow to such unanimity. suddenly the arrival of the military was shouted. bailly and the city officials were leading the national guards hither. when the bayonets were seen, many proposed retiring. "brothers, what are you talking of?" said billet, on the altar of the country, "why this fear? either martial law is aimed at us, or not. if not, why should we run? if it is, the riot act must be read and that will give time to get away." "yes, yes," said many voices, "we are lawfully here. wait for the summons to disperse. stand your ground." the drums were heard and the soldiers appeared at three entrances into the ground. the crowd fell back towards the altar which resembled a pyramid of human bodies. one corps was composed of four thousand men from the working quarter and lafayette, who did not trust them, had added a battalion of his paid guards to them. they were old soldiers, fayettists, who had heard of their god being fired on and were burning to avenge the insult. so, when bailly was received by the "booing" of the boys, and one shot was heard from the mob in that part, which sent a bullet to slightly wound a dragoon, the mayor ordered a volley, but of blank cartridge from those soldiers around him. but the fayettists, also obeyed the command and fired on the mass at the altar, a most inoffensive crowd. a dreadful scream arose there, and the fugitives were seen leaving corpses behind them, with the wounded dragging themselves in trails of blood! amid the smoke and dust the cavalry rushed in chase of the running figures. the broad expanse presented a lamentable aspect, for women and children had mostly been shot and cut down. an aid galloped up to the east-end battalions and ordered them to march on their side and sweep the mob away till they had formed a junction with the other corps. but these workingmen pointed their guns at him and the cavalry running down the fugitives and made them recoil before the patriotic bayonets. all who ran in this direction found protection. who gave the order to fire? none will ever know. it remains one of those historical mysteries inexplicable despite the most conscientious investigations. neither the chivalric lafayette nor the honest bailly liked bloodshed, and this stain clung to them to the end. in vain were they congratulated by the assembly; in vain their press organs called this slaughter a constitutional victory; this triumph was branded like all those days when the slain were given no chance to fight. the people who always fit the cap to the right head, call it "the massacre of the champ de mars." chapter xxvi. cagliostro's counsel. paris had heard the fusillade and quivered, feeling that she had been wounded and the blood was flowing. the queen had sent her confidential valet weber to the spot to get the latest news. to be just to her and comprehend the hatred she felt for the french, she had not only so suffered during the flight to varennes, that her hair had turned white, but also after her return. it was a popular idea, shared in by her own retinue, that she was a witch. a medea able to go out of window in a flying car. but if she kept her jailers on the alert, they also frightened her. she had a dream of scenes of violence, for they had always turned against her. she waited with anxiety for her envoy's return, for the mobs might have overturned this old, decrepit, trimming assembly of which barnave had promised the help, and which might now want help itself. the door opened: she turned her eyes swiftly thither, but instead of her foster-brother, it was dr. gilbert, with his stern face. she did not like this royalist whose constitutional ideas made him a republican almost; but she felt respect for him; she would not have sent him in any strait, but she submitted to his influence when by. "you, doctor?" she said with a shiver. "it is i, madam. i bring you more precise news than those you expect by weber. he was on the side of the seine where no blood was spilt, while i was where the slaughter was committed. a great misfortune has taken place--the court party has triumphed." "oh, _you_ would call this a misfortune, doctor!" "because the triumph is one of those which exhaust the victor and lay him beside the dead. lafayette and bailly have shot down the people, so that they will never be able to serve you again; they have lost their popularity." "what were the people doing when shot down?" "signing a petition demanding the removal of the king." "and you think they were wrong to fire on men doing that?" returned the sovereign, with kindling eye. "i believe it better to argue with them than shoot them." "argue about what?" "the king's sincerity." "but the king is sincere!" "excuse me, madam: three days ago, i spent the evening trying to convince the king that his worst enemies were his brothers and the fugitive nobles abroad. on my knees i entreated him to break off dealings with them and frankly adopt the constitution, with revision of the impracticable articles. i thought the king persuaded, for he kindly promised that all was ended between him and the nobles who fled: but behind my back he signed, and induced you to sign, a letter which charged his brother to get the aid of prussia and austria." the queen blushed like a schoolboy caught in fault; but such a one would have hung his head--she only held hers the stiffer and higher. "have our enemies spied in our private rooms?" she asked. "yes, madam," tranquilly replied the doctor, "which is what makes such double-dealing on the king's part so dangerous." "but, sir, this letter was written wholly by the royal hand, after i signed it, too, the king sealed it up and handed it to the messenger." "it has been read none the less." "are we surrounded by traitors?" "all men are not charnys." "what do you mean?" "alas, madam! that one of the fatal tokens foretelling the doom of kings is their driving away from them those very men whom they ought to 'grapple to them by hooks of steel.'" "i have not driven count charny away," said the queen bitterly, "he went of his own free will. when monarchs become unfortunate, their friends fall off." "do not slander count charny," said gilbert mildly, "or the blood of his brothers will cry from their graves that the queen of france is an ingrate. oh, you know i speak the truth, madam: that on the day when unmistakable danger impends, the count of charny will be at his post and that the most perilous." "but i suppose you have not come to talk about count charny," said she testily, though she lowered her head. "no, madam; but ideas are like events, they are attached by invisible links and thus are drawn forth from darkness. no, i come to speak to the queen and i beg pardon if i addressed the woman: but i am ready to repair the error. i wish to say that you are staking the woe or good of the world on one game: you lost the first round on the sixth of october, you win the second, in the courtiers' eyes, on this sad day; and to-morrow you will begin what is called the rub. if you lose, with it go throne, liberty and life." "do you believe that this prospect makes us recede?" queried the proud one, quickly rising. "i know the king is brave and the queen heroic; so i never try to do anything with them but reason; unfortunately i can never pass my belief into their minds." "why trouble about what you believe useless?" "because it is my duty. it is sweet in such times to feel, though the result is unfruitful, that one has done his duty." she looked him in the face and asked: "do you think it possible to save the king and the throne?" "i believe for him and hope for the other." "then you are happier than i," she responded with a sad sigh: "i believe both are lost and i fight merely to salve my conscience." "yes, i understand that you want a despotic monarchy and the king an absolute one: like the miser who will not cast away a portion of his gold in a shipwreck so that he may swim to shore with the rest, you will go down with all. no, cut loose of all burdens and swim towards the future." "to throw the past into a gulf is to break with all the crowned heads of europe." "yes, but it is to join hands with the french people." "our enemies," returned marie antoinette. "because you taught them to doubt you." "they cannot struggle against an european coalition." "suppose a constitutional king at their head and they will make the conquest of europe." "they would need a million of armed men for that." "millions do not conquer europe--an idea will. europe will be conquered when over the alps and across the rhine advance the flags bearing the mottoes: 'death to tyranny!' and 'freedom to all!'" "really, sir, there are times when i am inclined to think the wise are madmen." "ah, you know not that france is the madonna of liberty, for whose coming the peoples await around her borders. she is not merely a nation, as she advances with her hands full of freedom--but immutable justice and eternal reason. but if you do not profit by all not yet committed to violence, if you dally too long, these hands will be turned to rend herself. "besides, none of these kings whose help you seek is able to make war. two empires, or rather an empress and a minister, deeply hate us but they are powerless! catherine of russia and william pitt. your envoy to pitt, the princess lamballe, can get him to do much to prevent france becoming a republic, but he hates the monarch and will not promise to save him. is not louis the constitutional king, the crowned philosopher, who disputed the east indies with him and helped america to wrest herself from the briton's grasp? he desires only that the french will have a pendant to his charles the beheaded." "oh, who can reveal such things to you?" gasped the queen. "the same who tell me what is in the letters you secretly write." "have we not even a thought that is our own?" "i tell you that the kings of europe are enmeshed in an unseen net where they write in vain. do not you resist, madam: but put yourself at the head of ideas which will otherwise spurn you if you take the lead, and this net will be your defense when you are outside of it and the daggers threatening you will be turned towards the other monarchs." "but you forgot that the kings are our brothers, not enemies, as you style them." "but, madam, if the french are called your sons you will see how little are your brothers according to politics and diplomacy. besides, do you not perceive that all these monarchs are tottering towards the gulf, to suicide, while you, if you liked, might be marching towards the universal monarchy, the empire of the world!" "why do you not talk thus to the king?" said the queen, shaken. "i have, but like yourself, he has evil geniuses who undo what i have done. you have ruined mirabeau and barnave, and will treat me the same--whereupon the last word will be spoken." "dr. gilbert, await me here!" said she: "i will see the king for a while and will return." he had been waiting a quarter of an hour when another door opened than that she had left by, and a servant in the royal livery entered. he looked around warily, approached gilbert, making a masonic sign of caution, handed him a letter and glided away. opening the letter, gilbert read: "gilbert: you waste your time. at this moment, the king and the queen are listening to lord breteuil fresh from vienna, who brings this plan of policy: 'treat barnave as you did mirabeau; gain time, swear to the constitution and execute it to the letter to prove that it is unworkable. france will cool and be bored, as the french have a fanciful head and will want novelty, so that the mania for liberty will pass. if it do not, we shall gain a year and by that time we shall be ready for war.' "leave these two condemned beings, still called king and queen in mockery, and hasten to the groscaillou hospital, where an injured man is in a dying state, but not so hopeless as they: he may be saved, while they are not only lost but will drag you down to perdition with them!" the note had no signature, but the reader knew the hand of cagliostro. madam campan entered from the queen's apartments; she brought a note to the effect that the king would be glad to have dr. gilbert's proposition in writing, while the queen could not return from being called away on important business. "lunatics," he said after musing. "here, take them this as my answer." and he gave the lady cagliostro's warning, as he went out. chapter xxvii. the squeezed lemon. on the day after the constituent assembly dissolved, that is, the second of october, at barnave's usual hour for seeing the queen, he was ushered into the grand study. on the day of the king taking the oath to the constitution, lafayette's aids and soldiers had been withdrawn from the palace and the king had become less hampered if not more powerful. it was slender satisfaction for the humiliations they had lately undergone. in the street, when out for carriage exercise, as some voices shouted "long live the king!" a roughly dressed man, walking beside the coach and laying his unwashed hand on the window ledge, kept repeating in a loud voice: "do not believe them. the only cry is, 'the nation forever!'" the queen had been applauded at the opera where the "house was packed," but the same precaution could not be adopted at the italians, where the pit was taken in advance. when the hirelings in the gallery hailed the queen, they were hushed by the pit. looking into the pit to see who these were who so detested her, the queen saw that the leader was the arch-revolutionist, cagliostro, the man who had pursued from her youth. once her eyes were fastened on his, she could not turn hers aloof, for he exercised the fascination of the serpent on the bird. the play commenced and she managed to tear her gaze aloof for a time, but ever and anon it had to go back again, from the potent magnetism. it was fatal possession, as by a nightmare. besides, the house was full of electricity; two clouds surcharged were floating about, restless to thunder at each other: a spark would send forth the double flame. madam dugazon had a song to sing with the tenor in this opera of gretry, "unforeseen events." she had the line to sing: "oh, how i love my mistress!" the queen divined that the storm was to burst, and involuntarily she glanced towards the man controlling her. it seemed to her that he gave a signal to the audience, and from all sides was hurled the cry: "no more mistresses--no more masters! away with kings and queens!" she screamed and hid her eyes, unable to look longer on this demon of destruction who ruled the disorder. pursued by the roar: "no more masters, no more kings and queens!" she was borne fainting to her carriage. she received the orator standing, though she knew the respect he cherished for her and saw that he was paler and sadder than ever. "well," she said, "i suppose you are satisfied, since the king has followed your advice and sworn to the constitution?" "you are very kind to say my advice has been followed," returned barnave, bowing, "but if it had not been the same as that from emperor leopold and prince von kaunitz, perhaps his majesty would have put greater hesitation in doing the act, though the only one to save the king if the king----" "can be saved, do you imply?" questioned she, taking the dilemma by the horns with the courage, or rashness peculiar to her. "lord preserve me from being the prophet of such miseries! and yet i do not want to dispirit your majesty too much or leave too many deceptions as i depart from paris to dwell afar from the throne." "going away from town and me?" "the work of the assembly of which i am a member has terminated, and i have no motive to stay here." "not even to be useful to us?" "not even that." he smiled sadly. "for indeed i cannot be useful to you in any way now. my strength lay in my influence over the house and at the jacobin club, in my painfully acquired popularity, in short; but the house is dissolved, the jacobins are broke up, and my popularity is lost." he smiled more mournfully than before. she looked at him with a strange glare which resembled the glow of triumph. "you see, sir, that popularity may be lost," she said. by his sigh, she felt that she had perpetrated one of those pieces of petty cruelty which were habitual to her. indeed, if he had lost it in a month, was it not for her, the angel of death, like mary stuart, to those who tried to serve her? "but you will not go?" she said. "if ordered to remain by the queen, i will stay, like a soldier who has his furlough but remains for the battle; but if i do so, i become more than weak, a traitor." "explain: i do not understand," she said, slightly hurt. "perhaps the queen takes the dissolved assembly as her enemy?" "let us define matters; in that body were friends of mine. you will not deny that the majority were hostile." "it never passed but one bill really an act of hostility to your majesty and the king; that was the decree that none of its members could belong to the legislative. that snatched the buckler from your friends' arms." "but also the sword from our foemen's hand, methinks." "alas, you are wrong. the blow comes from robespierre and is dreadful like all from that man. as things were we knew whom we had to meet; with all uncertainty we strike in the fog. robespierre wishes to force france to take the rulers from the class above us or beneath. above us there is nothing, the aristocracy having fled; but anyway the electors would not seek representatives among the noble. the people will choose deputies from below us and the next house will be democratic, with slight variations." the queen began to be alarmed from following this statement. "i have studied the new-comers: particularly those from the south," went on barnave; "they are nameless men eager to acquire fame, the more as they are all young. they are to be feared as their orders are to make war on the priests and nobles; nothing is said as to the king, but if he will be merely the executive, he may be forgiven the past." "how? they will forgive him? i thought it lay in the king to pardon?" exclaimed insulted majesty. "there it is--we shall never agree. these new-comers, as you will unhappily have the proof, will not handle the matter in gloves. for them the king is an enemy, the nucleus, willingly or otherwise, of all the external and internal foes. they think they have made a discovery though, alas! they are only saying aloud what your ardent adversaries have whispered all the time." "but, the king the enemy of the people?" repeated the lady. "oh, m. barnave, this is something you will never induce me to admit, for i cannot understand it." "still it is the fact. did not the king accept the constitution the other day? well, he flew into a passion when he returned within the palace and wrote that night to the emperor." "how can you expect us to bear such humiliations?" "ah, you see, madam! he is the born enemy and so by his character. he was brought up by the chief of the jesuits, and his heart is always in the hands of the priests, those opponents of free government, involuntarily but inevitably counter to revolution. without his quitting paris he is with the princes at coblentz, with the clergy in lavendee, with his allies in vienna and prussia. i admit that the king does nothing, but his name cloaks the plots; in the cabin, the pulpit and the castle, the poor, good, saintly king is prated about, so that the revolution of pity is opposed to that of freedom." "is it really you who cast this up, m. barnave, when you were the first to be sorry for us." "i am sorry for you still, lady; but there is this difference, that i was sorry in order to save you while these others want to ruin you." "but, in short, have these new-comers, who have vowed a war of extermination on us, any settled plan?" "no, madam, i can only catch a few vague ideas: to suppress the title of majesty in the opening address, and set a plain arm-chair beside the speaker's instead of throne-chair. the dreadful thing is that bailly and lafayette will be done away with." "i shall not regret that," quickly said the queen. "you are wrong, madam, for they are your friends----" she smiled bitterly. "your last friends, perhaps. cherish them, and use what power they have: their popularity will fly, like mine." "this amounts to your leading me to the brink of the crater and making me measure the depth without telling me i may avoid the eruption." "oh, that you had not been stopped on the road to montmedy!" sighed barnave after being mute for a spell. "here we have m. barnave approving of the flight to varennes!" "i do not approve of it: but the present state is its natural consequence, and so i deplore its not having succeeded--not as the member of the house, but as barnave your humble servant, ready to give his life, which is all he possesses." "thank you," replied the queen: "your tone proves you are the man to hold to your word, but i hope no such sacrifice will be required of you." "so much the worse for me, for if i must fall, i would wish it were in a death-struggle. the end will overtake me in my retreat. your friends are sure to be hunted out; i will be taken, imprisoned and condemned: yet perhaps my obscure death will be unheard of by you. but should the news reach you, i shall have been so little a support to you that you will have forgotten the few hours of my use." "m. barnave," said marie antoinette with dignity, "i am completely ignorant what fate the future reserves to the king, and myself, but i do know that the names of those to whom we are beholden are written on our memory, and nothing ill or good that may befall them will cease to interest us. meanwhile, is there anything we can do for you?" "only, give me your hand to kiss." a tear stood in her dry eyes as she extended to the young man the cold white hand which had at a year's interval been kissed by the two leaders, mirabeau and barnave. "madam," said he, rising, "i cannot say, 'i save the monarchy!' but he who has this favor will say 'if lost, he went down with it.'" she sighed as he went forth, but her words were: "poor squeezed lemon, they did not take much time to leave nothing of you but the peel!" chapter xxviii. the field of blood. lugubrious was the scene which met the eye of a young man who trod the champ de mars, after the tragedy of which bailly and lafayette were the principal actors. it was illumined by the moon two-thirds full, rolling among huge black clouds in which it was lost now and then. it had the semblance of a battle field, covered with maimed and dead, amid which wandered like shades the men charged to throw the lifeless into the river seine and load up the wounded to be transported to the groscaillou hospital. the young man was dressed like a captain of the national guards. he paused on the way over the field, and muttered as he clasped his hands with unaffected terror: "lord help us, the matter is worse than they gave me to understand." after looking for a while on the weird work in operation, he approached two men who were carrying a corpse towards the water, and asked: "citizens, do you mind telling me what you are going to do with that man?" "follow us, and you will know all about it," replied one. he followed them. on reaching the wooden bridge, they swung the body between them as they counted: "one, two, three, and it's off!" and slung it into the tide. the young officer uttered a cry of terror. "why, what are you about, citizens?" he demanded. "can't you see, officer," replied one, "we are clearing up the ground." "and you have orders to act thus?" "it looks so, does it not?" "from whom?" "from the municipality." "oh," ejaculated the young man, stupefied. "have you cast many bodies into the stream?" he inquired, after a little pause during which they had returned upon the place. "half a dozen or so," was the man's answer. "i beg your pardon, citizens," went on the captain, "but i have a great interest in the question i am about to put. among those bodies did you notice one of a man of forty-five or so, six feet high but looking less from his being strongly built; he would have the appearance of a countryman." "faith, we have only one thing to notice," said the man, "it is whether the men are alive or dead: if dead, we just fling them over board; if alive, we send them on to the hospital." "ah," said the captain: "the fact is that one of my friends, not having come home and having gone out here, as i learnt, i am greatly afeared that he may be among the hurt or killed." "if he came here," said one of the undertakers, shaking a body while his mate held up a lantern, "he is likely to be here still; if he has not gone home, the chances are he has gone to his last long one." redoubling the shaking, to the body lying at his feet, he shouted: "hey, you! are you dead or alive? if you are not dead, make haste to tell us." "oh, he is stiff enough," rejoined his associate; "he has a bullet clean through him." "in that case, into the river with him." they lifted the body and retook the way to the bridge. "citizens," said the young officer, "you don't need your lamp to throw the man into the water; so be kind enough to lend it me for a minute: while you are on your errand, i will seek my friend." the carriers of the dead consented to this request; and the lantern passed into the young man's hands, whereupon he commenced his search with care and an expression denoting that he had not entitled the lost one his friend merely from the lips but out of his heart. ten or more persons, supplied like him with lights, were engaged likewise in the ghastly scrutiny. from time to time, in the midst of stillness--for the awful solemnity of the picture seemed to hush the voice of the living amid the dead--a name spoken in a loud tone, would cross the space. sometimes a cry, a moan, or groan would reply to the call; but most often, the answer was gruesome silence. after having hesitated for a time as though his voice was chained by awe, the young officer imitated the example set him, and three times called out: "farmer billet!" no voice responded. "for sure he is dead," groaned he, wiping with his sleeve the tears flowing from his eyes: "poor farmer billet!" at this moment, two men came along, bearing a corpse towards the river. "mild, i fancy our stiff one gave a sigh," said the one who held the upper part of the body and was consequently nearer the head. "pooh," laughed the other: "if we were to listen to all these fellows say, there would not be one dead!" "citizens, for mercy's sake," interrupted the young officer, "let me see the man you are carrying." "oh, willingly, officer," said the men. they placed the dead in a sitting posture for him to examine it. bringing the lantern to it, he uttered a cry. in spite of the terrible wound disfiguring the face, he believed it was the man he was seeking. but was he alive or dead? this wretch who had gone half way to the watery grave, had his skull cloven by a sword stroke. the wound was dreadful, as stated: it had severed the left whisker and left the cheekbone bare; the temporal artery had been cut, so that the skull and body were flooded with gore. on the wounded side the unfortunate man was unrecognizable. the lantern-bearer swung the light round to the other side. "oh, citizens," he cried, "it is he, the man i seek: farmer billet." "the deuce it is--he seems to have his billet for the other world--ha, ha, ha!" said one of the men. "he is pretty badly hammered." "did you not say he heaved a sigh?" "i think so, anyhow." "then do me a kindness," and he fumbled in his pocket for a silver coin. "what is it?" asked the porter full of willingness on seeing the money. "run to the river and bring me some water." "in a jiffy." while the fellow ran to the river the officer took his place and held up the wounded one. in five minutes he had returned. "throw the water in his face," said the captain. the man obeyed by dipping his hand in his hat, which was his pitcher, and sprinkling the slashed face. "he shivered," exclaimed the young man holding the dying one: "he is not dead. oh, dear m. billet, what a blessing i came here." "in faith, it is a blessing," said the two men; "another twenty paces and your friend would have come to his senses in the nets at st. cloud." "throw some more on him." renewing the operation, the wounded man shuddered and uttered a sigh. "come, come, he certainly ain't dead," said the man. "well, what shall we do with him?" inquired his companion. "help me to carry him to st. honore street, to dr. gilbert's house, if you would like good reward," said the young captain. "we cannot do that. our orders are to heave the dead over, or to hand the hurt to the carriers for the hospital. since this chap makes out he is not dead, why, he must be taken to the hospital." "well, carry him there," said the young man, "and as soon as possible. where is the hospital?" he asked, looking round. "close to the military academy, about three hundred paces." "then it is over yonder?" "you have it right." "the whole of the place to cross?" "and the long way too." "have you not a hand-barrow?" "well, if it comes to that, such a thing can be found, like the water, if a crownpiece or two----" "quite right," said the captain; "you shall not lose by your kindness. here is more money--only, get the litter." ten minutes after the litter was found. the wounded man was laid on a pallet; the two fellows took up the shafts and the mournful party proceeded towards the military hospital escorted by the young officer, the lantern in hand, by the disfigured head. a dreadful thing was this night marching over the blood-stained ground, among the stiffened and motionless remains, against which one stumbled at every step, or wounded wretches who rose only to fall anew and called for succor. in a quarter of an hour they crossed the hospital threshold. chapter xxix. in the hospital. gilbert had obeyed cagliostro's injunction to go to the groscaillou hospital to attend to a patient. at this period hospitals were far from being organized as at present, particularly military ones like this which was receiving the injured in the massacre, while the dead were bundled into the river to save burial expenses and hide the extent of the crime of lafayette and bailly. gilbert was welcomed by the overworked surgeons amid the disorder which opposed their desires being fulfilled. suddenly in the maze, he heard a voice which he knew but had not expected there. "ange pitou," he exclaimed, seeing the peasant in national guards uniform by a bed; "what about billet?" "he is here," was the answer, as he showed a motionless body. "his head is split to the jaw." "it is a serious wound," said gilbert, examining the hurt. "you must find me a private room; this is a friend of mine," he added to the male nurses. there were no private rooms but they gave up the laundry to dr. gilbert's special patient. billet groaned as they carried him thither. "ah," said the doctor, "never did an exclamation of pleasure give me such joy as that wrung by pain; he lives--that is the main point." it was not till he had finished the dressing that he asked the news of pitou. the matter was simple. since the disappearance of catherine, whom isidore charny had had transported to paris with her babe, and the departure of billet to town also, mother billet, whom we have never presented as a strong-minded woman, fell into an increasing state of idiocy. dr. raynal said that nothing would rouse her from this torpor but the sight of her daughter. without waiting for the cue, pitou started to paris. he seemed predestined to arrive there at great events. the first time, he was in time to take a hand in the storming of the bastile; the next, to help the federation of ; and now he arrived for the massacre of the champ de mars. he heard that it had all come about over a petition drawn up by dr. gilbert and presented by billet to the signers. pitou learnt at the doctor's house that he had come home, but there were no tidings of the farmer. on going to the scene of blood, pitou happened on the nearly lifeless body which would have been hurled in the river but for his interposition. it was thus that pitou hailed the doctor in the hospital and the wounded man had his chances improved by being in such skillful hands as his friend gilbert's. as billet could not be taken to his wife's bedside, catherine was more than ever to be desired there. where was she? the only way to reach her would be through the charny family. happily ange had been so warmly greeted by her when he took sebastian to her house that he did not hesitate to call again. he went there with the doctor in the latter's carriage; but the house was dark and dismal. the count and countess had gone to their country seat at boursonnes. "excuse me, my friend," said the doctor to the janitor who had received the national guards captain with no friendliness, "but can you not give me a piece of information in your master's absence?" "i beg pardon, sir," said the porter recognizing the tone of a superior in this blandness and politeness. he opened the door and in his nightcap and undress came to take the orders of the carriage-gentleman. "my friend, do you know anything about a young woman from the country in whom the count and countess are taking interest?" "miss catherine?" asked the porter. "the same," replied gilbert. "yes, sir; my lord and my lady sent me twice to see her and learn if she stood in need of anything, but the poor girl, whom i do not believe to be well off, no more than her dear little child, said she wanted for nothing." pitou sighed heavily at the mention of the dear little child. "well, my friend," continued the doctor, "poor catherine's father was wounded on the field of mars, and her mother, mrs. billet, is dying out at villers cotterets, which sad news we want to break to her. will you kindly give us her address?" "oh, poor girl, may heaven assist her. she was unhappy enough before. she is living at villedavray, your honor, in the main street. i cannot give you the number, but it is in front of the public well." "that is straight enough," said pitou; "i can find it." "thanks, my friend," said gilbert, slipping a silver piece into the man's hand. "there was no need of that, sir, for christians ought to do a good turn amongst themselves," said the janitor, doffing his nightcap and returning indoors. "i am off for villedavray," said pitou. he was always ready to go anywhere on a kind errand. "do you know the way?" "no; but somebody will tell me." "you have a golden heart and steel muscles," said the doctor laughing; "but you want rest and had better start to-morrow." "but it is a pressing matter----" "on neither side is there urgency," corrected the doctor; "billet's state is serious but not mortal unless by mischance. mother billet may linger ten days yet." "she don't look it, but, of course, you know best." "we may as well leave poor catherine another night of repose and ignorance; a night's rest is of importance to the unfortunate, pitou." "then, where are we going, doctor?" asked the peasant, yielding to the argument. "i shall give you a room you have slept in before; and to-morrow at six, my horses shall be put to the carriage to take you to villedavray." "lord, is it fifty leagues off?" "nay, it is only two or three." "then i can cover it in an hour or two--i can lick it up like an egg." "yes, but catherine can lick up like an egg the distance from villedavray to paris and the eighteen leagues from paris to villers cotterets?" "true: excuse me, doctor, for being a fool. talking of fools--no, i mean the other way about--how is sebastian?" "wonderfully well, you shall see him to-morrow." "still at college? i shall be downright glad." "and so shall he, for he loves you with all his heart." at six, he started in the carriage and by seven was at catherine's door. she opened it and shrieked on seeing pitou: "i know--my mother is dead!" she turned pale and leaned against the wall. "no; but you will have to hasten to see her before she goes," replied the messenger. this brief exchange of words said so much in little that catherine was at once placed face to face with her affliction. "that is not all," added the peasant. "what's the other misfortune?" queried catherine, in the sharp tone of one who has exhausted the measure of human ails and has no fear of an overflow. "master billet was dangerously wounded on the parade-grounds." "ah," said she, much less affected by this news than the other. "so i says to myself, and dr. gilbert bears me out: 'miss catherine will pay a visit to her father at the hospital on the way down to her mother's.'" "but you, pitou?" queried the girl. "while you go by stage-coach to help mother billet to make her long journey, i will stay by the farmer. you understand that i must stick to him who has never a soul to look after him, see?" pitou spoke the words with that angelic simplicity of his, with no idea that he was painting his whole devoted nature. "you have a kind heart, ange," said she, giving him her hand. "come and kiss my little isidore." she walked into the house, prettier than ever, though she was clad in black, which drew another sigh from pitou. she had one little room, overlooking the garden, its furniture a bed for the mother and a cradle for the infant. it was sleeping. she pulled a muslin curtain aside for him to see it. "oh, the sweet little angel!" exclaimed pitou. he knelt as it were to an angel, and kissed the tiny hand. he was speedily rewarded for his devotion for he felt catherine's tresses on his head and her lips on his forehead. the mother was returning the caress given her son. "thank you, good pitou," she said; "since the last kiss he had from his father, i alone have fondled the pet." "oh, miss catherine!" muttered pitou, dazzled and thrilled by the kiss as by an electrical shock. and yet it was purely what a mother's caress may contain of the holy and grateful. ten minutes afterwards, catherine, little isidore and pitou were rolling in the doctor's carriage towards the hospital, where she handed the child to the peasant with as much or more trust as she would have had in a brother, and walked in at the door. dr. gilbert was by his patient's side. little change had taken place. despite the beginning of fever, the face was still deadly pale from the great loss of blood and one eye and the left cheek were swelling. catherine dropped on her knees by the bedside, and said as she raised her hands to heaven, "o my god, thou knowest that my utmost wish has been for my father's life to be spared." this was as much as could be expected from the girl whose lover's life had been attempted by her father. the patient shuddered at this voice, and his breathing was more hurried; he opened his eyes and his glance, wandering for a space over the room, was fixed on the woman. his hand made a move to repulse this figure which he doubtless took to be a vision. their glances met, and gilbert was horrified to see the hatred which shot towards each, rather than affection. she rose and went to find pitou by the door. he was on all fours, playing with the babe. she caught up her boy with a roughness more like a lioness than a woman, and pressed it to her bosom, crying, "my child, oh, my child!" in the outburst were all the mother's anguish, the widow's wails, and the woman's pangs. pitou proposed seeing her to the stage, but she repulsed him, saying: "your place is here." pitou knew nothing but to obey when catherine commanded. chapter xxx. the mother's blessing. it was six o'clock in the afternoon, broad day, when catherine arrived home. had isidore been alive and she were coming to visit her mother in health, she would have got down from the stage at the end of the village and slipped round upon her father's farm, without going through. but a widow and a mother, she did not give a thought to rustic jests; she alighted without fear; it seemed to her that scorn and insult ought to be warded off from her by her child and her sorrow, the dark and the bright angel. at the first she was not recognized; she was so pale and so changed that she did not seem the same woman; and what set her apart from her class was the lofty air which she had already caught from community with an elegant man. one person knew her again but not till she had passed by. this was pitou's aunt angelique. she was gossiping at the townhouse door with some cronies about the oath required of the clergy, declaring that she had heard father fortier say that he would never vow allegiance to the revolution, preferring to submit to martyrdom than bend his head to the democratic yoke. "bless us and save us!" she broke forth, in the midst of her speech, "if here ain't billet's daughter and her fondling a-stepping down off the coach." "catherine?" cried several voices. "yes, but look at her running away, down the lane." aunt angelique was making a mistake: catherine was not running away and she took the sideway simply because she was in haste to see her mother. at the cry the children scampered after her, and as she was fond of them always, and more than ever at present, she gave them some small change with which they returned. "what is that?" asked the gossips. "it is miss catherine; she asked how her mother was and when we said the doctor says she is good for a week yet, she thanked us and gave us some money." "hem! then, she seems to have taken her pigs to a good market in paris," sneered angelique, "to be able to give silver to the urchins who run at her heels." she did not like catherine because the latter was young and sweet and angelique was old and sour; catherine was tall and well made while the other was short and limped. besides, when angelique turned her nephew ange out of doors, it was on billet's farm that he took refuge. again, it was billet who had lugged father fortier out of his rectory to say the mass for the country on the day of the declaration of the rights of man. all these were ample reasons for angelique to hate catherine, joined to her natural asperity, in particular, and the billet's in general. and when she hated it was thorough, as becomes a prude and a devotee. she ran to the priest's to tell him and his sister the fresh scandal of billet's daughter returning home with her child. "indeed," said fortier, "i should have thought she would drop it into the box at the foundling hospital." "the proper thing to do, for then the thing would not have to blush for his mother." "that is a new point from which to regard that institution! but what has she come after here?" "it looks as if to see her mother, who might not have been living still." "stay, a woman who does not come to confess, methinks?" said the abbé, with a wicked smile. "oh, that is not her fault!" said the old maid, "but she has had softening of the brain lately; up to the time when her daughter threw this grief upon her, she was a pious soul who feared god and paid for two chairs when she came to church, one to sit in, the other to put her feet upon." "but how many chairs did her husband pay for, billet, the hero of the mobs, the conqueror of the bastile?" cried the priest, his little eyes sparkling with spite. "i do not know," returned angelique simply, "for he never comes to church, while his good wife----" "very well, we will settle accounts with him on the day of his good wife's funeral." in the meantime catherine continued her way, one long series of memories of him who was no more, unless his arms were around the little boy whom she carried on her bosom. what would the neighbors say of her shame and dishonor? so handsome a boy would be a shame and disgrace to a peasant! but she entered the farm without fear though rapidly. a huge dog barked as she came up, but suddenly recognizing his young mistress, he neared her to the stretch of his chain, and stood up with his forepaws in the air to utter little joyous yelps. at the dog's barking a man ran out to see the cause. "miss catherine," he exclaimed. "father clovis," she said. "welcome, dear young mistress--the house much needs you, by heaven!" "and my poor mother?" "sorry to say she is just the same, neither worse nor better--she is dying out like an oilless lamp, poor dear!" "where is she?" "in her own room." "alone?" "no, no, no! i would not have allowed that. you must excuse me, miss catherine, coming out as the master here, but your having stopped at my house before you went to town made me one of the family, i thought, in a manner of speaking, and i was very fond of you and poor master isidore." "so you know?" said catherine, wiping away her tears. "yes, yes, killed for the queen's sake, like his brother. but he has left something behind him, a lovely boy, so while we mourn for the father we must smile for the son." "thank you, clovis," said she, giving her hand: "but my mother?" "i had mother clement the nurse to sit with her, the same who attended to you----" "has my mother her senses yet?" asked the girl hesitating. "sometimes i think so, when your name is spoken. that was the great means of stirring her, but since yesterday she has not showed any signs even when you are spoken of." he opened the bedroom door and she could glance in. mother clement was dozing in a large armchair, while her patient seemed to be asleep: she was not much changed but her complexion was like ivory in pallor. "mother, my dear mother," exclaimed catherine, rushing into the room. the dying one opened her eyes and tried to turn her head, as a gleam of intelligence sparkled in her look; but, babbling, her movement was abortive, and her arm sank inert on the head of the girl, kneeling by her side. from the lethargy of the father and the mother had shot two opposite feelings: hate from the former, love from the latter. the girl's arrival caused excitement on the farm, where billet was expected, not his daughter. she related the accident to the farmer, and how he was as near death's door as his wife at home, only he was moving from it on the right side. she went into her own room, where there were many tears evoked by the memories where she had passed in the bright dreams of childhood, and the girl's burning passions, and returned with the widow's broken heart. at once she resumed the sway over that house in disorder which her father had delegated to her to the detriment of her mother. father clovis, thanked and rewarded, retook the road to his "earth," as his hut was called. when dr. raynal came next day on his tri-weekly visit, he was glad to see the girl. he broached the great question which he had not dared debate with billet, whether the poor woman should receive the last sacrament. billet was a rabid voltairian, while the doctor was a scientist. but he believed it his duty in such cases to warn the family of the dying and let them settle it. catherine was pious and attached little importance to the wrangles between her father and the priest. but the abbé was one of the sombre school, who would have been an inquisitor in spain. when he found the sufferer unconscious, he said that he could not give absolution to those unable to confess, and went out again. there was no use applying elsewhere as he was monarch over this parish. catherine accepted the refusal as still another grief and went on with her cares as daughter and mother for eight or nine days and nights. as she was watching by her mother, frail bark sinking deeper and deeper on eternity's sea, the door opened, and pitou appeared on the sill. he came from paris that morning. catherine shuddered to see him, fearing that her father was dead. but his countenance, without being what you would call gay, was not that of the bearer of bad news. indeed, billet was mending; since a few days the doctor had answered for him: that morning he had been moved from the hospital to the doctor's house. pitou feared for catherine, now. his opinion was that the moment billet learned what he was sure to ask, how his wife was, he would start for home. what would it be if he found catherine there? it was gilbert who had therefore sent pitou down into the country. but when pitou expressed their fears about their meeting, catherine declared that she would not leave her mother's pillow although her father slew her there. pitou groaned at such a determination but he did not combat it. so he stayed there to intervene, if he might. during two days and nights, mother billet's life seemed going, breath by breath. it was a wonder how a body lived with so little breath, but how slightly it lived! during the night, when all animation seemed extinct, the patient awoke as it were, and she stared at catherine, who ran to bring her boy. the eyes were bright when she returned, a sound was heard, and the arms were held out. catherine fell on her knees beside the bed. a strange phenomenon took place: mother billet rose on her pillow, slowly held out her arms over the girl's head and the boy, and with a mighty effort, said: "bless you, my children!" she fell back, dead. her eyes remained open, as though she longed to see her daughter from beyond the grave from not having seen enough of her before. chapter xxxi. fortier executes his threat. catherine piously closed her mother's eyes, with her hand and then with her lips, while mother clement lit the candles and arranged other paraphernalia. pitou took charge of the other details. reluctant to visit father fortier, with whom he stood on delicate ground, he ordered the mortuary mass of the sacristan, and engaged the gravedigger and the coffin-bearers. then he went over to haramont to have his company of militia notified that the wife of the hero of the people would be buried at eleven on the morrow. it was not an official order but an invitation. but it was too well known what billet had done for this revolution which was turning all heads and enflaming all hearts; what danger billet was even then running for the sake of the masses--for this invitation not to be regarded as an order: all the volunteer soldiers promised their captain that they would be punctual. pitou brought the joiner with him, who carried the coffin. he had all the heartfelt delicacy rare in the lowborn, and hid the man and his bier in the outhouse so catherine should not see it, and to spare her from hearing the sound of the hammering of the nails, he entered the dwelling alone. catherine was still praying by the dead, which had been shrouded by two neighbors. pitou suggested that she should go out for a change of air; then for the child's sake, upon which she proposed he should take the little one. she must have had great confidence in pitou to trust her boy to him for a time. "he won't come," reported pitou, presently. "he is crying." she kissed her mother, took her child by the hand and walked away with pitou. the joiner carried in the coffin when she was gone. he took her out on the road to boursonnes, where she went half a league without saying a word to pitou, listening to the voices of the woodland which talked to her heart. when she got home, the work was done, and she understood why ange had insisted on her going out. she thanked him with an eloquent look. she prayed for a long while by the coffin, understanding now that she had but one of the two friends, left, her mother and pitou, when isidore died. "you must come away," said the peasant, "or i must go and hire a nurse for master isidore." "you are right, pitou," she said. "my god, how good thou art to me--and how i love you, pitou!" he reeled and nearly fell over backwards. he leaned up against the wall, choking, for catherine had said that she loved him! he did not deceive himself about the kind of love, but any kind was a great deal for him. finishing her prayer, she rose and went with a slow step to lean on his shoulder. he put his arm round her to sustain her; she allowed this. turning at the door, she breathed: "farewell, mother!" and went forth. pitou stopped her at her own door. she began to understand pitou. "why, miss catherine," he stammered, "do you not think it is a good time to leave the farm?" "i shall only leave when my mother shall no longer be here," she replied. she spoke with such firmness that he saw it was an irrevocable resolve. "when you do go, you know you have two homes, father clovis' and my house." pitou's "house" was his sitting room and bedroom. "i thank you," she replied, her smile and nod meaning that she accepted both offers. she went into her room without troubling about the young man, who had the knack of finding some burrow. at ten next day all the farmers for miles around flocked to the farm. the mayor came, too. at half after ten up marched the haramont national guards, with colors tied up in black, without a man being missing. catherine, dressed in black, with her boy in mourning, welcomed all comers and it must be said that there was no feeling for her but of respect. at eleven, some three hundred persons were gathered at the farm. the priest and his attendants alone were absent. pitou knew father fortier and he guessed that he who had refused the sacraments to the dying woman, would withhold the funeral service under the pretext that she had died unconscious. these reflections, confided to mayor longpre, produced a doleful impression. while they were looking at each other in silence, maniquet, whose opinions were anti-religious, called out: "if abbé fortier does not like to say mass, we will get on without it." but it was evidently a bold act, although voltaire and rousseau were in the ascendancy. "gentlemen," suggested the mayor, "let us proceed to villers cotterets where we will have an explanation." the procession moved slowly past catherine and her little boy, and was going down the road, when the rear guards heard a voice behind them. it was a call and they turned. a man on a horse was riding from the side of paris. part of the rider's face was covered with black bandages; he waved his hat in his hand and signalled that he wanted the party to stop. pitou had turned like the others. "why, it is billet," he said, "good! i should not like to be in father fortier's skin." at the name everybody halted. he advanced rapidly and as he neared all were able to recognize him as pitou had done. on reaching the head of the line, billet jumped off his horse, threw the bridle on its neck, and, after saying a lusty: "good day and thank ye, citizens!" he took his proper place which pitou had in his absence held to lead the mourners. a stable boy took away the horse. everybody looked curiously at the farmer. he had grown thinner and much paler. part of his face and around his left eye had retained the black and blue tint of extravasated blood. his clenched teeth and frowning brows indicated sullen rage which waited the time for a vent. "do you know what has happened?" inquired pitou. "i know all," was the reply. as soon as gilbert had told his patient of the state of his wife, he had taken a cabriolet as far as nanteuil. as the horse could go no farther, though billet was weak, he had mounted a post horse and with a change at levignan, he reached his farm as we know. in two words mother clement had told the story. he remounted the horse and stopped the procession which he descried on turning a wall. silent and moody before, the party became more so since this figure of hate led the way. at villers cotterets a waiting party fell into the line. as the cortege went up the street, men, women and children flowed out of the dwellings, saluted billet, who nodded, and incorporated themselves in the ranks. it numbered five hundred when it reached the church. it was shut, as pitou had anticipated. they halted at the door. billet had become livid; his expression had grown more and more threatening. the church and the town hall adjoined. the player of the bassoon in the holy building was also janitor at the mayor's, so that he belonged under the secular and the clerical arm. questioned by mayor longpre, he answered that father fortier had forbidden any retainer of the church to lend his aid to the funeral. the mayor asked where the keys were, and was told the beadle had them. "go and get the keys," said billet to pitou, who opened out his long compass-like legs and, having been gone five minutes, returned to say: "abbé fortier had the keys taken to his house to be sure the church should not be opened." "we must go straight to the priest for them," suggested maniquet, the promoter of extreme measures. "let us go to the abbé's," cried the crowd. "it would take too long," remarked billet: "and when death knocks at a door, it does not like to wait." he looked round him. opposite the church, a house was being built. some carpenters had been squaring a joist. billet walked up and ran his arm round the beam, which rested on trestles. with one effort he raised it. but he had reckoned on absent strength. under the great burden the giant reeled and it was thought for an instant that he would fall. it was but a flash; he recovered his balance and smiled terribly; and forward he walked, with the beam under his arm, with a firm step albeit slow. he seemed one of those antique battering-rams with which the caesars overthrow walls. he planted himself, with legs set apart, before the door and the formidable machine began to work. the door was oak with iron fastenings; but at the third shove, bolts, bars and lock had flown off; the oaken panels yawned, too. billet let the beam drop. it took four men to carry it back to its place, and not easily. "now, mayor, have my poor wife's coffin carried to the midst of the choir--she never did harm to anybody--and you, pitou, collect the beadle, the choirboys and the chanters, while i bring the priest." several wished to follow billet to father fortier's house. "let me go alone," said he: "maybe what i do is serious and i should bear my own burden." this was the second time that the revolutionist had come into conflict with the son of the church, at a year's interval. remembering what had happened before, a similar scene was anticipated. the rectory door was sealed up like that of the church. billet looked round for some beam to be used like the other, but there was nothing of the sort. the only thing was a stone post, a boundary mark, with which the children had played so long at "over-ing" that it was loose in the socket like an old tooth. the farmer stepped up to it, shook it violently to enlarge its orbit, and tore it clean out. then raising it like a highlander "putting the stone," he hurled it at the door which flew into shivers. at the same time as this breach was made, the upper window opened and father fortier appeared, calling on his parishioners with all the power of his lungs. but the voice of the pastor fell lost, as the flock did not care to interfere between him and the wolf. it took billet some time to break all the doors down between him and his prey, but in ten minutes, more or less, that was done. at the end of that time, loud shrieks were heard and by the abbé's most expressive gestures it was to be surmised that the danger was drawing nearer and nearer him. in fact, suddenly was seen to rise behind the priest billet's pale face, as his hand launched out and grabbed him by the shoulder. the priest clutched the window sill; he was of proverbial strength and it would not be easy for hercules to make him relax his grip. billet passed his arm around the priest as a girdle; straightened himself on both legs, and with a pull which would uproot an oak, he tore him away with the snapped wood between his hands. farmer and priest, they disappeared within the room, where in the depths were heard the wailings of the priest, dying away like the bellowing of a bull carried off by a lion. in the meanwhile, pitou had gathered up the trembling church staff, who hastened to don the vestments, light the candles and incense and prepare all things for the death mass. billet was seen coming, dragging the priest with him at as smart a pace, though he still made resistance, as if he were alone. this was not a man, but one of the forces of nature: something like a torrent or an avalanche; nothing human could withstand him and it took an element to combat with him. about a hundred steps from the church, the poor abbé ceased to kick, completely overpowered. all stood aside to let the pair go by. the abbé cast a frightened glance on the door, shivered like a pane of glass and seeing all his men at their stands whom he had forbidden to enter the place, he shook his head like one who acknowledges that some resistless power weighed on the church's ministers if not on itself. he entered the sacristy and came forth in his robes, with the sacrament in his hand. but as he was mounting the altar billet stretched out his hand. "enough, you faulty servant of god," he thundered: "i only attempted to check your pride, that is all: but i want it known that a sainted woman like my wife can dispense with the prayers of a hateful and fanatical priest like you." as a loud murmur rose under the vaulted ceiling of the fane, he said: "if this be sacrilege, let it fall on my head." turning to the crowd he added: "citizens, to the cemetery!" "to the cemetery," cried the concourse which filled not the church alone but the square in front. the four bearers passed their muskets under the bier lifting the body and as they had come without ecclesiastical pomp, such as religion has devised to accompany man to the grave, they went forth. billet conducted the mourners, with six hundred persons following the remains, to the burial-ground, situated at the end of a lane near aunt angelique's house. the cemetery-gates were closed but billet respected the dead; he sent for the gravedigger who had the key, and pitou brought it with two spades. fortier had proscribed the dead as unfit for consecrated ground, which the gravedigger had been ordered not to break for her. at this last evidence of the priest's hatred for the farmer, a shiver of menace ran through the gathering: if billet had had a little of the gall which the tartuffes hold, to the amazement of boileau, he had but a word to say and the abbé fortier would have had that satisfaction of martyrdom for which he had howled on the day when he refused to say mass on the altar of the country. but billet's wrath was that of the people and the lion; he did not retrace his steps to tear. he thanked pitou with a nod, took the key, opened the gates, passed the coffin in, and following it, was followed by the procession, recruited by all that could walk. arrived where the grave had been marked out before the sexton had the order not to open the earth, billet held out his hand to pitou for one of the spades. thereupon, with uncovered head, pitou and billet, amid the citizens bareheaded likewise, under the devouring july sun dug the resting-place for this poor creature who, pious and resigned throughout life, would have been greatly astonished in her lifetime if told what a sensation her death would cause. the task lasted an hour without either worker thinking of being relieved. meanwhile rope was sought for and was ready. it was still billet and pitou who lowered the coffin into the pit. they did all so naturally that nobody thought of offering help. it would have been a sacrilege to have stayed them from carrying out all to the end. only at the first clods falling on the coffin, billet ran his hand over his eyes and pitou his sleeve. then they resolutely shoveled the earth in. when they had finished, billet flung the spade far from him and gripped pitou by the hand. "god is my witness," said he, "that i hold in hand all the simple and grandest virtues on earth: charity, devotion, abnegation, brotherhood--and that i dedicate my life to these virtues." he held out his hand over the grave, saying: "god be again my witness that i swear eternal war against the king who tried to have me murdered; to the nobles who defamed my daughter; to the priests who refused sepulture to my wife!" turning towards the spectators full of sympathy with this adjuration, he said: "brothers, a new assembly is to be convoked in place of the traitors now in session; select me to represent you in this new parliament, and you will see how i keep my oath." a shout of universal adhesion hailed this suggestion, and at once over his wife's grave, terrible altar, worthy of the dread vow, the candidature of billet was proposed, seconded and carried. after this, he thanked his fellow citizens for their sympathy in his affliction, his friendship and his hatred, and each, citizen, countryman, peasant and forester, went home, carrying in heart that spirit of revolutionary propaganda to which in their blindness the most deadly weapons were afforded by those who were to be destroyed by them--priests, nobles and king! how billet kept his oath, with other circumstances which are linked with his return to paris in the new legislative assembly, will be recorded in the sequel entitled "the countess of charny." _a book for every family._ how to live well on cents a day. by mrs. gesine lemcke, one of the most noted cooks and housekeepers of the day. it contains a complete bill of fare for every day for six weeks, also valuable hints and helps for housekeepers. the _philadelphia call_ says of it: "utopia discovered! everybody happy and want absolutely abolished. hats off to mrs. lemcke! whether this volume accomplishes its purpose or not is immaterial. it is stuffed full of just the sort of information that is good for young housekeepers and should be widely read, and is worth $ . to any family." this book is for sale by all dealers, or it will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of cents, by j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york. terms to agents. _sample copy by mail, postpaid, cents._ _less than copies_, _ cents per copy._ _one hundred or more copies_, _ cents per copy._ the above prices do not include freight or express charges. _terms cash with order._ address, j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york. are you a woman? and do you want to get married? if so, you ought to buy our new book. "how to get married although a woman," by a young widow. read what _the christian advocate_ says about it: "how to get married although a woman," by a young widow, comes from the j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york. the woman anxious to get married, but unable to do so, will find an immense amount of advice and assistance in this little volume, and will learn what manner of woman is liked and what disliked by men, the reasons of success and failure in the race matrimonial, some unfailing methods of catching a husband, why it is that a plain widow can come into a community and take her pick among the most eligible men, and finally, how to retain the love of a husband when he has been captured and how to get another one when he has been gathered to his fathers. any woman who cannot catch a husband by the rules laid down in this book does not deserve one, and it costs only cents for all this valuable advice and information. this book will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. address: _j. s. ogilvie publishing company_, _lock box ._ _ rose st., new york._ catalogue of useful and popular books. any of the books on this list will be mailed postpaid to any address on receipt of price by j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york. _write your name and address very plainly so as to avoid mistakes._ =album writer's friend (the).=--compiled by j. s. ogilvie, mo, pages. paper cover, cents; cloth cents. this is a new and choice selection of gems of prose and poetry, comprising over seven hundred selections, suitable for writing in autograph albums, valentines, and for birthday and wedding celebrations. it also contains a new and choice collection of verses suitable for christmas and new-year cards. it contains pages, with paper cover, price cents: bound in cloth, cents. =amateur's guide to magic and mystery.=--an entirely new work, containing full and ample instructions on the mysteries of magic, sleight-of-hand tricks, card tricks, etc. the best work on conjuring for amateurs published. illustrated. cents. =art of ventriloquism.=--contains simple and full directions by which any one may acquire the amusing art, with numerous examples for practice. also instructions for making the magic whistle, for imitating birds, animals, and peculiar sounds of various kinds. any boy who wishes to obtain an art by which he can develop a wonderful amount of astonishment, mystery, and fun, should learn ventriloquism, as he easily can follow the simple secret given in this book. mailed for cents. =bad boy's diary (a).=--this is one of the most successful humorous books of the present day, filled with fun and good humor, and "will drive the blues out of a bag of indigo." it is printed from new, large type, and on fine, heavy white paper of a superior finish, and contains pages. new, full-page illustrations from unique designs have been prepared expressly for this edition. handsome paper cover, cents. =battle for bread (the).=--this book contains a series of sermons by rev. t. dewitt talmage, the greatest of living preachers. every workingman and those who employ them should read this book, and thus be informed of the real solution of the question of the relations of labor and capital. mo, pages. paper cover, cents; cloth, cents. =black art exposed (the).=--this book contains some of the most marvelous things in ancient and modern magic, jugglery, etc., ever printed, and has to be seen to be fully appreciated. suffice it to say that any boy knowing the secrets it contains will be able to do things that will astonish all. cts. =blunders of a bashful man (the).=--by the popular author of "a bad boy's diary." this is one of the most humorous books ever issued, and has been pronounced _better_ than "a bad boy's diary." mo, pages. handsomely illustrated from original designs, including also the portrait and autograph of "the bashful man." price, paper cover, cents. =boiler-maker's assistant (the).= and the theoretical and practical boiler-maker and engineer's reference book. by samuel nicholls, foreman boiler-maker. vol. mo, extra cloth, $ . . =complete fortune teller and dream book.=--this book contains a complete dictionary of dreams, alphabetically, with a clear interpretation of each dream, and the lucky numbers that belong to it. it includes palmistry, or telling fortunes by the lines of the hand; fortune-telling by the grounds in a tea or coffee cup; how to read your future life by the white of an egg; tells how to know who your future husband will be, and how soon you will be married; fortune-telling by cards; hymen's lottery; good and bad omens, etc. cents. =concert exercises for sunday schools.=-- cents each; cents per dozen; per hundred, by mail, postpaid, $ . no. , the christian's journey. no. , the story of redeeming love. (for christmas.) no. , christ is risen. (appropriate for easter.) no. , welcome greeting. (appropriate for children's day.) no. , good tidings. (appropriate for anniversaries and celebrations.) =leisure-hour work for ladies.=--containing instructions for flower and shell work; antique, grecian and theorem painting; botanical specimens; cone work; anglo-japanese work; decalcomanie; diaphame; leather work; modeling in clay; transferring; crayon drawing; photograph coloring, etc., etc. a very complete book, and one that no young lady having spare time can afford to be without. cents. =lover's guide (the).=--a book no lover should be without. it gives handkerchief, parasol, glove, and fan flirtations; also window and dining-room signaling; the language of flowers; how to kiss deliciously; love-letters, and how to write them, with specimens; bashfulness and timidity, and how to overcome them, etc., etc. cents. =courtship and marriage;= or, the mysteries of making love fully explained.--this is an entirely new work on a most interesting subject. contents: first steps in courtship; advice to both parties at the outset; introduction to the lady's family; restrictions imposed by etiquette; what the lady should observe in early courtship; what the suitor should observe; etiquette as to presents; the proposal; mode of refusal when not approved; conduct to be observed by a rejected suitor; refusal by the lady's parents or guardians; etiquette of an engagement; demeanor of the betrothed pair; should a courtship be long or short; preliminary etiquette of a wedding; fixing the day; how to be married; the trousseau; duties to be attended to by the bridegroom; who should be asked to the wedding; duties of the bridesmaids and groomsmen; etiquette of a wedding; costume of bride, bridesmaids, and bridegroom; arrival at the church; the marriage ceremonial; registry of the marriage; return home, and wedding breakfast; departure for the honeymoon; wedding cards; modern practice of "no cards;" reception and return of wedding visits; practical advice to a newly married couple. price, cents. ="don't marry"=--at least until you have read our new book entitled "don't marry." some marry too soon, others wait too long. this book will tell you how, when, and whom to marry; besides giving you valuable hints and helps not found in any other book. it contains pages, paper cover, and is worth $ to any one. price, cents. =diary of a minister's wife.=--by almedia m. brown. complete edition, mo, pages. handsomely bound in cloth, with fine full-page illustrations, including portraits of mrs. minnie hardscrabble, the minister's wife, from the facts and incidents in whose life the story was written; also rev. john hardscrabble, with three other characteristic engravings, which will amuse and interest every reader. price, $ . . this popular book is also issued complete in two volumes in paper covers. price, per volume, cents. =diary of a village gossip.=--by almedia m. brown, author of "diary of a minister's wife," etc., etc. mo, pages. paper cover, cents; handsomely bound in cloth, $ . . =magic dial (the).=--by the use of which secret correspondence may be carried on without fear of detection. no one (even if provided with one of these dials) can decipher it. it is entirely new, and nothing like it has ever appeared. it is simple and reliable and can be used by any person. it will be mailed for cents. =educating the horse.=--a new and improved system of educating the horse. also a treatise on shoeing, with new and valuable receipts for diseases of horses. contents: the great secret of horse-taming; how to throw a horse; the wild colt; to halter; break a colt; hitching colt in stall; how to handle a colt's feet; breaking and driving colts to harness; objects of fear; to train a horse to stand when getting into a carriage; balking horses; pulling at halter; to break horses from jumping; pawing in stall and kicking in harness; the runaway horse; shoeing; corns; to teach a horse to appear intelligent; to teach a horse how to dance, waltz, kiss you, shake hands, etc., etc.; cure of sore breasts, big head, big leg, fullness of blood, catarrh; loose bowels, corns, cough, inflammation of eye, brittle feet, sand crack in foot, founder (a sure cure), galled back, grease, inflammation of kidneys, worms, itch, nasal, gleet, over-reaching, staggers, botts, etc., etc.; concluding with rules and regulations for the government of trotting and racing. no man who owns a horse can afford to do without this book. it is very thorough, complete and reliable, and well worth a dozen times the price asked for it. it contains matter not to be found in any other horse book. price, cents. =grand wonder collection.=--a wonderful offer. $ . worth of goods for only cents! everything is now very cheap, and people get a good deal more for their money than they used to, but we have no hesitation in saying that never before was so much offered for the money as is offered in this grand wonder collection. it could not be done, only that we expect to sell thousands of them and are fully satisfied that each one sold will sell a dozen more. the contents of the grand wonder collection--comprising seven complete books in one-- . old secrets and new discoveries. . secrets for farmers. . laughing gas. . the swindlers of america. . preserving and manufacturing secrets. . the housewife's treasure. . fourteen popular songs, words and music. any person ordering this collection and not fully satisfied, the money will be cheerfully refunded. price, cents. =magic trick cards.=--the magician's own cards, for performing wonderful tricks. every boy a magician! every man a conjurer! every girl a witch! every one astonished! they are the most superior trick cards ever offered for sale, and with them you can perform some of the most remarkable illusions ever discovered. complete illustrated directions accompany each pack. they will be mailed, postpaid, sealed as a letter, for cents a pack. =health hints.=--a new book showing how to acquire and retain bodily symmetry, health, vigor, and beauty. its contents are as follows: laws of beauty--air, sunshine, water, and food--work and rest--dress and ornament--the hair and its management--skin and complexion--the mouth--the eyes, ears, and nose--the neck, hands and feet--growth and marks that are enemies of beauty--cosmetics and perfumery. =fat people.=--it gives ample rules how corpulency may be cured--the fat made lean, comely and active. =lean people.=--it also gives directions, the following of which will enable lean, angular, bony or sharp visaged people, to be plump and rosy skinned. =gray hair.=--it tells how gray hair may be restored to its natural color without the aid of dyes, restorers or pomades. =baldness.=--it gives ample directions for restoring hair on bald heads, as well as how to stop falling of the hair, how to curl the hair, etc. =beard and mustache.=--it tells what young men should do to acquire a fine, silky and handsome beard and mustache. =freckles and pimples.=--it gives full directions for the cure of sunburn, freckles, pimples, wrinkles, warts, etc., so that they can be entirely removed. =cosmetics.=--this chapter, among other things, gives an analysis of perry's moth and freckle lotion, balm of white lilies, hagan's magnolia balm, laird's bloom of youth, phalon's enamel, clark's restorative for the hair, chevalier's life for the hair, ayer's hair vigor, professor wood's hair restorative, hair restorer america, gray's hair restorative, phalon's vitalia, ring's vegetable ambrosia, mrs. allen's world's hair restorer, hall's vegetable sicilian hair renewer, martha washington hair restorative, etc., etc. (no room for more), showing how the lead, etc., in these mixtures causes disease and oftentimes premature death. price, cents. =love and courtship cards.=--sparking, courting, and lovemaking all made easy by the use of these cards. they are arranged with such apt conversation that you will be able to ask the momentous question in such a delicate manner that the girl will not suspect what you are at. they may be used by two persons only, or they will make lots of fun for an evening party of young people. there are sixty cards in all, and each answer will respond differently to every one of the questions. price, cents. =miss slimmens' boarding-house.=--by the author of "a bad boy's diary." mo, pages, with nine illustrations. complete edition. paper cover, cents. =housewife's treasure (the).=--a manual of information of everything that relates to household economies. it gives the method of making jackson's universal washing compound, which can clean the dirtiest cotton, linen or woolen clothes in twenty minutes without rubbing or harming the material. this recipe is being constantly peddled through the country at $ . each, and is certainly worth it. it also tells all about soap-making at home, so as to make it cost about one-quarter of what bar soap costs; it tells how to make candles by molding or dipping; it gives seven methods for destroying rats and mice; how to make healthy bread without flour (something entirely new); to preserve clothes and furs from moths; a sure plan for destroying house-flies, cockroaches, beetles, ants, bedbugs and fleas; all about house cleaning, papering, etc., and hundreds of other valuable hints just such as housekeepers are wanting to know. cents. =how to entertain a social party.=--a complete selection of home recreations. profusely illustrated with fine wood-cuts, containing: round games and forfeit games; parlor magic and curious puzzles; comic diversions and parlor tricks; scientific recreations and evening amusements; the blue beard tableaux; tableaux-vivant for acting; the play-room; blind-man's buff; one old ox opening oysters; how do you like it? when do you like it? and where do you like it? cross questions and crooked answers; cupid's coming; proverbs; earth, air and water; yes and no; copenhagen; hunt the hare, and a thousand other games. here is family amusement for the million. here is parlor or drawing-room entertainment, night after night, for a whole winter. a young man with this volume may render himself the _beau ideal_ of a delightful companion to every party. price, cents. =how to woo and how to win.=--this interesting work contains full and interesting rules for the etiquette of courtship, with directions showing how to win the favor of the ladies; how to begin and end a courtship; and how love-letters should be written. it not only tells how to win the favor of the ladies, but how to address a lady; conduct a courtship; "pop the question;" write love-letters; all about the marriage ceremony; bridal chamber; after marriage, etc. price, cents. =odell's system of shorthand.=--by which the taking down of sermons, lectures, trials, speeches, etc., may be easily acquired, without the aid of a master. by this plan the difficulties of mastering this useful art are very much lessened, and the time required to attain proficiency reduced to the least possible limits. price cents. =how to talk and debate.=--contents: introduction; laws of conversation; listening; self-possession; appreciativeness; conversation, when confidential; the matter and the manner; proper subjects; trifles; objectionable subjects; politics; rights of women; wit and humor; questions and negatives; our own hobbies; the voice, how to improve; speaking one's mind; public speaking; how to make a speech; opening a debate; division of the subject; the affirmative; the reply, etc., etc. a really valuable book, and one that every man and woman, boy and girl should possess. cents. =life in the backwoods.=--a guide to the successful hunting and trapping of all kinds of animals. it gives the right season for trapping; how to make, set and bait all kinds of traps; traps for minks, weasels, skunks, hawks, owls, gophers, birds, squirrels, musk-rats, foxes, rabbits, raccoons, etc.; how to make and use bird lime. it gives the english secrets for catching alive all kinds of birds; it tells how to know the true value of skins, as well as how to skin all animals; deodorize, stretch, and cure them; to dress and tan skins, furs and leather; to tan with or without the wool or hair; to skin and stuff birds; baits and hooks for fishing; how to fish successfully without nets, lines, spears, snares, "bobs," or bait (a great secret), how to choose and clean guns; how to breed minks for their skins (hundreds of dollars can be made by any boy or young man who knows how to breed minks), etc. this book is by an old trapper, for many years engaged in trapping in the northwest, who has finally consented to publish and disclose these secrets. persons living where wild animals exist, with some traps and the information contained in this book, can make money faster through the trapping season by giving their time and energies to the business than they can by seeking their fortunes in the gold regions or in oil speculations. this is at once the most complete and practical book now in the market. price, cents. =model letter-writer (the).=--a comprehensive and complete guide and assistant for those who desire to carry on epistolary correspondence--containing instructions for writing letters of introduction; letters of business; letters of recommendation; applications for employment; letters of congratulation; letters of condolence; letters of friendship and relationship; love-letters; notes of invitation; letters of favor, of advice, and of excuse, etc., etc., together with appropriate answers to each. this is an invaluable book for those persons who have not had sufficient practice to enable them to write letters without great effort. cents. =napoleon's complete book= of fate and complete fortune teller.--this is the celebrated oracle of human destiny consulted by napoleon the first previous to any of his undertakings, and by which he was so successful in war, business, and love. it is the only authentic and complete copy extant, being translated into english from a german translation of an ancient egyptian manuscript found in the year by m. sonini, in one of the royal tombs near mount libycus, in upper egypt. this oraculum is so arranged that any question on business, love, wealth, losses, hidden treasures, no matter what its nature, the oraculum has an answer for it. it also shows how to learn of one's fate by consulting the planets. price cents. =ogilvie's house plans; or how to build a house.=--a neat new book, containing over thirty finely executed engravings of dwellings of all sizes, from two rooms up; also churches, barns, and out-houses in great variety. this handy, compact, and very useful volume contains, in addition to the foregoing, plans for each floor in each and every dwelling of which an engraving is given. it has, also, valuable information relative to building, such as number of shingles required in a roof, quantity of plaster for a house, quantity of materials required for building a house, etc., etc., and much other information of permanent and practical value. any one of the plans is alone worth very much more than the price asked for the book. it is invaluable to every architect, builder, mason, or carpenter, and particularly do we urge all who anticipate erecting a new or remodeling an old dwelling to send for a copy, as its fortunate possessor may save hundred of dollars by following the suggestions it contains. cents. =how to behave.=--hand-book of etiquette and guide to true politeness. contents: etiquette and its uses; introductions; cutting acquaintances; letters of introduction; street etiquette; domestic etiquette and duties; visiting; receiving company; evening parties; the lady's toilet; the gentleman's toilet; invitations; etiquette of the ball-room; general rules of conversation; bashfulness and how to overcome it; dinner parties; table etiquette; carving; servants; traveling; visiting cards; letter writing; conclusion. this is the best book of the kind yet published, and every person wishing to be considered well-bred, who wishes to understand the customs of good society, and to avoid incorrect and vulgar habits, should send for a copy. cents. =miss slimmens' window.=--complete edition in one volume now ready. mo, pages. bound in heavy paper covers, with illustrations. cents. =ogilvie's handy monitor and universal assistant=, containing statistical tables of practical value for mechanics, merchants, editors, lawyers, printers, doctors, farmers, lumbermen, bankers, bookkeepers, politicians and all classes of workers in every department of human effort, and containing a compilation of facts for reference on various subjects, being an epitome of matters historical, statistical, biographical, political, geographical and general interest. pages bound in paper, cents. no more valuable books has ever been offered containing so much information of practical value in everyday life. =old secrets and new discoveries.=--containing information of rare value for all classes, in all conditions of society. =it tells= all about _electrical psychology_, showing how you can biologize any person, and, while under the influence, he will do anything you may wish him, no matter how ridiculous it may be, and he cannot help doing it. =it tells= how to _mesmerize_. knowing this, you can place any person in a mesmeric sleep, and then be able to do with him as you will. this secret has been sold over and over again for $ . =it tells= how to make persons at a distance think of you--something all lovers should know. =it tells= how you can charm those you meet and make them love you, whether they will or not. =it tells= how spiritualists and others can make writing appear on the arm in blood characters, as performed by foster and all noted magicians. =it tells= how to make a cheap galvanic battery; how to plate and gild without a battery; how to make a candle burn all night; how to make a clock for cents; how to detect counterfeit money; how to banish and prevent mosquitoes from biting; how to make yellow butter in winter; circassian curling fluid; sympathetic or secret writing ink; cologne water; artificial honey; stammering; how to make large noses small; to cure drunkenness; to copy letters without a press; to obtain fresh-blown flowers in winter; to make good burning candles from lard. =it tells= how to make a horse appear as though he was badly foundered; to make a horse temporarily lame; how to make him stand by his food and not eat it; how to cure a horse from the crib or sucking wind; how to put a young countenance on the horse; how to cover up the heaves; how to make him appear as if he had the glanders; how to make a true-pulling horse balk; how to nerve a horse that is lame, etc., etc.--these horse secrets are being continually sold at one dollar each. =it tells= how to make the eggs of pharo's serpents, which when lighted, though but the size of a pea, there issues from it a coiling, hissing serpent, wonderful in length and similarity to a genuine serpent. =it tells= how to make gold and silver from block tin (the least said about which the better). also how to take impressions from coins. also how to imitate gold and silver. =it tells= of a simple and ingenious method of copying any kind of drawing or picture. also, more wonderful still, how to print pictures from the print itself. =it tells= how to perform the davenport brothers' "spirit mysteries." so that any person can astonish an audience, as they have done. also scores of other wonderful things which there is no room to mention. =old secrets and new discoveries= is worth $ to any person; but it will be mailed to any address on receipt of only cents. =out in the streets.=--by s. n. cook. price, cents. we take pleasure in offering the strictly moral and very amusing temperance drama entitled, "out in the streets," to all entertainment committees as one that will give entire satisfaction. the parts are taken by six male and six female characters. =phunny phellow's grab bag=; or, jolly tid-bits for mirthful mortals.--josh billings, danbury news man and bret harte rolled into one. it is not too much to say that the book contains the choicest humor in the english language. its size is mammoth, containing more than one thousand of the raciest jests, comical hits, exhilarating stories, flowers of wit, excruciating jokes, uproarious poems, laughable sketches, darky comicalities, clowns' efforts, button-bursting conundrums, endmen's jokes, plantation humors, funny caricatures, hifalutin dialogues, curious scenes, cute sayings, ludicrous drolleries, peculiar repartees, and nearly illustrations. cents. =science of a new life (the).=--by john cowan, m.d. a handsome vo, containing over pages, with more than illustrations, and sold at the following prices; english cloth, beveled boards, gilt side and back, $ . ; leather, sprinkled edges, $ . ; half turkey morocco, marbled edges, gilt back, $ . . =some funny things= said by clever children. who is not interested in children? we are satisfied that this book will give genuine satisfaction to all who are interested in listening to the happy voices of children. this will show that humor is not confined to adult minds by any means. pages, cents. =palliser's american architecture=; or, every man a complete builder. the latest and best publication on modern artistic dwellings and other buildings of low cost. this is a new book just published, and there is not a builder or any one intending to build or otherwise interested in building that can afford to be without it. it is a practical work and everybody buys it. the best, cheapest and most popular work of the kind ever issued. nearly four hundred drawings. a $ book in size and style, but we have determined to make it meet the popular demand, to suit the times, so that it can be easily reached by all. this book contains pages, x inches in size, and consists of large x plate pages giving plans, elevations, perspective views, descriptions, owners' names, actual cost of construction, no guess work, and instructions how to build cottages, villas, double houses, brick block houses, suitable for city suburbs, town and country, houses for the farm and workingmen's homes for all sections of the country, and costing from $ to $ , ; also barns, stables, school house, town hall, churches and other public buildings, together with specifications, form of contract, etc., etc., and a large amount of information on the erection of buildings, selection of site, employment of architects, etc., etc. this book of pages, as described above, will be sent by mail, postpaid to any address on receipt of price. price, heavy paper cover, $ ; handsomely bound in cloth, $ . =secrets for farmers.=--this book tells how to restore rancid butter to its original flavor and purity; a new way of coloring butter; how largely to increase the milk of cows; a sure cure for kicking cows; how to make thorley's celebrated condimental food for cattle; how to make hens lay every day in the year; it gives an effectual remedy for the canada thistle; to save mice-girdled trees; a certain plan to destroy the curculio and peach-borer; how to convert dead animals and bones into manure; barnet's certain preventive for the potato rot, worth $ to any farmer; remedy for smut in wheat; to cure blight in fruit trees; to destroy potato bug; to prevent mildew and rust in wheat; to destroy the cut-worm; home-made stump machine, as good as any sold; to keep cellars from freezing, etc., etc. it is impossible to give the full contents of this valuable book here; space will not allow. price, cents. =sidney's stump speaker.=--price, cents. a collection of yankee, dutch, french, irish and ethiopian stump speeches and recitations, burlesque orations, laughable scenes, humorous lectures, button-bursting witticisms, ridiculous drolleries. funny stories, etc., etc. =sunnyside collection of readings and recitations, no .=--compiled by j. s. ogilvie. mo, pages, paper cover, cents. this book contains a choice collection of readings and recitations, which have been selected with great care, and are especially adapted for day and sabbath schools, all adult and juvenile organizations, young people's associations, reading clubs, temperance societies, and parlor entertainments. they comprise prose and poetry--serious, humorous, pathetic, comic, temperance, patriotic. all those who are interested in providing an entertainment should have this collection. =the sunnyside cook book.=-- mo, pages. paper cover, cents; bound in cloth, cents. this book is offered as one of the best and most complete books of the kind published. not only are all the recipes practical, but they are economical and such as come within the reach of families of moderate income. it also contains valuable information in relation to home matters not found in any other publication. it also gives plain and easily understood directions for preparing and cooking, with the greatest economy, every kind of dish, with complete instruction for serving the same. this book is just the thing for a young housekeeper. =how to get married although a woman=; or, the art of pleasing men. by "a young widow." a new book that every woman will buy! the following table of contents indicates the character of the work and will also insure a large demand for it: girls and matrimony, the girls whom men like, the girl who wins, the girl who fails, some unfailing methods, a word of warning, the secret of the widow's power, lady beauty, the loved wife, etc., etc. every unmarried woman, and, indeed, every woman, will be interested in reading this book. it will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. =do you ever dream?= and would you like to know the meaning of any or all of your dreams? if so, you ought to buy the old witches' dream book and complete fortune teller, which contains the full and correct interpretations of all dreams and their lucky numbers. also fortune telling by cards, by the grounds in the coffee cup, how to discover a thief, to know whether a woman shall have the man she wishes, to know what fortune your future husband shall have, to see your future wife or husband. the dumb cake, together with charms, incantations etc., etc. this is a book that every one that wishes to know what is going to happen ought to buy. it will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. the every-day educator or, how to do business. prepared for ambitious americans by prof. seymour eaton. the brightest and best help manual ever issued in this country. each of the numerous departments forms a unique feature. here are the titles of a few: [illustration] [illustration] book-keeping, banking, correspondence, arithmetic, french, german, lessons in electricity, astronomy, penmanship, physical culture, how to write for the press, figure shorthand, lessons in drawing, telegraphy, facts and figures, these bodies of ours, games and puzzles, character in hands, good openings in new trades, u. s. history, public speaking, how to get a start, literature, authors and books. [illustration] but why go further? get the book and we guarantee you will say it is away ahead of anything you have seen before. the every-day educator contains pages. handsomely printed on fine paper. fully illustrated. substantially bound in cloth, and in every respect a perfect specimen of advanced book-making, price, cents; bound in paper cover, cents. sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price. agents wanted. address all orders and applications for an agency to _j. s. ogilvie publishing company_, _lock box ._ _ rose street, new york._ [illustration: ayer's cherry pectoral cures colds coughs throat and lung diseases] * * * * * transcriber's notes: both us and british spellings of words are used throughout the text. the prevalent spelling of individual words determined which were retained and which were corrected. non-standard spellings of common words have been retained if used consistently. generally, compound words such as "musketbarrels" and "churchdoor" have been split. archaic and french spellings have been retained when appropriate to the sense of the text. inconsistent spellings of proper nouns have been regularized to agree with the most prevalent spelling. punctuation errors affecting the flow of the prose appear to be typesetter's errors and have been corrected. these include missing periods, missing open or closed quote marks, colons used where semicolons were more appropriate, and inappropriate placement of punctuation. obvious typesetters' errors, such as repeated words, have been corrected. occasionally a missing word has been supplied when the sense was obvious, such as in the phrase. "thrusting their heads out of [the] window, they saw the town in confusion..." the translation contains countless french-like phrase constructions that sound awkward in english, such as: "meanwhile four o'clock struck without any courier with intelligence." "at half-past nine they reached clermont, four leagues covered." "unfortunately charny was not to the fore." "we renounce describing what passed in an instant in her heart of queen and loving woman..." "just then a man leaped out of the crowd, who could not stop him." "in the adjoining room, a cheer burst at the words." "and away galloped he on the track of the king." in all cases they have been left as found. the following words have been corrected (page numbers are refer to the original hardcopy): p : mainroom changed to main room p : provences changed to provinces p : dirtcarts changed to dirt carts p : fron changed to from p : cooly changed to coolly p : ghastlily changed to ghastly p : self-acknowleged changed to self-acknowledged p : foul changed to fowl p : attaching changed to attacking p : eatabless changed to eatables p : seconed changed to second p : basilic changed to basilica p : griefs changed to grief p : whomesoever changed to whomsoever p : changed to p : hight changed to height p : worshippers changed to worshipers p : bellpull changed to bell pull p : deuse changed to deuce p : plebs changed to plebes p : marrow changed to morrow p : obiivion changed to oblivion p : is inserted between it and so p : vitalism changed to vitality p : you inserted between whenever and arrived p : stilettes changed to stilettos p : couldron changed to cauldron p : decide changed to decided p : spick changed to spic (and span) p : listenes changed to listens p : spectres changed to specters p : chapter x changed to chapter ix p : premaces changed to premises p : choseul changed to choiseul p : picklock changed to pick-lock p : kinglike changed to king-like p : wizzed changed to whizzed p : ridingcoat chnged to riding coat p : broadbrimmed changed to broad brimmed p : saddlehorse changed to saddle horse p : mesures changed to measures p : banted changed to bantered p : postilions changed to postillions p : forefelt changed to fore-felt p : new comer changed to new-comer p : stableyard changed to stable yard p : churchtower changed to church tower p : thunderpeal changed to thunder peal p : road changed to rode p : to changed to two p : musketbarrels changed to musket barrels p : gunbarrels changed to gun barrels p : bobwig changed to bob wig p : "the" added to text (out of [the] window) p : fieldpieces changed to field pieces p : sabers changed to sabres p : tranquillity changed to tranquility p : spunge changed to sponge p : new changed to knew p : defalter changed to defaulter p : gentelman changed to gentleman p : energetical changed to energetic p : fanciedly chabged to fancied p : reperuse changed to re-peruse p : carriagewheels changed to carriage wheels p : fairplay changed to fair play p : flunkey changed to flunky p : gallopped cchanged to galloped p : despatched changed to dispatched p : spunging changed to sponging p : backgarden changed to back garden p : townsofficer changed to towns officer p : comprehened changed to comprehended p : audactiy changed to audacity p : livelily chamged to lively p : churchdoor changed to church door p : righthand changed to right hand p : turn-up changed to turned-up p : dullist changed to duelist p : saltmeadow changed to salt meadow p : nobeman changed to nobleman p : worshipped changed to worshiped p : splendrous changed to splendorous p , : catastrophies changed to catastrophes p : rashess changed to rashness p : hay changed to hey p : deuse changed to deuce p : ain changed to again p : pllow changed to pillow p , : perillous changed to perilous p : deathsman changed to deaths-man p : smoe changed to some p : appeales changed to appeals p : pepole changed to people p : cruellest changed to cruelest p , : sittingroom changed to sitting room p : mantleshelf changed to mantle shelf p : deathcries changed to death cries p : chount changed to count p : ays changed to ayes p : battallions changed to battalions p : unmistakeable changed to unmistakable p : constituant changed to constituent p : italiens changed to italians p : posthorse changed to post horse p : townhall changed to town hall pp , , : etiquet changed to etiquette, which is more prevalent price, cents. the sunset series. by subscription, per year, nine dollars. march , entered at the new york post office as second-class matter. copyright , by j. s. ogilvie. the countess of charny. by alex. dumas. new york: j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street. a great offer! [illustration: book collection] the price of each one of these books bound in cloth is cents, but we will send you the five books bound in paper for cents! pages for cents. remarkable but true. we will, for cents, send the leather stocking tales, by j. fenimore cooper, comprising the five separate books, the deerslayer, the pathfinder, the pioneer, the prairie, the last of the mohicans, set in large long primer type, and each bound in heavy lithograph covers. sent by mail, postpaid, for cents, and money refunded if you are not satisfied. address, _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york._ how to get married although a woman, or the art of pleasing men. by a young widow. the following is the table of contents: girls and matrimony. the girls whom men like. the girl who wins and how she does it. the girl who fails. some unfailing methods. a word of warning. the secret of the widow's power. lady beauty. the loved wife. every woman, married or single, should read this book. it will be sent by mail, postpaid, _securely sealed_, on receipt of only cents. address, _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york._ the countess of charny; or, the execution of king louis xvi. a historical novel of love and loyalty. by alex. dumas author of "monte cristo," "balsamo the magician," "the three musketeers," "chicot the jester," "the knight of redcastle," etc., etc. translated from the latest paris edition by henry llewellyn williams. new york: j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street. contents. chapter page i. the new men at the wheel. ii. gilbert's candidate. iii. powerful, perhaps; happy, never. iv. the foes face to face. v. the uninvited visitors. vi. "the country is in danger!" vii. the men from marseilles. viii. the friend in need. ix. charny on guard. x. billet and pitou. xi. in the morning. xii. the first massacre. xiii. the repulse. xiv. the last of the charnys. xv. the blood-stains. xvi. the widow. xvii. what andrea wanted of gilbert. xviii. the assembly and the commune. xix. captain beausire appears again. xx. the emetic. xxi. beausire's bravado. xxii. set upon dying. xxiii. the death of the countess. xxiv. the royal martyr. xxv. master gamain turns up. xxvi. the trial of the king. xxvii. the parallel to charles i. xxviii. cagliostro's advice. xxix. the crown of ange's love. xxx. the effect of happy news. xxxi. the easy-chair. xxxii. what pitou did with the find. advertisements. the countess of charny. chapter i. the new men at the wheel. it was on the first of october, , that the new legislative assembly was to be inaugurated over france. king louis xvi., captured with queen marie antoinette and the royal family, while attempting to escape from the kingdom and join his brothers and the other princes abroad, was held in a kind of detention, like imprisonment without hard labor, in the tuileries palace in paris. his fate hung on the members of the new house of representatives. let us hasten to see what they were. the congress was composed of seven hundred and forty-five members: four hundred lawyers of one kind or another; some seventy literary men; seventy priests who had taken the oath to abide by the constitution, not yet framed, but to which the king had subscribed on the sketch. the remaining two hundred odd were landholders, farming their own estates or hiring them out to others. among these was françois billet, a robust peasant of forty-five, distinguished by the people of paris and france as a hero, from having been mainly instrumental in the taking of the bastile, regarded as the embodiment of the ancient tyranny, now almost leveled with the dust. billet had suffered two wrongs at the hands of the king's men and the nobles, which he had sworn to avenge as well on the classes as on the individuals. his farm-house had been pillaged by paris policemen acting under a blank warrant signed by the king and issued at the request of andrea de taverney, countess of charny, the queen's favorite, as her husband the count was reckoned, too. she had a spite against billet's friend, dr. honore gilbert, a noted patriot and politician. in his youth, this afterward distinguished physician had taken advantage of her senses being steeped in a mesmeric swoon, to lower her pride. thanks to this trance and from his overruling love, he was the progenitor of her son, sebastian emile gilbert; but with all the pride of this paternity, he was haunted by unceasing remorse. andrea could not forgive this crime, all the more as it was a thorn in her side since her marriage. it was a marriage enforced on her, as the count of charny had been caught by the king on his knees to the queen; and to prevent the stupid monarch being convinced by this scene that there was truth in the tattle at court that count charny was marie antoinette's paramour, she had explained that he merely was suing for the hand of her friend andrea. the king's consent given, this marriage took place, but for six years the couple dwelt apart; not that mutual love did not prevail between them, but neither was aware of the affection each had inspired in the other at first sight. the new countess thought that charny's affection for the queen was a guilty and durable one; while he, believing his wife, by compulsion, a saint on earth, dared not presume on the position which fate and devotion to their sovereign had imposed on them both. this devotion was confirmed on the count's part, cemented by blood; for his two brothers, valence and isidore, had lost their lives in defending the king and queen from the revolutionists. andrea had a brother, philip, who also loved the queen, but he had been offended by her amour with charny; and, being touched by an american republican fever while fighting with lafayette for the liberation of the thirteen colonies, he had quitted the court of france. on his way he had wounded gilbert, whom he learned to be his sister's wronger, as well as having stolen away her infant son; but although the wound would have been mortal under other treatment, it had been healed by the wondrous medicaments of joseph balsamo, _alias_ count cagliostro, the celebrated head of the invisibles, a branch of the orient freemasons, dedicated to overthrow the monarchy and set up a republic, after the united states model, in france, if not in europe. gilbert and cagliostro were therefore fast friends, to say nothing of the latter's regret that he should have set temptation in the young man's way; it was he who had plunged andrea into the magnetic slumber from which she had awakened a maid no longer. but some recompense had come to the proud lady, after the six years' wedded life to the very man she adored, though fate and misunderstanding had estranged them. on learning what a martyr she had been through the unconscious motherhood, count george had more than forgiven her--he worshiped her; and in their country seat at boursonnes, eighteen miles from paris, he was forgetting, in her lovely arms the demands of his queen, his king, and his caste, to use his influence in the political arena. this silence on his part led to the candidature of farmer billet being unimpeded. besides, charny would hardly have moved in opposition to the latter, as one cause of the enmity of the peasant was his daughter's ruin by viscount isidore charny. the death of the latter, not being by billet's hand, had not appeased the grudge. he was a stern, unrelenting man; and just as he would not forgive his daughter catherine for her dishonor, or even look upon her son, he stood out uncompromisingly against the nobles and the priests. charny had stolen his daughter; the clergy, in the person of his parish priest, father fortier, had refused burial to his wife. on her grave he had vowed eternal hostility to the nobles and the clericals. the farmers had great power at election time, as they employed ten, twenty, or thirty hands; and though the suffrage was divided into two classes at the period, the result depended on the rural vote. as each man quitted billet at the grave, he shook him by the hand, saying: "it is a sure thing, brother." billet had gone home to his lonely farm, easy on this score; for the first time he saw a plain way of returning the noble class and royalty all the harm they had done him. he felt, but did not reason, and his thirst for vengeance was as blind as the blows he had received. his daughter had come home to nurse her mother, and receive at the last gasp her blessing and for her son, born in shame; but billet had said never a word to her; none could tell if he were aware of her flitting through the farm. since a year he had not uttered her name, and it was the same as if she had never existed. her only friend was ange pitou, a poor peasant lad whom billet had harbored when he was driven from home by his aunt angelique. as catherine was really the ruler of the roast on the farm, it was but natural that pitou should offer her some part of the gratitude billet had earned. this excellent feeling expanded into love; but there was little chance for the peasant when the girl had been captivated by the elegant young lord, although the elevation common during revolution had exalted ange into a captaincy of the national guards. but pitou had never swerved in his love for the deluded girl. he had a heart of gold; he was deeply sorry that catherine had not loved him, but on comparing himself with young charny, he acknowledged that she must prefer him. he envied isidore, but he bore catherine no ill-will; quite otherwise, he still loved her with profound and entire devotion. to say this dedication was completely exempt from anguish, is going too far; but the pangs which made pitou's heart ache at each new token of catherine's love for her dead lover, showed his ineffable goodness. all his feeling for catherine when isidore was slain at varennes, where billet arrested the king in his flight, was of utter pity. quite contrary to billet, he did justice to the young noble in the way of grace, generosity, and kindness, though he was his rival without knowing it. like catherine, he knew that the barriers of caste were insurmountable, and that the viscount could not have made his sweetheart his wife. the consequence was that pitou perhaps more loved the widow in her sorrow than when she was the coquettish girl, but it came to pass that he almost loved the little orphan boy like his own. let none be astonished, therefore, that after taking leave of billet like the others, ange went toward haramont instead of billet's farm, which might also be his home. but he had lodgings at haramont village, where he was born, and he was chief of the national guards there. they were so accustomed to his sudden departures and unexpected returns, that nobody was worried at them. when he went away, they said to one another: "he has gone to town to confer with general lafayette," for the french lieutenant of general washington was the friend, here as there, of dr. gilbert, who was their fellow-peasants' patron, and had furnished the funds to equip the haramont company of volunteers. on their commander's return they asked news of the capital; and as he could give the freshest and truest, thanks to dr. gilbert, who was an honorary physician to the king as well as friend of cagliostro--in other words, the communicator between the two leyden jars of the revolution--pitou's predictions were sure to be realized in a few days, so that all continued to show him blind trust, as well as military captain as political prophet. on his part, gilbert knew all that was good and self-sacrificing in the peasant; he felt that he was a man to whom he might at the scratch intrust his life or sebastian's--a treasure or a commission, anything confided to strength and loyalty. every time pitou came to paris, the doctor would ask him if he stood in need of anything, without the young man coloring up; and while he would always say, "nothing, thank you, doctor gilbert," this did not prevent the physician giving him some money, which pitou ingulfed in his pocket. a few gold pieces, with what he picked up in the game shot or trapped in the duke of orleans' woods, were a fortune; so, rarely did he find himself at the end of his resources when he met the doctor and had his supply renewed. knowing, then, how friendly pitou was with catherine and her baby, it will be understood that he hastily separated from billet, to know how his cast-off daughter was getting on. his road to haramont took him past a hut in the woods where lived a veteran of the wars, who, on a pension and the privilege of killing a hare or a rabbit each day, lived a happy hermit's life, remote from man. father clovis, as this old soldier was called, was a great friend of pitou. he had taught the boy to go gunning, and also the military drill by which he had trained the haramont guards to be the envy of the county. when catherine was banished from her father's, after billet had tried to shoot isidore, his hut sheltered her till after the birth of her son. on her applying once more for the like hospitality, he had not hesitated; and when pitou came along, she was sitting on the bed, with tears on her cheek at the revival of sad memories, and her boy in her arms. on seeing the new-comer, catherine set down the child and offered her forehead for pitou's kiss; he gladly took her two hands, kissed her, and the child was sheltered by the arch formed with his stooping figure. dropping on his knees to her and kissing the baby's little hands, he exclaimed: "never mind, i am rich; master isidore shall never come to want." pitou had twenty-five gold louis, which he reckoned to make him rich. keen of wit and kind of heart, catherine appreciated all that is good. "thank you, captain pitou," she said; "i believe you, and i am happy in so believing, for you are my only friend, and if you were to cast me off, we should stand alone in the world; but you never will, will you?" "oh, don't talk like that," cried pitou, sobbing; "you will make me pour out all the tears in my body." "i was wrong; excuse me," she said. "no, no, you are right; i am a fool to blubber." "captain pitou," said catherine, "i should like an airing. give me your arm for a stroll under the trees. i fancy it will do me good." "i feel as if i were smothering myself," added pitou. the child had no need of air, nothing but sleep; so he was laid abed, and catherine walked out with pitou. five minutes after they were in the natural temple, under the huge trees. without being a philosopher on a level with voltaire or rousseau, pitou understood that he and catherine were atoms carried on by the whirlwind. but these atoms had their joy and grief just like the other atoms called king, queen, nobles; the mill of god, held by fatality, ground crowns and thrones to dust at the same time, and crushed catherine's happiness no less harshly than if she wore a diadem. two years and a half before, pitou was a poor peasant lad, hunted from home by his aunt angelique, received by billet, feasted by catherine, and "cut out" by isidore. at present, ange pitou was a power; he wore a sword by his side and epaulets on his shoulders; he was called a captain, and he was protecting the widow and son of the slain viscount isidore. relatively to pitou the expression was exact of danton, who, when asked why he was making the revolution, replied: "to put on high what was undermost, and send the highest below all." but though these ideas danced in his head, he was not the one to profit by them, and the good and modest fellow went on his knees to beg catherine to let him shield her and the boy. like all suffering hearts, catherine had a finer appreciation in grief than in joy. pitou, who was in her happy days a lad of no consequence, became the holy creature he really was; in other words, a man of goodness, candor, and devotion. the result was that, unfortunate and in want of a friend, she understood that pitou was just the friend she wished; and so, always received by catherine with one hand held out to him, and a witching smile, pitou began to lead a life of bliss of which he never had had the idea even in dreams of paradise. during this time, billet, still mute as regarded his daughter, pursued his idea of being nominated for the house while getting in his harvest. only one man could have beaten him, if he had the same ambition; but, entirely absorbed in his love and happiness, the count of charny, the world forgetting, believed himself forgotten by the world. he did not think of the matter, enjoying his unexpected felicity. hence, nothing opposed billet's election in villers cotterets district, and he was elected by an immense majority. as soon as chosen, he began to turn everything into money; it had been a good year. he set aside his landlord's share, reserved his own, put aside the grain for sowing, and the fodder for his live stock, and the cash to keep the work-folks going, and one morning sent for pitou. now and then pitou paid him a visit. billet always welcomed him with open hand, made him take meals, if anything was on the board, or wine or cider, if it was the right time for drinks. but never had billet sent for pitou. hence, it was not without disquiet that the young man proceeded to the farm. billet was always grave; nobody could say that he had seen a smile pass over his lips since his daughter had left the farm. this time he was graver than usual. still he held out his hand in the old manner to pitou, shook his with more vigor than usual, and kept it in his, while the other looked at him with wonder. "pitou, you are an honest fellow," said the farmer. "faith, i believe i am," replied pitou. "i am sure of it." "you are very good, master billet." "it follows that, as i am going away, i shall leave you at the head of my farm." "impossible! there are a lot of petty matters for which a woman's eye is indispensable." "i know it," replied billet; "you can select the woman to share the superintendence with you. i shall not ask her name; i don't want to know it; and when i come down to the farm, i shall notify you a week ahead, so she will have time to get out of the way if she ought not to see me or i see her." "very well, master billet," said the new steward. "now, in the granary is the grain for sowing; also the hay and other fodder for the cattle, and in this drawer you see the cash to pay the hands." he opened a drawer full of hard money. "stop a bit, master. how much is in this drawer?" "i do not know," rejoined billet, locking the drawer and giving the key to pitou, with the words; "when you want more, ask for it." pitou felt all the trust in this speech and put out his hand to grasp the other's, but was checked by his humility. "nonsense," said billet; "why should not honest men grasp hands?" "if you should want me in town?" "rest easy; i shall not forget you. it is two o'clock; i shall start for paris at five. at six, you might be here with the woman you choose to second you." "right; but then, there is no time to lose," said pitou. "i hope we shall soon meet again, dear master billet." billet watched him hurrying away as long as he could see him, and when he disappeared, he said: "now, why did not catherine fall in love with an honest chap like that, rather than one of those noble vermin who leaves her a mother without being a wife, and a widow without her being wed." it is needless to say that billet got upon the villers cotterets stage to ride to paris at five, and that at six catherine and little isidore re-entered the farm. billet found himself among young men in the house, not merely representatives, but fighters; for it was felt that they had to wrestle with the unknown. they were armed against two enemies, the clergy and the nobility. if these resisted, the orders were for them to be overcome. the king was pitied, and the members were left free to treat him as occasion dictated. it was hoped that he might escape the threefold power of the queen, the clergy, and the aristocracy; if they upheld him, they would all be broken to pieces with him. they moved that the title of majesty should be suppressed. "what shall we call the executive power, then?" asked a voice. "call him 'the king of the french,'" shouted billet. "it is a pretty title enough for capet to be satisfied with." moreover, instead of a throne, the king of the french had to content himself with a plain arm-chair, and that was placed on the left of the speaker's, so that the monarch should be subordinated. in the absence of the king, the constitution was sworn to by the sad, cold house, all aware that the impotent laws would not endure a year. as these motions were equivalent to saying, "there is no longer a king." money, as usual, took fright; down went the stocks dreadfully, and the bankers took alarm. there was a revulsion in favor of the king, and his speech in the house was so applauded that he went to the theater that evening in high glee. that night he wrote to the powers of europe that he had subscribed to the constitution. so far, the house had been tolerant, mild to the refractory priests, and paying pensions to the princes and nobles who had fled abroad. we shall see how the nobles recompensed this mildness. when they were debating on paying the old and infirm priests, though they might be opposed to the reformation, news came from avignon of a massacre of revolutionists by the religious fanatics, and a bloody reprisal of the other party. as for the runaway nobles, still drawing revenue from their country, this is what they were doing. they reconciled austria with prussia, making friends of two enemies. they induced russia to forbid the french embassador going about the st. petersburg streets, and sent a minister to the refugees at coblentz. they made berne punish a town for singing the "it shall go on." they led the kings to act roughly; russia and sweden sent back with unbroken seals louis xvi.'s dispatches announcing his adhesion to the constitution. spain refused to receive it, and a french revolutionist would have been burned by the inquisition only for his committing suicide. venice threw on st. mark's place the corpse of a man strangled in the night by the council of ten, with the plain inscription: "this was a freemason." the emperor and the king of prussia did answer, but it was by a threat: "we trust we shall not have to take precautions against the repetition of events promising such sad auguries." hence there was a religious war in la vendee and in the south, with prospective war abroad. at present the intention of the crowned heads was to stifle the revolution rather than cut its throat. the defiance of aristocratic europe was accepted, and instead of waiting for the attack, the orator of the house cried for france to begin the movement. the absentee princes were summoned home on penalty of losing all rights to the succession; the nobles' property was seized, unless they took the oath of allegiance to the country. the priests were granted a week to take the oath, or to be imprisoned, and no churches could be used for worship unless by the sworn clergy. lafayette's party wished the king to oppose his veto to these acts, but the queen so hated lafayette that she induced the court party to support petion instead of the general for the post of mayor of paris. strange blindness, in favor of petion, her rude jailer, who had brought her back from the flight to varennes. on the nineteenth of december the king vetoed the bill against the priests. that night, at the jacobin club, the debate was hot. virchaux, a swiss, offered the society a sword for the first general who should vanquish the enemies of freedom. isnard, the wrath of the house, a southerner, drew the sword, and leaped up into the rostrum, crying: "behold the sword of the exterminating angel! it will be victorious! france will give a loud call, and all the people will respond; the earth will then be covered with warriors, and the foes of liberty will be wiped out from the list of men!" ezekiel could not have spoken better. this drawn sword was not to be sheathed, for war broke out within and without. the switzer's sword was first to smite the king of france, the foreign sovereigns afterward. chapter ii. gilbert's candidate. dr. gilbert had not seen the queen for six months, since he had let her know that he was informed by cagliostro that she was deceiving him. he was therefore astonished to see the king's valet enter his room one morning. he thought the king was sick and had sent for him, but the messenger reassured him. he was wanted in the palace, whither he hastened to go. he was profoundly attached to the king; he pitied marie antoinette more as a woman than a queen. it was profound pity, for she inspired neither love nor devotion. the lady waiting to greet gilbert was the princess elizabeth. neither king nor queen, after his showing them he saw they were playing him false, had dared to send directly to him; they put lady elizabeth forward. her first words proved to the doctor that he was not mistaken in his surmise. "doctor gilbert," said she, "i do not know whether others have forgotten the tokens of interest you showed my brother on our return from versailles, and those you showed my sister on our return from varennes, but i remember." "madame," returned gilbert, bowing, "god, in his wisdom, hath decided that you should have all the merits, memory included--a scarce virtue in our days, and particularly so among royal personages." "i hope you are not referring to my brother, who often speaks of you, and praises your experience." "as a medical adviser," remarked gilbert, smiling. "yes; but he thinks you can be a physician to the realm as well as to the ruler." "very kind of the king. for which case is he calling me in at present?" "it is not the king who calls you, sir, but i," responded the lady, blushing; for her chaste heart knew not how to lie. "you? your health worries me the least; your pallor arises from fatigue and disquiet, not from bad health." "you are right; i am not trembling for myself, but my brother, who makes me fret." "so he does me, madame." "oh, our uneasiness does not probably spring from the same cause, as i am concerned about his health. i do not mean that he is unwell, but he is downcast and disheartened. some ten days ago--i am counting the days now--he ceased speaking, except to me, and in his favorite pastime of backgammon he only utters the necessary terms of the game." "it is eleven days since he went to the house to present his veto. why was he not mute that day instead of the next?" "is it your opinion that he should have sanctioned that impious decree?" demanded the princess, quickly. "my opinion is, that to put the king in front of the priests in the coming tide, the rising storm, is to have priests and king broken by the same wave." "what would you do in my poor brother's place, doctor?" "a party is growing, like those genii of the arabian nights, which becomes a hundred cubits high an hour after release from the imprisoning bottle." "you allude to the jacobins?" gilbert shook his head. "no; i mean the girondists, who wish for war, a national desire." "but war with whom? with the emperor, our brother? the king of spain, our nephew? our enemies, doctor gilbert, are at home, and not outside of france, in proof of which--" she hesitated, but he besought her to speak. "i really do not know that i can tell you, though it is the reason of my asking you here." "you may speak freely to one who is devoted and ready to give his life to the king." "do you believe there is any counterbane?" she inquired. "universal?" queried gilbert, smiling. "no, madame; each venomous substance has its antidote, though they are of little avail generally." "what a pity!" "there are two kinds of poisons, mineral and vegetable--of what sort would you speak?" "doctor, i am going to tell you a great secret. one of our cooks, who left the royal kitchen to set up a bakery of his own, has returned to our service, with the intention of murdering the king. this red-hot jacobin has been heard crying that france would be relieved if the king were put out of the way." "in general, men fit for such a crime do not go about bragging beforehand. but i suppose you take precautions?" "yes; it is settled that the king shall live on roast meat, with a trusty hand to supply the bread and wine. as the king is fond of pastry, madame campan orders what he likes, as though for herself. we are warned especially against powdered sugar." "in which arsenic might be mixed unnoticed?" "exactly. it was the queen's habit to use it for her lemonade, but we have entirely given up the use of it. the king, the queen, and i take meals together, ringing for what we want. madame campan brings us what we like, secretly, and hides it under the table; we pretend to eat the usual things while the servants are in the room. this is how we live, sir; and yet the queen and i tremble every instant lest the king should turn pale and cry out he was in pain." "let me say at once, madame," returned the doctor, "that i do not believe in these threats of poisoning; but in any event, i am under his majesty's orders. what does the king desire? that i should have lodgings in the palace? i will stay here in such a way as to be at hand until the fears are over." "oh, my brother is not afraid!" the princess hastened to say. "i did not mean that. until your fears are over. i have some practice in poisonings and their remedies. i am ready to baffle them in whatever shape they are presented; but allow me to say, madame, that all fears for the king might be removed if he were willing." "oh, what must be done for that?" intervened a voice, not the lady elizabeth's, and which, by its emphatic and ringing tone, made gilbert turn. it was the queen, and he bowed. "has the queen doubted the sincerity of my offers?" "oh, sir, so many heads and hearts have turned in this tempestuous wind, that one knows not whom to trust." "which is why your majesty receives from the feuillants club a premier shaped by the baroness de stael?" "you know that?" cried the royal lady, starting. "i know your majesty is pledged to take count louis de narbonne." "and, of course, you blame me?" "no; it is a trial like others. when the king shall have tried all, he may finish by the one with whom he should have commenced." "you know madame de stael? what do you think of her?" "physically, she is not altogether attractive." the queen smiled; as a woman, she was not sorry to hear another woman decried who just then was widely talked about. "but her talent, her parts, her merits?" "she is good and generous, madame; none of her enemies would remain so after a quarter of an hour's conversation." "i speak of her genius, sir; politics are not managed by the heart." "madame, the heart spoils nothing, not even in politics; but let us not use the word genius rashly. madame de stael has great and immense talent, but it does not rise to genius; she is as iron to the steel of her master, rousseau. as a politician, she is given more heed than she deserves. her drawing-room is the meeting-place of the english party. coming of the middle class as she does, and that the money-worshiping middle class, she has the weakness of loving a lord; she admires the english from thinking that they are an aristocratic people. being ignorant of the history of england, and the mechanism of its government, she takes for the descendants of the norman conquerors the baronets created yesterday. with old material, other people make a new stock; with the new, england often makes the old." "do you see in this why baroness de stael proposes de narbonne to us?" "hem! this time, madame, two likings are combined: that for the aristocracy and the aristocrat." "do you imagine that she loves louis de narbonne on account of his descent?" (louis de narbonne was supposed to be an incestuous son of king louis xv.) "it is not on account of any ability, i reckon?" "but nobody is less well-born than louis de narbonne; his father is not even known." "only because one dares not look at the sun." "so you do not believe that de narbonne is the outcome of the swedish embassy, as the jacobins assert, with robespierre at the head?" "yes; only he comes from the wife's boudoir, not the lord's study. to suppose lord de stael has a hand in it, is to suppose he is master in his own house. goodness, no; this is not an embassador's treachery, but a loving woman's weakness. nothing but love, the great, eternal magician, could impel a woman to put the gigantic sword of the revolution in that frivolous rake's hands." "do you allude to the demagogue isnard kissed at the jacobin club?" "alas, madame, i speak of the one suspended over your head." "therefore, it is your opinion that we are wrong to accept de narbonne as minister of war?" "you would do better to take at once his successor, dumouriez." "a soldier of fortune?" "ha! the worst word is spoken; and it is unfair any way." "was not dumouriez a private soldier?" "i am well aware that dumouriez is not of that court nobility to which everything is sacrificed. of the rustic nobility, unable to obtain a rank, he enlisted as a common soldier. at twenty years he fought five or six troopers, though hacked badly, and despite this proof of courage, he languished in the ranks." "he sharpened his wits by serving louis xv. as spy." "why do you call that spying in him which you rate diplomacy in others? i know that he carried on correspondence with the king without the knowledge of the ministers; but what noble of the court does not do the same?" "but, doctor, this man whom you recommend is essentially a most immoral one," exclaimed the queen, betraying her deep knowledge of politics by the details into which she went. "he has no principles--no idea of honor. the duke of choiseul told me that he laid before him two plans about corsica--one to set her free, the other to subdue her." "quite true; but choiseul failed to say that the former was preferred, and that dumouriez fought bravely for its success." "the day when we accept him for minister it will be equivalent to a declaration of war to all europe." "why, madame, this declaration is already made in all hearts," retorted gilbert. "do you know how many names are down in this district as volunteers to start for the campaign? six hundred thousand. in the jura, the women have proposed all the men shall march, as they, with pikes, will guard their homes." "you have spoken a word which makes me shudder--pikes! oh, the pikes of ' ! i can ever see the heads of my life guardsmen carried on the pikes' point." "nevertheless, it was a woman, a mother, who suggested a national subscription to manufacture pikes." "was it also a woman who suggested your jacobins adopting the red cap of liberty, the color of blood?" "your majesty is in error on that point," said gilbert, although he did not care to enlighten the queen wholly on the ancient head-gear. "a symbol was wanted of equality, and as all frenchmen could not well dress alike, a part of a dress was alone adopted: the cap such as the poor peasant wears. the red color was preferred, not as it happens to be that of blood, but because gay, bright, and a favorite with the masses." "all very fine, doctor," sneered the queen. "i do not despair of seeing such a partisan of novelties coming some day to feel the king's pulse, with the red cap on your head and a pike in your hand." seeing that she could not win with such a man, the queen retired, half jesting, half bitter. princess elizabeth was about to do the same, when gilbert appealed to her: "you love your brother, do you not?" "love? the feeling is of adoration." "then you are ready to transmit good advice to him, coming from a friend?" "then, speak, speak!" "when his feuillant ministry falls, which will not take long, let him take a ministry with all the members wearing this red cap, though it so alarms the queen." and profoundly bowing, he went out. chapter iii. powerful, perhaps; happy, never. the narbonne ministry lasted three months. a speech of vergniaud blasted it. on the news that the empress of russia had made a treaty with turkey, and austria and prussia had signed an alliance, offensive and defensive, he sprung into the rostrum and cried: "i see the palace from here where this counter-revolution is scheming those plots which aim to deliver us to austria. the day has come when you must put an end to so much audacity, and confound the plotters. out of that palace have issued panic and terror in olden times, in the name of despotism--let them now rush into it in the name of the law!" dread and terror did indeed enter the tuileries, whence de narbonne, wafted thither by a breath of love, was expelled by a gust of storm. this downfall occurred at the beginning of march, . scarce three months after the interview of gilbert and the queen, a small, active, nervy little man, with flaming eyes blazing in a bright face, was ushered into king louis' presence. he was aged fifty-six, but appeared ten years younger, though his cheek was brown with camp-fire smoke; he wore the uniform of a camp-marshal. the king cast a dull and heavy glance on the little man, whom he had never met; but it was not without observation. the other fixed on him a scrutinizing eye full of fire and distrust. "you are general dumouriez? count de narbonne, i believe, called you to paris?" "to announce that he gave me a division in the army in alsace." "but you did not join, it appears?" "sire, i accepted; but i felt that i ought to point out that as war impended"--louis started visibly--"and threatened to become general," went on the soldier, without appearing to remark the emotion, "i deemed it good to occupy the south, where an attack might come unawares; consequently, it seemed urgent to me that a plan for movements there should be drawn up, and a general and army sent thither." "yes; and you gave this plan to count de narbonne, after showing it to members of the gironde?" "they are friends of mine, as i believe they are of your majesty." "then i am dealing with a girondist?" queried the monarch, smiling. "with a patriot, and faithful subject of his king." louis bit his thick lips. "was it to serve the king and the country the more efficaciously that you refused to be foreign minister for a time?" "sire, i replied that i preferred, to being any kind of minister, the command promised me. i am a soldier, not a statesman." "i have been assured, on the contrary, that you are both," observed the sovereign. "i am praised too highly, sire." "it was on that assurance that i insisted." "yes, sire; but in spite of my great regret, i was obliged to persist in refusing." "why refuse?" "because it is a crisis. it has upset de narbonne and compromises lessart. any man has the right to keep out of employment or be employed, according to what he thinks he is fitted for. now, my liege, i am good for something or for nothing. if the latter, leave me in my obscurity. who knows for what fate you draw me forth? if i am good for something, do not give me power for an instant, the premier of a day, but place some solid footing under me that i may be your support at another day. our affairs--your majesty will pardon me already regarding his business as mine--our affairs are in too great disfavor abroad for courts to deal with an _ad interim_ ministry; this interregnum--you will excuse the frankness of an old soldier"--no one was less frank than dumouriez, but he wanted to appear so at times--"this interval will be a blunder against which the house will revolt, and it will make me disliked there; more, i must say that it will injure the king, who will seem still to cling to his former cabinet, and only be waiting for a chance to bring it back." "were that my intention, do you not believe it possible, sir?" "i believe, sire, that it is full time to drop the past." "and make myself a jacobin, as you have said to my valet, laporte?" "forsooth, did your majesty this, it would perplex all the parties, and the jacobins most of all." "why not straightway advise me to don the red cap?" "i wish i saw you in it," said dumouriez. for an instant the king eyed with distrust the man who had thus replied to him; and then he resumed: "so you want a permanent office?" "i am wishing nothing at all, only ready to receive the king's orders; still, i should prefer them to send me to the frontier to retaining me in town." "but if i give you the order to stay, and the foreign office portfolio in permanency, what will you say?" "that your majesty has dispelled your prejudices against me," returned the general, with a smile. "well, yes, entirely, general; you are my premier." "sire, i am devoted to your service; but--" "restrictions?" "explanations, sire. the first minister's place is not what it was. without ceasing to be your majesty's faithful servant on entering the post, i become the man of the nation. from this day, do not expect the language my predecessors used; i must speak according to the constitution and liberty. confined to my duties, i shall not play the courtier; i shall not have the time, and i drop all etiquette so as to better serve the king. i shall only work with you in private or at the council--and i warn you that it will be hard work." "hard work--why?" "why, it is plain; almost all your diplomatic corps are anti-revolutionists. i must urge you to change them, cross your tastes on the new choice, propose officials of whom your majesty never so much as heard the names, and others who will displease." "in which case?" quickly interrupted louis. "then i shall obey when your majesty's repugnance is too strong and well-founded, as you are the master; but if your choice is suggested by your surroundings, and is clearly made to get me into trouble, i shall entreat your majesty to find a successor for me. sire, think of the dreadful dangers besieging your throne, and that one must have the public confidence in support; sire, this depends on you." "let me stay you a moment; i have long pondered over these dangers." he stretched out his hand to the portrait of charles i. of england, by vandyke, and continued, while wiping his forehead with his handkerchief: "this would remind me, if i were to forget them. it is the same situation, with similar dangers; perhaps the scaffold of whitehall is erecting on city hall place." "you are looking too far ahead, my lord." "only to the horizon. in this event, i shall march to the scaffold as charles i. did, not perhaps as knightly, but at least as like a christian. proceed, general." dumouriez was checked by this firmness, which he had not expected. "sire, allow me to change the subject." "as you like; i only wish to show that i am not daunted by the prospect they try to frighten me with, but that i am prepared for even this emergency." "if i am still regarded as your minister of foreign affairs, i will bring four dispatches to the first consul. i notify your majesty that they will not resemble those of previous issue in style or principles; they will suit the circumstances. if this first piece of work suits your majesty, i will continue; if not, my carriage will be waiting to carry me to serve king and country on the border; and, whatever may be said about my diplomatic ability," added dumouriez, "war is my true element, and the object of my labors these thirty-six years." "wait," said the other, as he bowed before going out; "we agree on one point, but there are six more to settle." "my colleagues?" "yes; i do not want you to say that you are hampered by such a one. choose your cabinet, sir." "sire, you are fixing grave responsibility on me." "i believe i am meeting your wishes by putting it on you." "sire, i know nobody at paris save one, lacoste, whom i propose for the navy office." "lacoste? a clerk in the naval stores, i believe?" questioned the king. "who resigned rather than connive at some foul play." "that's a good recommendation. what about the others?'" "i must consult petion, brissot, condorcet--" "the girondists, in short?" "yes, sire." "let the gironde pass; we shall see if they will get us out of the ditch better than the other parties." "we have still to learn if the four dispatches will suit." "we might learn that this evening; we can hold an extraordinary council, composed of yourself, grave, and gerville--duport has resigned. but do not go yet; i want to commit you." he had hardly spoken before the queen and princess elizabeth stood in the room, holding prayer-books. "ladies," said the king, "this is general dumouriez, who promises to serve us well, and will arrange a new cabinet with us this evening." dumouriez bowed, while the queen looked hard at the little man who was to exercise so much influence over the affairs of france. "do you know doctor gilbert?" she asked. "if not, make his acquaintance as an excellent prophet. three months ago he foretold that you would be count de narbonne's successor." the main doors opened, for the king was going to mass. behind him dumouriez went out; but the courtiers shunned him as though he had the leprosy. "i told you i should get you committed," whispered the monarch. "committed to you, but not to the aristocracy," returned the warrior; "it is a fresh favor the king grants me." whereupon he retired. at the appointed hour he returned with the four dispatches promised--for spain, prussia, england, and austria. he read them to the king and messieurs grave and gerville, but he guessed that he had another auditor behind the tapestry by its shaking. the new ruler spoke in the king's name, but in the sense of the constitution, without threats, but also without weakness. he discussed the true interests of each power relatively to the french revolution. as each had complained of the jacobin pamphlets, he ascribed the despicable insults to the freedom of the press, a sun which made weeds to grow as well as good grain to flourish. lastly, he demanded peace in the name of a free nation, of which the king was the hereditary representative. the listening king lent fresh interest to each paper. "i never heard the like, general," he said, when the reading was over. "that is how ministers should speak and write in the name of rulers," observed gerville. "well, give me the papers; they shall go off to-morrow," the king said. "sire, the messengers are waiting in the palace yard," said dumouriez. "i wanted to have a duplicate made to show the queen," objected the king, with marked hesitation. "i foresaw the wish, and have copies here," replied dumouriez. "send off the dispatches," rejoined the king. the general took them to the door, behind which an aid was waiting. immediately the gallop of several horses was heard leaving the tuileries together. "be it so," said the king, replying to his mind, as the meaning sounds died away. "now, about your cabinet?" "monsieur gerville pleads that his health will not allow him to remain, and monsieur grave, stung by a criticism of madame roland, wishes to hold office until his successor is found. i therefore pray your majesty to receive colonel servan, an honest man in the full acceptation of the words, of a solid material, pure manners, philosophical austerity, and a heart like a woman's, withal an enlightened patriot, a courageous soldier, and a vigilant statesman." "colonel servan is taken. so we have three ministers: dumouriez for the foreign office, servan for war, and lacoste for the navy. who shall be in the treasury?" "clavieres, if you will. he is a man with great financial friends and supreme skill in handling money." "be it so. as for the law lord?" "a lawyer of bordeaux has been recommended to me--duranthon." "belonging to the gironde party, of course?" "yes, sire, but enlightened, upright, a very good citizen, though slow and feeble; we will infuse fire into him and be strong enough for all of us." "the home department remains." "the general opinion is that this will be fitted to roland." "you mean madame roland?" "to the roland couple. i do not know them, but i am assured that the one resembles a character of plutarch and the other a woman from livy." "do you know that your cabinet is already called the breechless ministry?" "i accept the nickname, with the hope that it will be found without _breaches_." "we will hold the council with them the day after to-morrow." general dumouriez was going away with his colleagues, when a valet called him aside and said that the king had something more to say to him. "the king or the queen?" he questioned. "it is the queen, sir; but she thought there was no need for those gentlemen to know that." and weber--for this was the austrian foster-brother of marie antoinette--conducted the general to the queen's apartments, where he introduced him as the person sent for. dumouriez entered, with his heart beating more violently than when he led a charge or mounted the deadly breach. he fully understood that he had never stood in worse danger. the road he traveled was strewn with corpses, and he might stumble over the dead reputations of premiers, from calonne to lafayette. the queen was walking up and down, with a very red face. she advanced with a majestic and irritated air as he stopped on the sill where the door had been closed behind him. "sir, you are all-powerful at this juncture," she said, breaking the ice with her customary vivacity. "but it is by favor of the populace, who soon shatter their idols. you are said to have much talent. have the wit, to begin with, to understand that the king and i will not suffer novelties. your constitution is a pneumatic machine; royalty stifles in it for want of air. so i have sent for you to learn, before you go further, whether you side with us or with the jacobins." "madame," responded dumouriez, "i am pained by this confidence, although i expected it, from the impression that your majesty was behind the tapestry." "which means that you have your reply ready?" "it is that i stand between king and country, but before all i belong to the country." "the country?" sneered the queen. "is the king no longer anything, that everybody belongs to the country and none to him?" "excuse me, lady; the king is always the king, but he has taken oath to the constitution, and from that day he should be one of the first slaves of the constitution." "a compulsory oath, and in no way binding, sir!" dumouriez held his tongue for a space, and, being a consummate actor, he regarded the speaker with deep pity. "madame," he said, at length, "allow me to say that your safety, the king's, your children's, all, are attached to this constitution which you deride, and which will save you, if you consent to be saved by it. i should serve you badly, as well as the king, if i spoke otherwise to you." the queen interrupted him with an imperious gesture. "oh, sir, sir, i assure you that you are on the wrong path!" she said; adding, with an indescribable accent of threat: "take heed for yourself!" "madame," replied dumouriez, in a perfectly calm tone, "i am over fifty years of age; my life has been traversed with perils, and on taking the ministry i said to myself that ministerial responsibility was not the slightest danger i ever ran." "fy, sir!" returned the queen, slapping her hands together; "you have nothing more to do than to slander me?" "slander you, madame?" "yes; do you want me to explain the meaning of the words i used? it is that i am capable of having you assassinated. for shame, sir!" tears escaped from her eyes. dumouriez had gone as far as she wanted; he knew that some sensitive fiber remained in that indurated heart. "lord forbid i should so insult my queen!" he cried. "the nature of your majesty is too grand and noble for the worst of her enemies to be inspired with such an idea, she has given heroic proofs which i have admired, and which attached me to her." "then excuse me, and lend me your arm. i am so weak that i often fear i shall fall in a swoon." turning pale, she indeed drooped her head backward. was it reality, or only one of the wiles in which this fearful medea was so skilled? keen though the general was, he was deceived; or else, more cunning than the enchantress, he feigned to be caught. "believe me, madame," he said, "that i have no interest in cheating you. i abhor anarchy and crime as much as yourself. believe, too, that i have experience, and am better placed than your majesty to see events. what is transpiring is not an intrigue of the duke of orleans, as you are led to think; not the effect of pitt's hatred, as you have supposed; not even the outcome of popular impulse, but the almost unanimous insurrection of a great nation against inveterate abuses. i grant that there is in all this great hates which fan the flames. leave the lunatics and the villains on one side; let us see nothing in this revolution in progress but the king and the nation, all tending to separate them brings about their mutual ruin. i come, my lady, to work my utmost to reunite them; aid me, instead of thwarting me. you mistrust me? am i an obstacle to your anti-revolutionary projects? tell me so, madame, i will forthwith hand my resignation to the king, and go and wail the fate of my country and its ruler in some nook." "no, no," said the queen; "remain, and excuse me." "do you ask me to excuse you? oh, madame, i entreat you not to humble yourself thus." "why should i not be humble? am i still a queen? am i yet treated like a woman?" going to the window, she opened it in spite of the evening coolness; the moon silvered the leafless trees of the palace gardens. "are not the air and the sunshine free to all? well, these are refused to me; i dare not put my head out of window, either on the street or the gardens. yesterday i did look out on the yard, when a guards gunner hailed me with an insulting nickname, and said: 'how i should like to carry your head on a bayonet-point.' this morning, i opened the garden window. a man standing on a chair was reading infamous stuff against me; a priest was dragged to a fountain to be ducked; and meanwhile, as though such scenes were matters of course, children were sailing their balloons and couples were strolling tranquilly. what times we are living in--what a place to live in--what a people! and would you have me still believe myself a queen, and even feel like a woman?" she threw herself on a sofa, and hid her face in her hands. dumouriez dropped on one knee, and taking up the hem of her dress respectfully, he kissed it. "lady," he said, "from the time when i undertake this struggle, you will become the mighty queen and the happy woman once more, or i shall leave my life on the battle-field." rising, he saluted the lady and hurried out. she watched him go with a hopeless look, repeating: "the mighty queen? perhaps, thanks to your sword--for it is possible; but the happy woman--never, never, never!" she let her head fall between the sofa cushions, muttering the name dearer every day and more painful: "charny!" the dumouriez cabinet might be called one of war. on the first of march, the emperor leopold died in the midst of his italian harem, slain by self-compounded aphrodisiacs. the queen, who had read in some lampoon that a penny pie would settle the monarchy, and who had called dr. gilbert in to get an antidote, cried aloud that her brother was poisoned. with him passed all the halting policy of austria. francis ii., who mounted the throne, was of mixed italian and german blood. an austrian born at florence, he was weak, violent, and tricky. the priests reckoned him an honest man; his hard and bigoted soul hid its duplicity under a rosy face of dreadful sameness. he walked like a stage ghost; he gave his daughter to a conqueror rather than part with his estate, and then stabbed him in the back at his first retreating step in the snows. francis ii. remains in history the tyrant of the leads of venice and the spitzberg dungeons, and the torturer of andryane and silvio pellico. this was the protector of the french fugitives, the ally of prussia and the enemy of france. he held embassador noailles as a prisoner at vienna. the french embassador to berlin, segur, was preceded by a rumor that he expected to gain the secrets of the king of prussia by making love to his mistresses--this king of prussia was a lady-killer! segur presented himself at the same time as the envoy from the self-exiled princes at coblentz. the king turned his back on the french representative, and asked pointedly after the health of the prince of artois. these were the two ostensible foes; the hidden ones were spain, russia, and england. the chief of the coalition was to be the king of sweden, that dwarf in giant's armor whom catherine ii. held up in her hand. with the ascension of francis, the diplomatic note came: austria was to rule in france, avignon was to be restored to the pope, and things in france were to go back to where they stood in june, . this note evidently agreed with the secret wishes of the king and the queen. dumouriez laughed at it. but he took it to the king. as much as marie antoinette, the woman for extreme measures, desired a war which she believed one of deliverance for her, the king feared it, as the man for the medium, slowness, wavering, and crooked policy. indeed, suppose a victory in the war, he would be at the mercy of the victorious general; suppose a defeat, and the people would hold him responsible, cry treason, and rush on the palace! in short, should the enemy penetrate to paris, what would it bring? the king's brother, count provence, who aimed to be regent of the realm. the result of the return of the runaway princes would be the king deposed, marie antoinette pronounced an adulteress, and the royal children proclaimed, perhaps, illegitimate. the king trusted foreigners, but not the princes of his own blood and kingdom. on reading the note, he comprehended that the hour to draw the sword for france had come, and that there was no receding. who was to bear the flag of the revolution? lafayette, who had lost his fame by massacring the populace on the paris parade-ground; luckner, who was known only by the mischief he wrought in the seven years' war, and old rochambeau, the french naval hero in the american revolution, who was for defensive war, and was vexed to see dumouriez promote young blood over his head without benefiting by his experience. it was expected that lafayette would be victorious in the north; when he would be commander-in-chief, dumouriez would be the minister of war; they would cast down the red cap and crush jacobins and girondists with the two hands. the counter-revolution was ready. but what were robespierre and the invisibles doing--that great secret society which held the agitators in its grasp as jove holds the writhing thunder-bolts? robespierre was in the shade, and many asserted that he was bribed by the royal family. at the outset all went well for the royalists; lafayette's lieutenants, two royalists, dillon and biron, headed a rout before lille; the scouts, dragoons, still the most aristocratic arm of the service, turned tail and started a panic. the runaways accused the captains of treachery, and murdered dillon and other officers. the gironde accused the queen and court party of organizing the flight. the popular clamor compelled marie antoinette to let the constitutional guard be abolished--another name for a royal life-guard--and it was superseded by the paris national guards. oh! charny, charny, where were you?--you who, at varennes, nearly rescued the queen with but three hundred horsemen--what would you not have done at paris with six thousand desperadoes? charny was happy, forgetting everything in the arms of his countess. chapter iv. the foes face to face. while the queen was looking from the palace to see the austrians coming, another was watching in her little reception-rooms. one was revolution embodied, the other its opponents intensified; that was madame roland, this the queen from austria. the real war at this period was between this pair. a singular thing, both had such influence over their husbands as to lead them to death, although by different roads. dumouriez had thrown a sop to the jacobins without knowing who the colonel servan was whom he took for minister of war. he was a favorite of madame roland. like all the girondists, of whom she was the light, the fire, the egeria, he was inspired by that valiant spirit. but he and roland were neutralized at the council by dumouriez. they had forced the royalist constitutional guards to disband, but they had merely changed their uniform for that of the swiss guards, the sworn defenders of royalty, and swaggered about the streets more insolently than before. madame roland suggested that, on the occasion of the july festivals, a camp of twenty thousand volunteers should be established in paris. servan was to present this as a citizen, apart from his being a minister. in the same way, roland was to punish the rebellious priests who were preaching from the pulpits that taxpayers would be damned, by ordering their exile. dumouriez supported the volunteer proposition at the council, in the hope that the new-comers would be jacobins; that is, the invisibles, by whom neither the girondists nor the feuillants would profit. "if your majesty vetoes it," he said, firmly, "instead of the twenty thousand authorized, we shall have forty thousand unruly spirits in town, who may with one rush upset constitution, assembly, and the throne. had we been vanquishers--but we must give in--i say accept." but the queen urged the king to stand firm. as we know, she would rather be lost than be saved by lafayette. as for the decree against the priests, it was another matter. the king said that he wavered in temporal questions as he judged them with his mind, which was fallible; but he tried religious matters with his conscience, which was infallible! but they could not dispense with dumouriez at this juncture. "accept the volunteer act," said the queen, at last; "let the camp be at soissons, where the general says he will gradually draft them off out of the way; and--well, we will see about the decree aimed at the priests. dumouriez has your promise, but there must be some way of evading the issue when you are the jesuits' pupil!" roland, servan, and clavieres resigned, and the assembly applauded their act as deserving the thanks of the country. hearing of this, and that dumouriez was badly compromised, the pupil of vauguyon agreed to the volunteer camp bill, but pleading conscientious scruples, deferred signing the decree banishing the refractory priests. this made the new ministers wince, and dumouriez went away sore at heart. the king had almost succeeded in baffling him, the fine diplomatist, sharp politician, and the general whose courage was doubled by intrigue! he found at home the spies' reports that the invisibles were holding meetings in the working quarters, and openly at santerre's brewery. he wrote to warn the king, whose answer was: "do not believe that i can be bullied; my mind is made up." dumouriez replied, asking for an audience, and requested his successor to be sought for. it was clear that the anti-revolutionist party felt strong. indeed, they were reckoning on the following forces: the constitutional guards, six thousand strong, disbanded, but ready to fly to arms at the first call; seven or eight thousand knights of the order of st. louis, whose red ribbon was the rallying token; three battalions of switzers, sixteen hundred men, picked soldiers, unshaken as the old helvetic rocks. better than all, lafayette had written: "persist, sire; fortified with the authority the national assembly has delegated to you, you will find all good citizens on your side!" the plan was to gather all the forces at a given signal, seize the cannon of each section of paris, shut up the jacobin's club-house and the assembly, add all the royalists in the national guard, say, a contingent of fifteen thousand men, and wait for lafayette, who might march up in three days. the misfortune was that the queen would not hear of lafayette. lafayette was merely the revolution moderated, and might prolong it and lead to a republic like that he had brought round in america; while the jacobins' outrageous rule would sicken the people and could not endure. oh, had charny been at hand! but it was not even known where he was; and were it known, it would be too low an abasement for the woman, if not the queen, to have recourse to him. the night passed tumultuously at the palace, where they had the means of defense and attack, but not a hand strong enough to grasp and hurl them. dumouriez and his colleagues came to resign. they affirmed they were willing to die for the king, but to do this for the clergy would only precipitate the downfall of the monarchy. "sire," pleaded dumouriez, "your conscience is misled; you are beguiled into civil war. without strength, you must succumb, and history, while sorrowing for you, will blame you for causing the woes of france." "heaven be my witness that i wished but her happiness!" "i do not doubt that; but one must account to the king of kings not only for purity of intentions, but the enlightened use of intentions. you suppose you are saving religion, but you will destroy it; your priests will be massacred; your broken crown will roll in your blood, the queen's, your children's, perhaps--oh, my king, my king!" choking, he applied his lips to the royal hand. with perfect serenity, and a majesty of which he might not be believed capable, louis replied. "you are right, general. i expect death, and forgive my murderers beforehand. you have well served me; i esteem you, and am affected by your sympathy. farewell, sir!" with dumouriez going, royalty had parted with its last stay. the king threw off the mask, and stood with uncovered face before the people. let us see what the people were doing on their side. chapter v. the uninvited visitors. all day long a man in general's uniform was riding about the st. antoine suburb, on a large flanders horse, shaking hands right and left, kissing the girls and treating the men to drink. this was one of lafayette's half dozen heirs, the small-change of the commander of the national guard--battalion commander santerre. beside him rode, on a fiery charger, like an aid next his general, a stout man who might by his dress be taken to be a well-to-do farmer. a scar tracked his brow, and he had as gloomy an eye and scowling a face as the battalion commander had an open countenance and frank smile. "get ready, my good friends; watch over the nation, against which traitors are plotting. but we are on guard," santerre kept saying. "what are we to do, friend santerre?" asked the working-men. "you know that we are all your own. where are the traitors? lead us at them!" "wait; the proper time has not come." "when will it strike?" santerre did not know a word about it; so he replied at a hazard, "keep ready; we'll let you know." but the man who rode by his knee, bending down over the horse's neck, would make signs to some men, and whisper: "june twenty." whereupon these men would call groups of twenty or so around each, and repeat the date to them, so that it would be circulated. nobody knew what would be done on the twentieth of june, but all felt sure that something would happen on that day. by whom was this mob moved, stirred, and excited? by a man of powerful build, leonine mane, and roaring voice, whom santerre was to find waiting in his brewery office--danton. none better than this terrible wizard of the revolution could evoke terror from the slums and hurl it into the old palace of catherine di medicis. danton was the gong of riots; the blow he received he imparted vibratingly to all the multitude around him. through hebert he was linked to the populace, as by the duke of orleans he was affixed to the throne. whence came his power, doomed to be so fatal to royalty? to the queen, the spiteful austrian who had not liked lafayette to be mayor of paris, but preferred petion, the republican, who had no sooner brought back the fugitive king to the tuileries than he set to watch him closely. petion had made his two friends, manuel and danton, the public prosecutor and the vice, respectively. on the twentieth of june, under the pretext of presenting a petition to the king and raising a liberty pole, the palace was to be stormed. the adepts alone knew that france was to be saved from the lafayettes and the moderates, and a warning to be given to the incorrigible monarch that there are some political tempests in which a vessel may be swamped with all hands aboard; that is, a king be overwhelmed with throne and family as in the oceanic abysses. billet knew more than santerre when he accompanied him on his tour, after presenting himself as from the committee. danton called on the brewer to arrange for the meeting of the popular leaders that night at charenton for the march on the morrow, presumably to the house, but really to the tuileries. the watchword was, "have done with the palace!" but the way remained vague. on the evening of the nineteenth, the queen saw a woman clad in scarlet, with a belt full of pistols, gallop, bold and terrible, along the main streets. it was theroigne mericourt, the beauty of liege, who had gone back to her native country to help its rebellion; but the austrians had caught her and kept her imprisoned for eighteen months. she returned mysteriously to be at the bloody feast of the coming day. the courtesan of opulence, she was now the beloved of the people; from her noble lovers had come the funds for her costly weapons, which were not all for show. hence the mob hailed her with cheers. from the tuileries garret, where the queen had climbed on hearing the uproar, she saw tables set out in the public squares and wine broached; patriotic songs were sung and at every toast fists were shaken at the palace. who were the guests? the federals of marseilles, led by barbaroux, who brought with them the song worth an army--"the marseillaise hymn of liberty." day breaks early in june. at five o'clock the battalions were marshaled, for the insurrection was regularized by this time and had a military aspect. the mob had chiefs, submitted to discipline, and fell into assigned places under flags. santerre was on horseback, with his staff of men from the working district. billet did not leave him, for the occult power of the invisibles charged him to watch over him. of the three corps into which the forces were divided, santerre commanded the first, st. huruge the second, and theroigne the last. about eleven, on an order brought by an unknown man, the immense mass started out. it numbered some twenty thousand when it left the bastile square. it had a wild, odd, and horrible look. santerre's battalion was the most regular, having many in uniform, and muskets and bayonets among the weapons. but the other two were armed mobs, haggard, thin, and in rags from three years of revolutions and four of famine. neither had uniforms nor muskets, but tattered coats and smocks; quaint arms snatched up in the first impulse of self-defense and anger: pikes, cooking-spits, jagged spears, hiltless swords, knives lashed to long poles, broad-axes, stone-masons' hammers and curriers' knives. for standards, a gallows with a dangling doll, meant for the queen; a bull's head, with an obscene card stuck on the horns; a calf's heart on a spit, with the motto: "an aristocrat's;" while flags showed the legends: "sanction the decrees, or death!"--"recall the patriotic ministers!"--"tremble, tyrant; your hour has come!" at every crossing and from each by-way the army was swollen. the mass was silent, save now and then when a cheer burst from the midst, or a snatch of the "it shall go on" was sung, or cries went up of "the nation forever!"--"long live the breechless!"--"down with old veto and madame veto!" they came out for sport--to frighten the king and queen, and did not mean murdering. they demanded to march past the assembly through the hall, and for three hours they defiled under the eyes of their representatives. it was three o'clock. the mob had obtained half their programme, the placing of their petition before the assembly. the next thing was to call on the king for his sanction to the decree. as the assembly had received them, how could the king refuse? surely he was not a greater potentate than the speaker of the house, whose chair was like his and in the grander place? in fact, the king assented to receiving their deputation of twenty. as the common people had never entered the palace, they merely expected their representatives would be received while they marched by under the windows. they would show the king their banners with the odd devices and the gory standards. all the palace garden gates were closed; in the yards and gardens were soldiers with four field-pieces. seeing this apparently ample protection, the royal family might be tranquil. still without any evil idea, the crowd asked for the gates to be opened which allowed entrance on the feuillants terrace. three municipal officers went in and got leave from the king for passage to be given over the terrace and out by the stable doors. everybody wanted to go in as soon as the gates were open, and the throng spread over the lawn; it was forgotten to open the outlet by the stables, and the crush began to be severe. they streamed before the national guards in a row along the palace wall to the carrousel gates, by which they might have resumed the homeward route. they were locked and guarded. sweltering, crushed, and turned about, the mob began to be irritated. before its growls the gates were opened and the men spread over the capacious square. there they remembered what the main affair was--to petition the king to revoke his veto. instead of continuing the road, they waited in the square for an hour, when they grew impatient. they might have gone away, but that was not the aim of the agitators, who went from group to group, saying: "stay; what do you want to sneak away for? the king is going to give his sanction; if we were to go home without that, we should have all our work to do over again." the level-headed thought this sensible advice, but at the same time that the sanction was a long time coming. they were getting hungry, and that was the general cry. bread was not so dear as it had been, but there was no work going on, and however cheap bread may be, it is not made for nothing. everybody had risen at five, workmen and their wives, with their children, and come to the palace with the idea that they had but to get the royal sanction to have hard times end. but the king did not seem to be at all eager to give his sanction. it was hot, and thirst began to be felt. hunger, thirst, and heat drive dogs mad; yet the poor people waited and kept patient. but those next to the railings set to shaking them. a municipal officer made a speech to them: "citizens, this is the king's residence, and to enter with arms is to violate it. the king is quite ready to receive your petition, but only from twenty deputies bearing it." what! had not their deputation, sent in an hour ago, been attended to yet? suddenly loud shouts were heard on the streets. it was santerre, billet, and huruge on their horses, and theroigne riding on her cannon. "what are you fellows hanging round this gate for?" queried huruge. "why do you not go right in?" "just so; why haven't we?" said the thousands. "can't you see it is fast?" cried several voices. theroigne jumped off her cannon, saying: "the barker is full to the muzzle; let's blow the old gate open." "wait! wait!" shouted two municipal officers; "no roughness. it shall be opened to you." indeed, by pressing on the spring-catch they released the two gates, which drew aside, and the mass rushed through. along with them came the cannon, which crossed the yard with them, mounted the steps, and reached the head of the stairs in their company. here stood the city officials in their scarfs of office. "what do you intend doing with a piece of artillery?" they challenged. "great guns in the royal apartments! do you believe anything is to be gained by such violence?" "quite right," said the ringleaders, astonished themselves to see the gun there; and they turned it round to get it down-stairs. the hub caught on the jamb, and the muzzle gaped on the crowd. "why, hang them all, they have got cannon all over the palace!" commented the new-comers, not knowing their own artillery. police-magistrate mouchet, a deformed dwarf, ordered the men to chop the wheel clear, and they managed to hack the door-jamb away so as to free the piece, which was taken down to the yard. this led to the report that the mob were smashing all the doors in. some two hundred noblemen ran to the palace, not with the hope of defending it, but to die with the king, whose life they deemed menaced. prominent among these was a man in black, who had previously offered his breast to the assassin's bullet, and who always leaped like a last life-guard between danger and the king, from whom he had tried to conjure it. this was gilbert. after being excited by the frightful tumult, the king and queen became used to it. it was half past three, and it was hoped that the day would close with no more harm done. suddenly, the sound of the ax blows was heard above the noise of clamor, like the howling of a coming tempest. a man darted into the king's sleeping-room and called out: "sire, let me stand by you, and i will answer for all." it was dr. gilbert, seen at almost periodical intervals, and in all the "striking situations" of the tragedy in play. "oh, doctor, is this you? what is it?" king and queen spoke together. "the palace is surrounded, and the people are making this uproar in wanting to see you." "we shall not leave you, sire," said the queen and princess elizabeth. "will the king kindly allow me for an hour such power as a captain has over his ship?" asked gilbert. "i grant it," replied the monarch. "madame, hearken to doctor gilbert's advice, and obey his orders, if needs must." he turned to the doctor: "will you answer to me for the queen and the dauphin?" "i do, or i shall die with them; it is all a pilot can say in the tempest!" the queen wished to make a last effort, but gilbert barred the way with his arms. "madame," he said, "it is you and not the king who run the real danger. rightly or wrongly, they accuse you of the king's resistance, so that your presence will expose him without defending him. be the lightning-conductor--divert the bolt, if you can!" "then let it fall on me, but save my children!" "i have answered for you and them to the king. follow me." he said the same to princess lamballe, who had returned lately from london, and the other ladies, and guided them to the council hall, where he placed them in a window recess, with the heavy table before them. the queen stood behind her children--innocence protecting unpopularity, although she wished it to be the other way. "all is well thus," said gilbert, in the tone of a general commanding a decisive operation; "do not stir." there came a pounding at the door, which he threw open with both folds, and as he knew there were many women in the crowd, he cried: "walk in, citizenesses; the queen and her children await you." the crowd burst in as through a broken dam. "where is the austrian? where is the lady veto?" demanded five hundred voices. it was the critical moment. "be calm," said gilbert to the queen, knowing that all was in heaven's hand, and man was as nothing. "i need not recommend you to be kind." preceding the others was a woman with her hair down, who brandished a saber; she was flushed with rage--perhaps from hunger. "where is the austrian cat? she shall die by no hand but mine!" she screamed. "this is she," said gilbert, taking her by the hand and leading her up to the queen. "have i ever done you a personal wrong?" demanded the latter, in her sweetest voice. "i can not say you have," faltered the woman of the people, amazed at the majesty and gentleness of marie antoinette. "then why should you wish to kill me?" "folks told me that you were the ruin of the nation," faltered the abashed young woman, lowering the point of her saber to the floor. "then you were told wrong. i married your king of france, and am mother of the prince whom you see here. i am a french woman, one who will nevermore see the land where she was born; in france alone i must dwell, happy or unhappy. alas! i was happy when you loved me." and she sighed. the girl dropped the sword, and wept. "beg your pardon, madame, but i did not know what you were like. i see you are a good sort, after all." "keep on like that," prompted gilbert, "and not only will you be saved, but all these people will be at your feet in an hour." intrusting her to some national guardsmen and the war minister, who came in with the mob, he ran to the king. louis had gone through a similar experience. on hastening toward the crowd, as he opened the bull's-eye room, the door panels were dashed in, and pikes, bayonets, and axes showed their points and edges. "open the doors!" cried the king. servants heaped up chairs before him, and four grenadiers stood in front, but he made them put up their swords, as the flash of steel might seem a provocation. a ragged fellow, with a knife-blade set in a pole, darted at the king, yelling: "take that for your veto!" one grenadier, who had not yet sheathed his sword, struck down the stick with the blade. but it was the king who, entirely recovering self-command, put the soldier aside with his hand, and said: "let me stand forward, sir. what have i to fear amid my people?" taking a forward step, louis xvi., with a majesty not expected in him, and a courage strange heretofore in him, offered his breast to the weapons of all sorts directed against him. "hold your noise!" thundered a stentorian voice in the midst of the awful din. "i want a word in here." a cannon might have vainly sought to be heard in this clamor, but at this voice all the vociferation ceased. this was the butcher legendre. he went up almost to touching the king, while they formed a ring round the two. just then, on the outer edge of the circle, a man made his appearance, and behind the dread double of danton, the king recognized gilbert, pale and serene of face. the questioning glance implying: "what have you done with the queen?" was answered by the doctor's smile to the effect that she was in safety. he thanked him with a nod. "sirrah," began legendre. this expression, which seemed to indicate that the sovereign was already deposed, made the latter turn as if a snake had stung him. "yes, sir, i am talking to you, veto," went on legendre. "just listen to us, for it is our turn to have you hear us. you are a double-dealer, who have always cheated us, and would try it again, so look out for yourself. the measure is full, and the people are tired of being your plaything and victim." "well, i am listening to you, sir," rejoined the king. "and a good thing, too. do you know what we have come here for? to ask the sanction of the decrees and the recall of the ministers. here is our petition--see!" taking a paper from his pocket, he unfolded it, and read the same menacing lines which had been heard in the house. with his eyes fixed on the speaker, the king listened, and said, when it was ended, without the least apparent emotion: "sir, i shall do what the laws and the constitution order me to do!" "gammon!" broke in a voice; "the constitution is your high horse, which lets you block the road of the whole country, to keep france in-doors, for fear of being trampled on, and wait till the austrians come up to cut her throat." the king turned toward this fresh voice, comprehending that it was a worse danger. gilbert also made a movement and laid his hand on the speaker's shoulder. "i have seen you somewhere before, friend," remarked the king. "who are you?" he looked with more curiosity than fear, though this man wore a front of terrible resolution. "ay, you have seen me before, sire. three times: once, when you were brought back from versailles; next at varennes; and the last time, here. sire, bear my name in mind, for it is of ill omen. it is billet." at this the shouting was renewed, and a man with a lance tried to stab the king; but billet seized the weapon, tore it from the wielder's grip, and snapped it across his knee. "no foul play," he said; "only one kind of steel has the right to touch this man: the ax of the executioner! i hear that a king of england had his head cut off by the people whom he betrayed--you ought to know his name, louis. don't you forget it." "'sh, billet!" muttered gilbert. "oh, you may say what you like," returned billet, shaking his head; "this man is going to be tried and doomed as a traitor." "yes, a traitor!" yelled a hundred voices; "traitor, traitor!" gilbert threw himself in between. "fear nothing, sire, and try by some material token to give satisfaction to these mad men." taking the physician's hand, the king laid it on his heart. "you see that i fear nothing," he said; "i received the sacraments this morning. let them do what they like with me. as for the material sign which you suggest i should display--are you satisfied?" taking the red cap from a by-stander, he set it on his own head. the multitude burst into applause. "hurrah for the king!" shouted all the voices. a fellow broke through the crowd and held up a bottle. "if fat old veto loves the people as much as he says, prove it by drinking our health." "do not drink," whispered a voice. "it may be poisoned." "drink, sire, i answer for the honesty," said gilbert. the king took the bottle, and saying, "to the health of the people," he drank. fresh cheers for the king resounded. "sire, you have nothing to fear," said gilbert; "allow me to return to the queen." "go," said the other, gripping his hand. more tranquil, the doctor hastened to the council hall, where he breathed still easier after one glance. the queen stood in the same spot; the little prince, like his father, was wearing the red cap. in the next room was a great hubbub; it was the reception of santerre, who rolled into the hall. "where is this austrian wench?" demanded he. gilbert cut slanting across the hall to intercept him. "halloo, doctor gilbert!" said he, quite joyfully. "who has not forgotten that you were one of those who opened the bastile doors to me," replied the doctor. "let me present you to the queen." "present me to the queen?" growled the brewer. "you will not refuse, will you?" "faith, i'll not. i was going to introduce myself; but as you are in the way--" "monsieur santerre needs no introduction," interposed the queen. "i know how at the famine time he fed at his sole expense half the st. antoine suburb." santerre stopped, astonished; then, his glance happening to fall, embarrassed, on the dauphin, whose perspiration was running down his cheeks, he roared: "here, take that sweater off the boy--don't you see he is smothering?" the queen thanked him with a look. he leaned on the table, and bending toward her, he said in an under-tone: "you have a lot of clumsy friends, madame. i could tell you of some who would serve you better." an hour afterward all the mob had flowed away, and the king, accompanied by his sister, entered the room where the queen and his children awaited him. she ran to him and threw herself at his feet, while the children seized his hands, and all acted as though they had been saved from a shipwreck. it was only then that the king noticed that he was wearing the red cap. "faugh!" he said; "i had forgotten!" snatching it off with both hands, he flung it far from him with disgust. the evacuation of the palace was as dull and dumb as the taking had been gleeful and noisy. astonished at the little result, the mob said: "we have not made anything; we shall have to come again." in fact, it was too much for a threat, and not enough for an attempt on the king's life. louis had been judged on his reputation, and recalling his flight to varennes, disguised as a serving-man, they had thought that he would hide under a table at the first noise, and might be done to death in the scuffle, like polonius behind the arras. things had happened otherwise; never had the monarch been calmer, never so grand. in the height of the threats and the insults he had not ceased to say: "behold your king!" the royalists were delighted, for, to tell the truth, they had carried the day. chapter vi. "the country is in danger!" the king wrote to the assembly to complain of the violation of his residence, and he issued a proclamation to "his people." so it appeared there were two peoples--the king's, and those he complained of. on the twenty-fourth, the king and queen were cheered by the national guards, whom they were reviewing, and on this same day, the paris directory suspended mayor petion, who had told the king to his face that the city was not riotous. whence sprung such audacity? three days after, the murder was out. lafayette came to beard the assembly in its house, taunted by a member, who had said, when he wrote to encourage the king in his opposition and to daunt the representatives: "he is very saucy in the midst of his army; let us see if he would talk as big if he stood among us." he escaped censure by a nominal majority--a victory worse than a defeat. lafayette had again sacrificed his popularity for the royalists. he cherished a last hope. with the enthusiasm to be kindled among the national guards by the king and their old commander, he proposed to march on the assembly and put down the opposition, while in the confusion the king should gain the camp at maubeuge. it was a bold scheme, but was almost sure in the state of minds. unfortunately, danton ran to petion at three in the morning with the news, and the review was countermanded. who had betrayed the king and the general? the queen, who had said she would rather be lost than owe safety to lafayette. she was helping fate, for she was doomed to be slain by danton. but supposing she had less spite, and the girondists might have been crushed. they were determined not to be caught napping another time. it was necessary to restore the revolutionary current to its old course, for it had been checked and was running up-stream. the soul of the party, mme. roland, hoped to do this by rousing the assembly. she chose the orator vergniaud to make the appeal, and in a splendid speech, he shouted from the rostrum what was already circulating in an under-tone: "the country is in danger!" the effect was like a waterspout; the whole house, even to the royalists, spectators, officials, all were enveloped and carried away by this mighty cyclone; all roared with enthusiasm. that same evening barbaroux wrote to his friend rebecqui, at marseilles: "send me five hundred men eager to die." on the eleventh of july, the assembly declared the country to be in danger, but the king withheld his authorization until the twenty-first, late at night. indeed, this call to arms was an admission that the ruler was impotent, for the nation would not be asked to help herself unless the king could or would do nothing. great terror made the palace quiver in the interval, as a plot was expected to break out on the fourteenth, the anniversary of the taking of the bastile--a holiday. robespierre had sent an address out from the jacobin club which suggested regicide. so persuaded was the court party, that the king was induced to wear a shirt of mail to protect him against the assassin's knife, and mme. campan had another for the queen, who refused to don it. "i should be only too happy if they would slay me," she observed, in a low voice. "oh, god, they would do me a greater kindness than thou didst in giving me life! they would relieve me of a burden!" mme. campan went out, choking. the king, who was in the corridor, took her by the hand and led her into the lobby between his rooms and his son's, and stopping, groped for a secret spring; it opened a press, perfectly hidden in the wall, with the edges guarded by the moldings. a large portfolio of papers was in the closet, with gold coin on the shelves. the case of papers was so heavy that the lady could not lift it, and the king carried it to her rooms, saying that the queen would tell her how to dispose of it. she thrust it between the bed and the mattress, and went to the queen, who said: "campan, those are documents fatal to the king if he were placed on trial, which the lord forbid. particularly--which is why, no doubt, he confides it all to you--there is a report of a council, in which the king gave his opinion against war; he made all the ministers sign it, and reckons on this document being as beneficial in event of a trial as the others may be hurtful." the july festival arrived. the idea was to celebrate the triumph of petion over the king--that of murdering the latter not being probably entertained. suspended in his functions by the assembly, petion was restored to them on the eve of the rejoicings. at eleven in the morning, the king came down the grand staircase with the queen and the royal children. three or four thousand troops, of unknown tendencies, escorted them. in vain did the queen seek on their faces some marks of sympathy; the kindest averted their faces. there was no mistaking the feeling of the crowd, for cheers for petion rose on all sides. as if, too, to give the ovation a more durable stamp than momentary enthusiasm, the king and the queen could read on all hats a lettered ribbon: "petion forever!" the queen was pale and trembling. convinced that a plot was aimed at her husband's life, she started at every instant, fancying she saw a hand thrust out to bring down a dagger or level a pistol. on the parade-ground, the monarch alighted, took a place on the left of the speaker of the house, and with him walked up to the altar of the country. the queen had to separate from her lord here to go into the grand stand with her children; she stopped, refusing to go any further until she saw how he got on, and kept her eyes on him. at the foot of the altar, one of those rushes came which is common to great gatherings. the king disappeared as though submerged. the queen shrieked, and made as if to rush to him; but he rose into view anew, climbing the steps of the altar. among the ordinary symbols figuring in these feasts, such as justice, power, liberty, etc., one glittered mysteriously and dreadfully under black crape, carried by a man clad in black and crowned with cypress. this weird emblem particularly caught the queen's eyes. she was riveted to the spot, and, while encouraged a little by the king's fate, she could not take her gaze from this somber apparition. making an effort to speak, she gasped, without addressing any one specially: "who is that man dressed in mourning?" "the death's-man," replied a voice which made her shudder. "and what has he under the veil?" continued she. "the ax which chopped off the head of king charles i." the queen turned round, losing color, for she thought she recognized the voice. she was not mistaken; the speaker was the magician who had shown her the awful future in a glass at taverney, and warned her at sèvres and on her return from varennes--cagliostro, in fact. she screamed, and fell fainting into princess elizabeth's arms. one week subsequently, on the twenty-second, at six in the morning, all paris was aroused by the first of a series of minute guns. the terrible booming went on all through the day. at day-break the six legions of the national guards were collected at the city hall. two processions were formed throughout the town and suburbs to spread the proclamation that the country was in danger. danton had the idea of this dreadful show, and he had intrusted the details to sergent, the engraver, an immense stage-manager. each party left the hall at six o'clock. first marched a cavalry squadron, with the mounted band playing a funeral march, specially composed. next, six field-pieces, abreast where the road-way was wide enough, or in pairs. then four heralds on horseback, bearing ensigns labeled "liberty"--"equality"--"constitution"--"our country." then came twelve city officials, with swords by the sides and their scarfs on. then, all alone, isolated like france herself, a national guardsman, in the saddle of a black horse, holding a large tri-color flag, on which was lettered: "citizens, the country is in danger!" in the same order as the preceding, rolled six guns with weighty jolting and heavy rumbling, national guards and cavalry at the rear. on every bridge, crossing, and square, the party halted, and silence was commanded by the ruffling of the drums. the banners were waved, and when no sound was heard and the crowd held their peace, the grave voice of the municipal crier arose, reading the proclamation, and adding: "the country is in danger!" this last line was dreadful, and rang in all hearts. it was the shriek of the nation, of the motherland, of france. it was the parent calling on her offspring to help her. and ever and anon the guns kept thundering. on all the large open places platforms were run up for the voluntary enlistments. with the intoxication of patriotism, the men rushed to put their names down. some were too old, but lied to be inscribed; some too young, but stood on tiptoe and swore they were full sixteen. those who were accepted leaped to the ground, waving their enrollment papers, and cheering or singing the "let it go on," and kissing the cannon's mouth. it was the betrothal of the french to war--this war of twenty odd years, which will result in the freedom of europe, although it may not altogether be in our time. the excitement was so great that the assembly was appalled by its own work; it sent men through the town to cry out: "brothers, for the sake of the country, no rioting! the court wishes disorder as an excuse for taking the king out of the city, so give it no pretext. the king should stay among us." these dread sowers of words added in a deep voice: "he must be punished." they mentioned nobody by name, but all knew who was meant. every cannon-report had an echo in the heart of the palace. those were the king's rooms where the queen and the rest of the family were gathered. they kept together all day, from feeling that their fate was decided this time, so grand and solemn. they did not separate until midnight, when the last cannon was fired. on the following night mme. campan was aroused; she had slept in the queen's bedroom since a fellow had been caught there with a knife, who might have been a murderer. "is your majesty ill?" she asked, hearing a moan. "i am always in pain, campan, but i trust to have it over soon now. yes," and she held out her pale hand in the moonbeam, making it seem all the whiter, "in a month this same moonlight will see us free and disengaged from our chains." "oh, you have accepted lafayette's offers," said the lady, "and you will flee?" "lafayette's help? thank god, no," said the queen, with repugnance there was no mistaking; "no, but in a month, my nephew, francis, will be in paris." "is your majesty quite sure?" asked the royal governess, alarmed. "yes, all is settled," returned the sovereign; "alliance is made between austria and prussia, two powers who will march upon paris in combination. we have the route of the french princes and their allied armies, and we can surely say that on such and such a day they will be here or there." "but do you not fear--" "murder?" the queen finished the phrase. "i know that might befall; but they may hold us as hostages for their necks when vengeance impends. however, nothing venture, nothing win." "and when do the allied sovereigns expect to be in paris?" inquired mme. campan. "between the fifteenth and twentieth of august," was the reply. "god grant it!" said the lady. but the prayer was not granted; or, if heard, heaven sent france the succor she had not dreamed of--the marseillaise hymn of liberty. chapter vii. the men from marseilles. we have said that barbaroux had written to a friend in the south to send him five hundred men willing to die. who was the man who could write such lines? and what influence had he over his friends? charles barbaroux was a very handsome young man of barely twenty-five, who was reproached for his beauty, and considered by mme. roland as frivolous and too generally amorous. on the contrary, he loved his country alone, or must have loved her best, for he died for her. son of a hardy sea-faring man, he was a poet and orator when quite young--at the breaking out of trouble in his native town during the election of mirabeau. he was then appointed secretary to the marseilles town board. riots at arles drew him into them; but the seething caldron of paris claimed him; the immense furnace which needed perfume, the huge crucible hissing for purest metal. he was roland's correspondent at the south, and mme. roland had pictured from his regular, precise, and wise letters, a man of forty, with his head bald from much thinking, and his forehead wrinkled with vigils. the reality of her dream was a young man, gay, merry, light, fond of her sex, the type of the rich and brilliant generation flourishing in ' , to be cut down in ' . it was in this head, esteemed too frivolous by mme. roland, that the first thought of the tenth of august was conceived, perhaps. the storm was in the air, but the clouds were tossing about in all directions for barbaroux to give them a direction and pile them up over the tuileries. when nobody had a settled plan, he wrote for five hundred determined men. the true ruler of france was the man who could write for such men and be sure of their coming. rebecqui chose them himself out of the revolutionists who had fought in the last two years' popular affrays, in avignon and the other fiery towns; they were used to blood; they did not know what fatigue was by name. on the appointed day they set out on the two hundred league tramp, as if it were a day's strolling. why not? they were hardy seamen, rugged peasants, sunburned by the african simoom or the mountain gale, with hands callous from the spade or tough with tar. wherever they passed along they were hailed as brigands. in a halt they received the words and music of rouget de l'isle's "hymn to liberty," sent as a viaticum by barbaroux to shorten the road. the lips of the marseilles men made it change in character, while the words were altered by their new emphasis. the song of brotherhood became one of death and extermination--forever "the marseillaise." barbaroux had planned to head with the marseilles men some forty thousand volunteers santerre was to have ready to meet them, overwhelm the city hall and the house, and then storm the palace. but santerre went to greet them with only two hundred men, not liking to let the strangers have the glory of such a rush. with ardent eyes, swart visages, and shrill voices, the little band strode through all paris to the champs elysées, singing the thrilling song. they camped there, awaiting the banquet on the morrow. it took place, but some grenadiers were arrayed close to the spot, a royalist guard set as a rampart between them and the palace. they divined they were enemies, and commencing by insults, they went on to exchanging fisticuffs. at the first blood the marseillaise shouted "to arms!" raided the stacks of muskets, and sent the grenadiers flying with their own bayonets. luckily, they had the tuileries at their backs and got over the draw-bridge, finding shelter in the royal apartments. there is a legend that the queen bound up the wounds of one soldier. the federals numbered five thousand--marseilles men, bretons, and dauphinois. they were a power, not from their number, but their faith. the spirit of the revolution was in them. they had fire-arms but no ammunition; they called for cartridges, but none were supplied. two of them went to the mayor and demanded powder, or they would kill themselves in the office. two municipal officers were on duty--sergent, danton's man, and panis, robespierre's. sergent had artistic imagination and a french heart; he felt that the young men spoke with the voice of the country. "look out, panis," he said; "if these youths kill themselves, the blood will fall on our heads." "but if we deliver the powder without authorization, we risk our necks." "never mind. i believe the time has come to risk our necks. in that case, everybody for himself," replied sergent. "here goes for mine; you can do as you like." he signed the delivery note, and panis put his name to it. things were easier now; when the marseilles men had powder and shot they would not let themselves be butchered without hitting back. as soon as they were armed, the assembly received their petition, and allowed them to attend the session. the assembly was in great fear, so much so as to debate whether it ought not to transfer the meetings to the country. for everybody stood in doubt, feeling the ground to quake underfoot and fearing to be swallowed. this wavering chafed the southerners. no little disheartened, barbaroux talked of founding a republic in the south. he turned to robespierre, to see if he would help to set the ball rolling. but the incorruptible's conditions gave him suspicions, and he left him, saying: "we will no more have a dictator than a king." chapter viii. the friend in need. the very thing encouraging the tuileries party was what awed the rebels. the palace had become a formidable fortress, with a dreadful garrison. during the night of the fourth of august, the swiss battalions had been drawn from out of town into the palace. a few companies were left at gaillon, where the king might take refuge. three reliable leaders were beside the queen: maillardet with his switzers, hervilly with the st. louis knights and the constitutional guard, and mandat, who, as national guard commander, promised twenty thousand devoted and resolute fighting men. on the evening of the eighth a man penetrated the fort; everybody knew him, so that he had no difficulty in passing to the queen's rooms, where they announced "doctor gilbert." "ah, welcome, welcome, doctor!" said the royal lady, in a feverish voice, "i am happy to see you." he looked sharply at her, for on the whole of her face was such gladness and satisfaction that it made him shudder. he would sooner have seen her pale and disheartened. "i fear i have arrived too late," he said. "it is just the other way, doctor," she replied, with a smile, an expression her lips had almost forgotten how to make; "you come at the right time, and you are welcome. you are going to see what i have long yearned to show you--a king really royal." "i am afraid, madame, that you are deceiving yourself," he returned, "and that you will exhibit rather the commandant of a fort." "perhaps, doctor gilbert, we can never come to a closer understanding on the symbolical character of royalty than on other matters. for me a king is not solely a man who may say, 'i do not wish,' but one who can say, 'thus i will.'" she alluded to the famous veto which led to this crisis. "yes, madame," said gilbert, "and for your majesty, a king is a ruler who takes revenge." "who defends himself," she retorted; "for you know we are openly threatened, and are to be attacked by an armed force. we are assured that five hundred desperadoes from marseilles, headed by one barbaroux, took an oath on the ruins of the bastile, not to go home until they had camped on the ruins of the tuileries." "indeed, i have heard something of the kind," remarked gilbert. "which only makes you laugh?" "it alarms me for the king and yourself, madame." "so that you come to propose that we should resign, and place ourselves at the mercy of messieurs barbaroux and his marseilles bullies?" "i only wish the king could abdicate and guarantee, by the sacrifice of his crown, his life and yours, and the safety of your children." "is this the advice you give us, doctor?" "it is; and i humbly beseech you to follow it." "monsieur gilbert, let me say that you are not consistent in your opinions." "my opinions are always the same, madame. devoted to king and country, i wished him to be in accord with the constitution; from this desire springs the different pieces of counsel which i have submitted." "what is the one you fit to this juncture?" "one that you have never had such a good chance to follow. i say, get away." "flee?" "ah, you well know that it is possible, and never could be carried out with greater facility. you have nearly three thousand men in the palace." "nearer five thousand," said the queen, with a smile of satisfaction, "with double to rise at the first signal we give." "you have no need to give a signal, which may be intercepted; the five thousand will suffice." "what do you think we ought to do with them?" "set yourself in their midst, with the king and your august children; dash out when least expected; at a couple of leagues out, take to horse and ride into normandy, to gaillon, where you are looked for." "you mean, place ourselves under the thumb of general lafayette?" "at least, he has proved that he is devoted to you." "no, sir, no! with my five thousand in hand, and as many more ready to come at the call, i like another course better--to crush this revolt once for all." "oh, madame, how right he was who said you were doomed." "who was that, sir?" "a man whose name i dare not repeat to you; but he has spoken three times to you." "silence!" said the queen, turning pale; "we will try to give the lie to this prophet of evil." "madame, i am very much afraid that you are blinded." "you think that they will venture to attack us?" "the public spirit turns to this quarter." "and they reckon on walking in here as easily as they did in june?" "this is not a stronghold." "nay; but if you will come with me, i will show you that we can hold out some time." with joy and pride she showed him all the defensive measures of the military engineers and the number of the garrison whom she believed faithful. "that is a comfort, madame," he said, "but it is not security." "you frown on everything, let me tell you, doctor." "your majesty has taken me round where you like; will you let me take you to your own rooms, now?" "willingly, doctor, for i am tired. give me your arm." gilbert bowed to have this high favor, most rarely granted by the sovereign, even to her intimate friends, especially since her misfortune. when they were in her sitting-room he dropped on one knee to her as she took a seat in an arm-chair. "madame," said he, "let me adjure you, in the name of your august husband, your dear ones, your own safety, to make use of the forces about you, to flee and not to fight." "sir," was the reply, "since the fourteenth of july, i have been aspiring for the king to have his revenge; i believe the time has come. we will save royalty, or bury ourselves under the ruins of the tuileries." "can nothing turn you from this fatal resolve?" "nothing." she held out her hand to him, half to help him to rise, half to send him away. he kissed her hand respectfully, and rising, said: "will your majesty permit me to write a few lines which i regard as so urgent that i do not wish to delay one instant?" "do so, sir," she said, pointing to a writing-table, where he sat down and wrote these lines: "my lord,--come! the queen is in danger of death, if a friend does not persuade her to flee, and i believe you are the only one who can have that influence over her." "may i ask whom you are writing to, without being too curious?" demanded the lady. "to the count of charny, madame," was gilbert's reply. "and why do you apply to him?" "for him to obtain from your majesty what i fail to do." "count charny is too happy to think of his unfortunate friends; he will not come," said the queen. the door opened, and an usher appeared. "the right honorable, the count of charny," he announced, "desiring to learn if he may present his respects to your majesty." the queen had been pale, and now became corpse-like, as she stammered some unintelligible words. "let him enter," said gilbert; "heaven hath sent him." charny appeared at the door in naval officer's uniform. "oh, come in, sir; i was writing for you," said the physician, handing him the note. "hearing of the danger her majesty was incurring, i came," said the nobleman, bowing. "madame, for heaven's sake, hear and heed what count charny says," said gilbert; "his voice will be that of france." respectfully saluting the lord and the royal lady, gilbert went out, still cherishing a last hope. chapter ix. charny on guard. on the night of the ninth of august, the royal family supped as usual; nothing could disturb the king in his meals. but while princess elizabeth and lady lamballe wept and prayed, the queen prayed without weeping. the king withdrew to go to confession. at this time the doors opened, and count charny walked in, pale, but perfectly calm. "may i have speech with the king?" he asked, as he bowed. "at present i am the king," answered marie antoinette. charny knew this as well as anybody, but he persisted. "you may go up to the king's rooms, count, but i protest that you will very much disturb him." "i understand; he is with mayor petion." "the king is with his ghostly counselor," replied the lady, with an indescribable expression. "then i must make my report to your majesty as major-general of the castle," said the count. "yes, if you will kindly do so." "i have the honor to set forth the effective strength of our forces. the heavy horse-guards, under rulhieres and verdiere, to the number of six hundred, are in battle array on the louvre grand square; the paris city foot-guards are barracked in the stables; a hundred and fifty are drawn from them to guard at toulouse house, at need, the treasury and the discount and extra cash offices; the paris mounted patrol, only thirty men, are posted in the princes' yard, at the foot of the king's back stairs; two hundred officers and men of the old life guards, a hundred young royalists, as many noblemen, making some four hundred combatants, are in the bull's-eye hall and adjoining rooms; two or three hundred national guards are scattered in the gardens and court-yards; and lastly, fifteen hundred swiss, the backbone of resistance, are taking position under the grand vestibule and the staircases which they are charged to defend." "do not all these measures set you at ease, my lord?" inquired the queen. "nothing can set me at ease when your majesty's safety is at stake," returned the count. "then your advice is still for flight?" "my advice, madame, is that you ought, with the king and the royal children, be in the midst of us." the queen shook her head. "your majesty dislikes lafayette? be it so. but you have confidence in the duke of liancourt, who is in rouen, in the house of an english gentleman of the name of canning. the commander of the troops in that province has made them swear allegiance to the king; the salis-chamade swiss regiment is echeloned across the road, and it may be relied on. all is still quiet. let us get out over the swing-bridge, and reach the etoille bars, where three hundred of the horse-guards await us. at versailles, we can readily get together fifteen hundred noblemen. with four thousand, i answer for taking you wherever you like to go." "i thank you, lord charny. i appreciate the devotion which made you leave those dear to you, to offer your services to a foreigner." "the queen is unjust toward me," replied charny. "my sovereign's existence is always the most precious of all in my eyes, as duty is always the dearest of virtues." "duty--yes, my lord," murmured the queen; "but i believe i understand my own when everybody is bent on doing theirs. it is to maintain royalty grand and noble, and to have it fall worthily, like the ancient gladiators, who studied how to die with grace." "is this your majesty's last word?" "it is--above all, my last desire." charny bowed, and as he met mme. campan by the door, he said to her: "suggest to the princesses that they should put all their valuables in their pockets, as they may have to quit the palace without further warning." while the governess went to speak to the ladies, he returned to the queen, and said: "madame, it is impossible that you should not have some hope beyond the reliance on material forces. confide in me, for you will please bear in mind that at such a strait, i will have to give an account to the maker and to man for what will have happened." "well, my lord," said the queen, "an agent is to pay petion two hundred thousand francs, and danton fifty thousand, for which sums the latter is to stay at home and the other is to come to the palace." "are you sure of the go-betweens?" "you said that petion had come, which is something toward it." "hardly enough; as i understood that he had to be sent for three times." "the token is, in speaking to the king, he is to touch his right eyebrow with his forefinger--" "but if not arranged?" "he will be our prisoner, and i have given the most positive orders that he is not to be let quit the palace." the ringing of a bell was heard. "what is that?" inquired the queen. "the general alarm," rejoined charny. the princesses rose in alarm. "what is the matter?" exclaimed the queen. "the tocsin is always the trumpet of rebellion." "madame," said charny, more affected by the sinister sound than the queen, "i had better go and learn whether the alarm means anything grave." "but we shall see you again?" asked she, quickly. "i came to take your majesty's orders, and i shall not leave you until you are out of danger." bowing, he went out. the queen stood pensive for a space, murmuring: "i suppose we had better see if the king has got through confessing." while she was going out, princess elizabeth took some garments off a sofa in order to lie down with more comfort; from her fichu she removed a cornelian brooch, which she showed to mme. campan; the engraved stone had a bunch of lilies and the motto: "forget offenses, forgive injuries." "i fear that this will have little influence over our enemies," she remarked; "but it ought not be the less dear to us." as she was finishing the words, a gunshot was heard in the yard. the ladies screamed. "there goes the first shot," said lady elizabeth. "alas! it will not be the last." mayor petion had come into the palace under the following circumstances. he arrived about half past ten. he was not made to wait, as had happened before, but was told that the king was ready to see him; but to arrive, he had to walk through a double row of swiss guards, national guards, and those volunteer royalists called knights of the dagger. still, as they knew he had been sent for, they merely cast the epithets of "traitor" and "judas" in his face as he went up the stairs. petion smiled as he went in at the door of the room, for here the king had given him the lie on the twentieth of june; he was going to have ample revenge. the king was impatiently awaiting. "ah! so you have come, mayor petion?" he said. "what is the good word from paris?" petion furnished the account of the state of matters--or, at least, an account. "have you nothing more to tell me?" demanded the ruler. "no," replied petion, wondering why the other stared at him. louis watched for the signal that the mayor had accepted the bribe. it was clear that the king had been cheated; some swindler had pocketed the money. the queen came in as the question was put to petion. "how does our friend stand?" she whispered. "he has not made any sign," rejoined the king. "then he is our prisoner," said she. "can i retire?" inquired the mayor. "for god's sake, do not let him go!" interposed the queen. "not yet, sir; i have something yet to say to you," responded the king, raising his voice. "pray step into this closet." this implied to those in the inner room that petion was intrusted to them, and was not to be allowed to go. those in the room understood perfectly, and surrounded petion, who felt that he was a prisoner. he was the thirtieth in a room where there was not elbow-room for four. "why, gentlemen, we are smothering here," he said; "i propose a change of air." it was a sentiment all agreed with, and they followed him out of the first door he opened, and down into the walled-in garden, where he was as much confined as in the closet. to kill time, he picked up a pebble or two and tossed them over the walls. while he was playing thus, and chatting with roederer, attorney of the province, the message came twice that the king wanted to see him. "no," replied petion; "it is too hot quarters up there. i remember the closet, and i have no eagerness to be in it again. besides, i have an appointment with somebody on the feuillants' quay." he went on playing at clearing the wall with stones. "with whom have you an appointment?" asked roederer. at this instant the assembly door on the feuillants' quay opened. "i fancy this is just what i was waiting for," remarked the mayor. "order to let mayor petion pass forth," said a voice; "the assembly demands his presence at the bar of the house, to give an account of the state of the city." "just the thing," muttered petion. "here i am," he replied, in a loud voice; "i am ready to respond to the quips of my enemies." the national guards, imagining that petion was to be berated, let him out. it was nearly three in the morning; the day was breaking. a singular thing, the aurora was the hue of blood. chapter x. billet and pitou. on being called by the king, petion had foreseen that he might more easily get into the palace than out, so he went up to a hard-faced man marred by a scar on the brow. "farmer billet," said he, "what was your report about the house?" "that it would hold an all-night sitting." "very good; and what did you say you saw on the new bridge?" "cannon and guards, placed by order of colonel mandat." "and you also stated that a considerable force was collected under st. john's arcade, near the opening of st. antoine street?" "yes; again, by order of colonel mandat." "well, will you listen to me? here you have an order to manuel and danton to send back to barracks the troops at st. john's arcade, and to remove the guns from the bridge; at any cost, you will understand, these orders must be obeyed." "i will hand it to danton myself." "good. you are living in st. honore street?" "yes, mayor." "when you have given danton the order, get home and snatch a bit of rest. about two o'clock, go out to the feuillants' quay, where you will stand by the wall. if you see or hear stones falling over from the other side of the wall, it will mean that i am a prisoner in the tuileries, and detained by violence." "i understand." "present yourself at the bar of the house, and ask my colleagues to claim me. you understand, farmer billet, i am placing my life in your hands." "i will answer for it," replied the bluff farmer; "take it easy." petion had therefore gone into the lion's den, relying on billet's patriotism. the latter had spoken the more firmly, as pitou had come to town. he dispatched the young peasant to danton, with the word for him not to return without him. lazy as the orator was, pitou had a prevailing way, and he brought danton with him. danton had seen the cannon on the bridge, and the national guards at the end of the popular quarter, and he understood the urgency of not leaving such forces on the rear of the people's army. with petion's order in hand, he and manuel sent the guards away and removed the guns. this cleared the road for the revolution. in the meantime, billet and pitou had gone to their old lodging in st. honore street, to which pitou bobbed his head as to an old friend. the farmer sat down, and signified the young man was to do the same. "thank you, but i am not tired," returned pitou; but the other insisted, and he gave way. "pitou, i sent for you to join me," said the farmer. "and you see i have not kept you waiting," retorted the national guards captain, with his own frank smile, showing all his thirty-two teeth. "no. you must have guessed that something serious is afoot." "i suspected as much. but, i say, friend billet, i do not see anything of mayor bailly or general lafayette." "bailly is a traitor, who nearly murdered the lot of us on the parade-ground." "yes, i know that, as i picked you up there, almost swimming in your own blood." "and lafayette is another traitor, who wanted to take away the king." "i did not know that. lafayette a traitor, eh? i never would have thought of that. and the king?" "he is the biggest traitor of the lot, pitou." "i can not say i am surprised at that," said pitou. "he conspires with the foreigner, and wants to deliver france to the enemy. the tuileries is the center of the conspiracy, and we have decided to take possession of the tuileries. do you understand this, pitou?" "of course i understand. but, look here, master billet; we took the bastile, and this will not be so hard a job." "that's where you are out." "what, more difficult, when the walls are not so high?" "that's so; but they are better guarded. the bastile had but a hundred old soldiers to guard it, while the palace has three or four thousand men; this is saying nothing of the bastile having been carried by surprise, while the tuileries folk must know we mean to attack, and will be on the lookout." "they will defend it, will they?" queried pitou. "yes," replied billet--"all the more as the defense is trusted to count charny, they say." "indeed. he did leave boursonnes with his lady by the post," observed pitou. "lor', is he a traitor, too?" "no; he is an aristocrat, that is all. he has always been for the court, so that he is no traitor to the people; he never asked us to put any faith in him." "so it looks as though we will have a tussle with lord charny?" "it is likely, friend ange." "what a queer thing it is, neighbors clapper-clawing!" "yes--what is called civil war, pitou; but you are not obliged to fight unless you like." "excuse me, farmer, but it suits me from the time when it is to your taste." "but i should even like it better if you did not fight." "why did you send for me, master billet?" "i sent for you to give you this paper," replied billet, with his face clouding. "what is this all about?" "it is the draft of my will." "your will?" cried pitou, laughing. "hang me, if you look like a man about to die!" "no; but i may be a man who will get killed," returned the revolutionist, pointing to his gun and cartridge-box hanging on the wall. "that's a fact," said ange pitou; "we are all mortal." "so that i have come to place my will in your hands as the sole legatee." "no, i thank you. but you are only saying this for a joke?" "i am telling you a fact." "but it can not be. when a man has rightful heirs he can not give away his property to outsiders." "you are wrong, pitou; he can." "then he ought not." "i have no heirs," replied billet, with a dark cloud passing over his face. "no heirs? how about heiresses, then? what do you call miss catherine?" "i do not know anybody of that name, pitou." "come, come, farmer, do not say such things; you make me sad." "pitou, from the time when something is mine, it is mine to give away; in the same way, should i die, what i leave to you will be yours, to deal with as you please, to be given away as freely." "ha! good--yes," exclaimed the young man, who began to understand; "then, if anything bad happens to you--but how stupid i am; nothing bad could happen to you." "you yourself said just now that we are all mortal." "so i did; but--well, i do not know but that you are right. i take the will, master billet; but is it true that if i fall heir, i can do as i please with the property?" "no doubt, since it will be yours. and, you understand, you are a sound patriot, pitou; they will not stand you off from it, as they might folk who have connived with the aristocrats." "it's a bargain," said pitou, who was getting it into his brain; "i accept." "then that is all i have to say to you. put the paper in your pocket and go to sleep." "what for?" "because we shall have some work to do to-morrow--no, this day, for it is two in the morning." "are you going out, master billet?" "only as far as the river." "you are sure you do not want me?" "on the other hand, you would be in my way." "i suppose i might have a bite and a sup, then?" "of course. i forgot to ask if you might not be hungry." "because you know i am always hungry," said pitou, laughing. "i need not tell you where the larder is." "no, no, master; do not worry about me. but you are going to come back here?" "i shall return." "or else tell me where we are to meet?" "it is useless, for i shall be home in an hour." pitou went in search of the eatables with an appetite which in him, as in the case of the king, no events could alter, however serious they might be, while billet proceeded to the water-side to do what we know. he had hardly arrived on the spot before a pebble fell, followed by another, and some more, teaching him that what petion apprehended had come to pass, and that he was a prisoner to the royalists. so he had flown, according to his instructions, to the assembly, which had claimed the mayor, as we have described. petion, liberated, had only to walk through the house to get back to the mayor's office, leaving his carriage in the tuileries yard to represent him. for his part, billet went home, and found ange finishing his supper. "any news?" asked he. "nothing, except that day is breaking and the sky is the color of blood." chapter xi. in the morning. the early sunbeams shone on two horsemen riding at a walking pace along the deserted water-side by the tuileries. they were colonel mandat and his aid. at one a. m. he was summoned to the city hall, and refused to go; but on the order being renewed more peremptorily at two, attorney roederer said to him: "mark, colonel, that under the law the commander of the national guard is to obey the city government." he decided to go, ignorant of two things. in the first place, forty-seven sections of the forty-eight had joined to the town rulers each three commissioners, with orders to work with the officials and "save the country." mandat expected to see the old board as before, and not at all to behold a hundred and forty-one fresh faces. again, he had no idea of the order from this same board to clear the new bridge of cannon and vacate st. john's arcade, an order so important that danton and manuel personally had superintended its execution. consequently, on reaching the pont neuf, mandat was stupefied to find it utterly deserted. he stopped and sent his aid to scout. in ten minutes this officer returned with the word that he saw no guns or national guards, while the neighborhood was as lonesome as the bridge. mandat continued his way, though he perhaps ought to have gone back to the palace; but men, like things, must wend whither their destiny impels. proportionably to his approach to the city hall, he seemed to enter into liveliness. in the same way as the blood in some organizations leaves the extremities cold and pale on rushing back to fortify the heart, so all the movement and heat--the revolution, in short--was around the city hall, the seat of popular life, the heart of that great body, paris. he stopped to send his officer to the arcade; but the national guard had been withdrawn from there, too. he wanted to retrace his steps; but the crowd had packed in behind him, and he was carried, like a waif on the wave, up the hall steps. "stay here," he said to his follower, "and if evil befalls me, run and tell them at the palace." mandat yielded to the mob, and was floated into the grand hall, where he met strange and stern faces. it was the insurrection complete, demanding an account of the conduct of this man, who had not only tried to crush it in its development, but to strangle it in its birth. one of the members of the commune, the dread body which was to stifle the assembly and struggle with the convention, advanced and in the general's name asked: "by whose order did you double the palace guard?" "the mayor of paris'." "show that order." "i left it at the tuileries, so that it might be carried out during my absence." "why did you order out the cannon?" "because i set the battalion on the march, and the field-pieces move with the regiment." "where is petion?" "he was at the palace when i last saw him." "a prisoner?" "no; he was strolling about the gardens." the interrogation was interrupted here by a new member bringing an unsealed letter, of which he asked leave to make communication. mandat had no need to do more than cast a glance on this note to acknowledge that he was lost; he recognized his own writing. it was his order to the commanding officer at st. john's arcade, sent at one in the morning, for him to attack in the rear the mob making for the palace, while the battalion on new bridge attacked it in flank. this order had fallen into the commune's hands after the dismissal of the soldiers. the examination was over; for what could be more damning than this letter in any admissions of the accused? the council decided that mandat should be imprisoned in the abbey. the tale goes that the chairman of the board, in saying, "remove the prisoner," made a sweep of the hand, edge downward, like chopping with an ax. as the guillotine was not in use then, it must have been an arranged sign--perhaps by the invisibles, whose grand copt had divined that instrument. at all events, the result showed that the sign was taken to imply death. hardly had mandat gone down three of the city hall steps before a pistol-shot shattered his skull, at the very instant when his son ran toward him. three years before, the same reception had met flesselles. mandat was only wounded, but as he rose, he fell again with a score of pike-wounds. the boy held out his hands and wailed for his father, but none paid any heed to him. presently, in the bloody ring, where bare arms plunged amid flashing pikes and swords, a head was seen to surge up, detached from the trunk. the boy swooned. the aid-de-camp galloped back to the tuileries to report what he had witnessed. the murderers went off in two gangs: one took the body to the river, to throw it in, the other carried the head through the streets. this was going on at four in the morning. let us precede the aid to the tuileries, and see what was happening. having confessed, and made easy about matters since his conscience was tranquilized, the king, unable to resist the cravings of nature, went to bed. but we must say that he lay down dressed. on the alarm-bells ringing more loudly, and the roll of the drums beating the reveille, he was roused. colonel chesnaye, to whom mandat had left his powers, awoke the monarch to have him address the national guards, and by his presence and some timely words revive their enthusiasm. the king rose, but half awake, dull and staggering. he was wearing a powdered wig, and he had flattened all the side he had lain upon. the hair-dresser could not be found, so he had to go out with the wig out of trim. notified that the king was going to show himself to the defenders, the queen ran out from the council hall where she was. in contrast with the poor sovereign, whose dim sight sought no one's glance, whose mouth-muscles were flabby and palpitating with involuntary twitches, while his violet coat suggested he was wearing mourning for majesty, the queen was burning with fever, although pale. her eyes were red, though dry. she kept close to this phantom of monarchy, who came out in the day instead of midnight, with owlish, blinking eyes. she hoped to inspire him with her overflow of life, strength, and courage. all went well enough while this exhibition was in the rooms, though the national guards, mixed in with the noblemen, seeing their ruler close to this poor, flaccid, heavy man, who had so badly failed on a similar occasion at varennes, wondered if this really was the monarch whose poetical legend the women and the priests were already beginning to weave. this was not the one they had expected to see. the aged duke of mailly--with one of those good intentions destined to be another paving-stone for down below--drew his rapier, and sinking down at the foot of the king, vowed in a quavering voice to die, he and the old nobility which he represented, for the grandson of henry iv. here were two blunders: the national guards had no great sympathy for the old nobility, and they were not here to defend the descendant of henry iv., but the constitutional king. so, in reply to a few shouts of "hail to the king!" cheers for the nation burst forth on all sides. something to make up for this coolness was sought. the king was urged to go down into the royal yard. alas! the poor potentate had no will of his own. disturbed at his meals, and cheated, with only one hour's sleep instead of seven, he was but an automaton, receiving impetus from outside its material nature. who gave this impetus? the queen, a woman of nerve, who had neither slept nor eaten. some unhappy characters fail in all they undertake, when circumstances are beyond their level. instead of attracting dissenters, louis xvi., in going up to them, seemed expressly made to show how little glamour majesty can lend a man who has no genius or strength of mind. here, as in the rooms, when the royalists managed to get up a shout of "long live the king!" an immense hurrah for the nation replied to them. the royalists being dull enough to persist, the patriots overwhelmed them with "no, no, no; no other ruler than the nation!" and the king, almost supplicating, added: "yes, my sons, the nation and the monarch make but one henceforward." "bring the prince," whispered marie antoinette to princess elizabeth; "perhaps the sight of a child may touch them." while they were looking for the dauphin, the king continued the sad review. the bad idea struck him to appeal to the artillerists, who were mainly republicans. if the king had the gift of speech-making, he might have forced the men to listen to him, though their belief led them astray, for it would have been a daring step, and it might have helped him to face the cannon; but there was nothing exhilarating in his words or gesture; he stammered. the royalists tried to cover his stammerings with the luckless hail of "long live the king!" already twice a failure, and it nearly brought about a collision. some cannoniers left their places and rushed over to the king, threatening him with their fists, and saying: "do you think that we will shoot down our brothers to defend a traitor like you?" the queen drew the king back. "here comes the dauphin!" called out voices. "long live the hope of the realm!" nobody took up the cry. the poor boy had come in at the wrong time; as theatrical language says, he had missed his cue. the king went back into the palace, a downright retreat--almost a flight. when he got to his private rooms he dropped, puffing and blowing, into an easy-chair. stopping by the door, the queen looked around for some support. she spied charny standing up by the door of her own rooms, and she went over to him. "ah, all is lost!" she moaned. "i am afraid so, my lady," replied the life guardsman. "can we not still flee?" "it is too late." "what is left for us to do, then?" "we can but die," responded charny, bowing. the queen heaved a sigh, and went into her own rooms. chapter xii. the first massacre. mandat had hardly been slain, before the commune nominated santerre as commanding general in his stead, and he ordered the drums to beat in all the town and the bells to be rung harder than ever in all the steeples. he sent out patrols to scour the ways, and particularly to scout around the assembly. some twenty prowlers were made prisoners, of whom half escaped before morning, leaving eleven in the feuillants' guard-house. in their midst was a dandified young gentleman in the national guard uniform, the newness of which, the superiority of his weapons, and the elegance of his style, made them suspect he was an aristocrat. he was quite calm. he said that he went to the palace on an order, which he showed the examining committee of the feuillants' ward. it ran: "the national guard, bearer of this paper, will go to the palace to learn what the state of affairs is, and return to report to the attorney-and-syndic-general of the department. (signed) "boirie, "leroulx, "municipal officers." the order was plain enough, but it was thought that the signatures were forged, and it was sent to the city hall by a messenger to have them verified. this last arrest had brought a large crowd around the place, and some such voices as are always to be heard at popular gatherings yelled for the prisoner's death. an official saw that this desire must not spread, and was making a speech, to which the mob was yielding, when the messenger came back from the hall to say the order was genuine, and they ought to set at liberty the prisoner named suleau. at this name, a woman in the mob raised her head and uttered a scream of rage. "suleau?" she cried. "suleau, the editor of the 'acts of the apostles' newspaper, one of the slayers of liege independence? let me at this suleau! i call for the death of suleau!" the crowd parted to let this little, wiry woman go through. she wore a riding-habit of the national colors, and was carrying a sword in a cross-belt. she went up to the city official and forced him to give her the place on the stand. her head was barely above the concourse, before they all roared: "bravo, theroigne!" indeed, theroigne was a most popular woman, so that suleau had made a hit when he said she was the bride of citizen populus, as well as referring to her free-and-easy morals. besides, he had published at brussels the "alarm for kings," and thus helped the belgian outbreak, and to replace under the austrian cane and the priestly miter a noble people wishing to be free and join france. at this very epoch theroigne was writing her memoirs, and had read the part about her arrest there to the jacobin club. she claimed the death of the ten other prisoners along with suleau. through the door he heard her ringing voice, amid applause. he called the captain of the guard to him, and asked to be turned loose to the mob, that by his sacrifice he might save his fellow-prisoners. they did not believe he meant it. they refused to open the door to him, and he tried to jump out of the window, but they pulled him back. they did not think that they would be handed over to the slaughterers in cold blood; they were mistaken. intimidated by the yells, chairman bonjour yielded to theroigne's demand, and bid the national guardsman stand aloof from resisting the popular will. they stepped aside, and the door was left free. the mob burst into the jail and grabbed the first prisoner to hand. it was a priest, bonyon, a playwright noted for his failures and his epigrams. he was a large-built man, and fought desperately with the butchers, who tore him from the arms of the commissioner who tried to save him; though he had no weapon but his naked fists, he laid out two or three of the ruffians. a bayonet pinned him to the wall, so that he expired without being able to hit with his last blows. two of the prisoners managed to escape in the scuffle. the next to the priest was an old royal guardsman, whose defense was not less vigorous; his death was but the more cruel. a third was cut to pieces before suleau's turn came. "there is your suleau," said a woman to theroigne. she did not know him by sight; she thought he was a priest, and scoffed at him as the abbe suleau. like a wild cat, she sprung at his throat. he was young, brave, and lusty; with a fist blow he sent her ten paces off, shook off the men who had seized him, and wrenching a saber from a hand, felled a couple of the assassins. then commenced a horrible conflict. gaining ground toward the door, suleau cut himself three times free; but he was obliged to turn round to get the cursed door open, and in that instant twenty blades ran through his body. he fell at the feet of theroigne, who had the cruel joy of inflicting his last wound. another escaped, another stoutly resisted, but the rest were butchered like sheep. all the bodies were dragged to vendome place, where their heads were struck off and set on poles for a march through the town. thus, before the action, blood was spilled in two places; on the city hall steps and in feuillants' yard. we shall presently see it flow in the tuileries; the brook after the rain-drops, the river after the brook. while this massacre was being perpetrated, about nine a. m., some eleven thousand national guards, gathered by the alarm-bell of barbaroux and the drum-beat of santerre, marched down the st. antoine ward and came out on the strand. they wanted the order to assail the tuileries. made to wait for an hour, two stories beguiled them: either concessions were hoped from the court, or the st. marceau ward was not ready, and they could not fall on without them. a thousand pikemen waxed restless; as ever, the worst armed wanted to begin the fray. they broke through the ranks of the guard, saying that they were going to do without them and take the palace. some of the marseilles federals and a few french guards--of the same regiments which had stormed the bastile three years before--took the lead and were acclaimed as chiefs. these were the vanguard of the insurrection. in the meanwhile, the aid who had seen mandat murdered had raced back to the tuileries; but it was not till after the king and the queen had returned from the fiasco of a review that he announced the ghastly news. the sound of a disturbance mounted to the first floor and entered by the open windows. the city and the national guards and the artillerists--the patriots, in short--had taunted the grenadiers with being the king's tools, saying that they were bought up by the court; and as they were ignorant of their commander's murder by the mob, a grenadier shouted: "it looks as though that shuffler mandat had sent few aristocrats here." mandat's eldest son was in the guards' ranks--we know where the other boy was, uselessly trying to defend his father on the city hall steps. at this insult to his absent sire, the young man sprung out of the line with his sword flourished. three or four gunners rushed to meet him. weber, the queen's attendant, was among the st. roch district grenadiers, dressed as a national guardsman. he flew to the young man's help. the clash of steel was heard as the quarrel spread between the two parties. drawn to the window by the noise, the queen perceived her foster-brother, and she sent the king's valet to bring him to her. weber came up and told what was happening, whereupon she acquainted him with the death of mandat. the uproar went on beneath the windows. "the cannoniers are leaving their pieces," said weber, looking out; "they have no spikes, but they have driven balls home without powder, so that they are rendered useless!" "what do you think of all this?" "i think your majesty had better consult syndic roederer, who seems the most honest man in the palace." roederer was brought before the queen in her private apartment as the clock struck nine. chapter xiii. the repulse. at this point, captain durler, of the switzers, went up to the king to get orders from him or the major-general. the latter perceived the good captain as he was looking for some usher to introduce him. "what do you want, captain?" he inquired. "you, my lord charny, as you are the garrison commander. i want the final orders, as the head of the insurrectionary column appears on the carrousel." "you are not to let them force their way through, the king having decided to die in the midst of us." "rely on us, major-general," briefly replied captain durler, going back to his men with this order, which was their death-sentence. as he said, the van of the rebels was in sight. it was the thousand pikemen, at the head of whom marched some twenty marseilles men and fifteen french guardsmen; in the ranks of the latter gleamed the bullion epaulets of a national guards captain. this young officer was ange pitou, who had been recommended by billet, and was charged with a mission of which we shall hear more. behind these, at a quarter-mile distance, came a considerable body of national guards and federals, preceded by a twelve-gun battery. when the garrison commandant's order was transmitted to them, the swiss fell silently into line and resolutely stood, with cold and gloomy firmness. less severely disciplined, the national guards took up their post more disorderly and noisily, but with equal resolution. the nobles, badly marshaled, and armed with striking weapons only, as swords or short-range pistols, and aware that the combat would be to the death, saw the moment approach with feverish glee when they could grapple with their ancient adversary, the people, the eternal athlete always thrown, but growing the stronger during eight centuries. while the besieged were taking places, knocking was heard at the royal court-yard gate, and many voices shouting: "a flag of truce!" over the wall at this spot was seen a white handkerchief tied to the tip of a pike-staff. roederer was on his way to the king when he saw this at the gate and ordered it to be opened. the janitor did so, and then ran off as fast as he could. roederer confronted the foremost of the revolutionists. "my friends," said he, "you wanted the gates open to a flag of truce, and not to an army. who wants to hold the parley?" "i am your man," said pitou, with his sweet voice and bland smile. "who are you?" "captain ange pitou, of the haramont federal volunteers." roederer did not know who the haramont federals were, but he judged it not worth while to inquire when time was so precious. "what are you wanting?" "i want way through for myself and my friends." pitou's friends, who were in rags, brandished their pikes, and looked with their savage eyes like dangerous enemies indeed. "what do you want to go through here for?" "to go and surround the assembly. we have twelve guns, but shall not use e'er a one if you do as we wish." "what do you wish?" "the dethronement of the king." "this is a grave question, sir," observed roederer. "very grave," replied pitou, with his customary politeness. "it calls for some debate." "that is only fair," returned ange. "it is going on ten o'clock, less the quarter," said he; "if we do not have an answer by ten as it strikes, we shall begin our striking, too." "meanwhile, i suppose you will let us shut the door?" pitou ordered his crowd back; and the door was closed; but through the momentarily open door the besiegers had caught a glimpse of the formidable preparations made to receive them. as soon as the door was closed, pitou's followers had a keen desire to keep on parleying. some were hoisted upon their comrades' shoulders, so that they could bestride the wall, where they began to chat with the national guardsmen inside. these shook hands with them, and they were merry together as the quarter of an hour passed. then a man came from the palace with the word that they were to be let in. the invaders believed that they had their request granted, and they flocked in as soon as the doors were opened, like men who had been kept waiting--all in a heap. they stuck their caps on their pikes and whooped "hurrah for the nation!"--"long live the national guard!"--"the swiss forever!" the national guard echoed the shout of the nation, but the swiss kept a gloomy and sinister muteness. the inrush only ceased when the intruders were up to the cannon muzzles, where they stopped to look around. the main vestibule was crammed with swiss, three deep; on each step was a rank, so that six could fire at once. some of the invaders, including pitou, began to consider, although it was rather late to reflect. but though seeing the danger, the mob did not think of running away; it tried to turn it by jesting with the soldiers. the guards took the joking as it was made, but the swiss looked glum, for something had happened five minutes before the insurrectionary column marched up. in the quarrel between the guards and the grenadiers over the insult to mandat, the former had parted from the royalist guards, and as they went off they said good-bye to the swiss, whom they wanted to go away with them. they said that they would receive in their own homes as brothers any of the swiss who would come with them. two from the waldenses--that is, french swiss--replied to the appeal made in their own tongue, and took the french by the hand. at the same instant two shots were fired up at the palace windows, and bullets struck the deserters in the very arms of those who decoyed them away. excellent marksmen as chamois-hunters, the swiss officers had nipped the mutiny thus in the bud. it is plain now why the other swiss were mute. the men who had rushed into the yard were such as always oddly run before all outbreaks. they were armed with new pikes and old fire-arms--that is, worse than unarmed. the cannoniers had come over to their side, as well as the national guards, and they wanted to induce the switzers to do the same. they did not notice that time was passing and that the quarter of an hour pitou had given roederer had doubled; it was now a quarter past ten. they were having a good time; why should they worry? one tatterdemalion had not a sword or a pike, but a pruning-hook, and he said to his next neighbor: "suppose i were to fish for a swiss?" "good idea! try your luck," said the other. so he hooked a swiss by the belt and drew him toward him, the soldier resisting just enough to make out that he was dragged. "i have got a bite," said the fisher for men. "then, haul him in, but go gently," said his mate. the man with the hook drew softly indeed, and the guardsman was drawn out of the entrance into the yard, like a fish from the pond onto the bank. up rose loud whoops and roars of laughter. "try for another," said the crowd. the fisherman hooked another, and jerked him out like the first. and so it went on to the fourth and the fifth, and the whole regiment might have melted away but for the order, "make ready--take aim!" on seeing the muskets leveled with the regular sound and precise movement marking evolutions of regular troops, one of the assailants--there is always some crazy-head to give the signal for slaughter under such circumstances--fired a pistol at the palace windows. during the short space separating "make ready" and "fire" in the command, pitou guessed what was going to happen. "flat on your faces!" he shouted to his men; "down flat, or you are all dead men!" suiting the action to the word, he flung himself on the ground. before there was time for his advice to be generally followed, the word "fire!" rang in the entrance-way, which was filled with a crashing noise and smoke, while a hail of lead was spit forth as from one huge blunderbuss. the compact mass--for perhaps half the column had entered the yard--swayed like the wheat-field before the gust, then like the same cropped by the scythe, reeled and fell down. hardly a third was left alive. these few fled, passing under the fire from two lines of guns and the barracks firing at close range. the musketeers would have killed each other but for the thick screen of fugitives between. this curtain was ripped in wide places; four hundred men were stretched on the ground pavement, three hundred slain outright. the hundred, more or less badly injured, groaned and tried to rise, but falling, gave part of the field of corpses a movement like the ocean swell, frightful to behold. but gradually all died out, and apart from a few obstinate fellows who persisted in living, all fell into immobility. the fugitives scattered over the carrousel square, and flowed out on the water-side on one hand and on the street by the other, yelling, "murder--help! we were drawn into a death-trap." on the new bridge, they fell in with the main body. the bulk was commanded by two men on horseback, closely attended by one on foot, who seemed to have a share in the command. "help, citizen santerre!" shouted the flyers, recognizing in one of the riders the big brewer of st. antoine, by his colossal stature, for which his huge flemish horse was but a pedestal in keeping; "help! they are slaughtering our brothers." "who are?" demanded the brewer-general. "the swiss--they shot us down while we were cheek by jowl with them, a-kissing them." "what do you think of this?" asked santerre of the second horseman. "vaith, me dink of dot milidary broverb which it say: 'de soldier ought to march to where he hear dot gun-firing going on,'" replied the other rider, who was a small, fair man, with his hair cropped short, speaking with a strong german accent. "zubbose we go where de goons go off, eh?" "hi! you had a young officer with you," called out the leader on foot to one of the runaways; "i don't see anything of him." "he was the first to be dropped, citizen representative; and the more's the pity, for he was a brave young chap." "yes, he was a brave young man," replied, with a slight loss of color, the man addressed as a member of the house, "and he shall be bravely avenged. on you go, citizen santerre!" "i believe, my dear billet," said the brewer, "that in such a pinch we must call experience into play as well as courage." "as you like." "in consequence, i propose to place the command in the hands of citizen westerman--a real general and a friend of danton--offering to obey him like a common soldier." "i do not care what you do if you will only march right straight ahead," said the farmer. "do you accept the command, citizen westerman?" asked santerre. "i do," said the russian, laconically. "in that case give your orders." "vorwarts!" shouted westerman, and the immense column, only halted for a breathing-spell, resumed the route. as its pioneers entered at the same time the carrousel by all gates, eleven struck on the tuileries clocks. chapter xiv. the last of the charnys. when roederer entered the queen's apartments behind weber, that lady was seated by the fire-place, with her back to the door; but she turned round on hearing it open. "well, sir?" she asked, without being very pointed in her inquiry. "the honor has been done me of a call," replied roederer. "yes, sir; you are one of the principal magistrates of the town, and your presence here is a shield for royalty. i wish to ask you, therefore, whether we have most to hope or to fear?" "little to hope, madame, and everything to fear." "the mob is really marching upon the palace?" "the front of the column is in the carrousel, parleying with the swiss guards." "parleying? but i gave the swiss the express order to meet brute force with force. are they disobeying?" "nay, madame; the swiss will die at their posts." "and we at ours. the same as the swiss are soldiers at the service of kings, kings are the soldiers at the beck of royalty." roederer held his peace. "have i the misfortune to entertain an opinion not agreeing with yours, sir?" asked the queen. "madame, i have no opinion unless i am asked for it." "i do ask for it, sir." "then i shall state with the frankness of a believer. my opinion is that the king is ruined if he stays in the tuileries." "but if we do not stay here, where shall we go?" cried the queen, rising in high alarm. "at present, there is no longer but one place of shelter for the royal family," responded the attorney-syndic. "name it, sir." "the national assembly." "what do you say, sir?" demanded the queen, snapping her eyes and questioning like one who had not understood. he repeated what he had said. "do you believe, sir, that i would ask a favor of those fellows?" he was silent again. "if we must meet enemies, i like those better who attack us in the broad day and in front, than those who wish to destroy us in the dark and from behind." "well, madame, it is for you to decide; either go and meet the people, or beat a retreat into the assembly hall." "beat a retreat? are we so deprived of defenders that we must retreat before we have tried the exchange of shots?" "perhaps you will take the report, before you come to a conclusion, of some competent authority who knows the forces you have to dispose of?" "weber, bring me one of the principal officers--maillardet, or chesnaye, or--" she stopped on the point of saying "the count of charny." weber went out. "if your majesty were to step up to the window, you would be able to judge for yourself." with visible repugnance the lady took the few steps to the window, and, parting the curtains, saw the carrousel square, and the royal yard as well, crowded with ragged men bearing pikes. "good god! what are those fellows doing in here?" she exclaimed. "i told your majesty--they are parleying." "but they have entered the inner yards?" "i thought i had better gain the time somehow for your majesty to come to a resolution." the door opened. "come, come," cried the queen, without knowing that it would be charny who appeared. "i am here, madame," he said. "oh, is it you? then i have nothing to say, as you told me a while ago what you thought should be done." "then the gentleman thought that the only course was--" said roederer. "to die," returned the queen. "you see that what i propose is preferable, madame." "oh! on my soul, i do not know whether it is or not," groaned the queen. "what does the gentleman suggest?" "to take the king under the wing of the house." "that is not death, but shame," said charny. "you hear that, sir?" cried the lady. "come, come," said the lawyer; "may there not be some middle course?" weber stepped forward. "i am of very little account," he said, "and i know that it is very bold of me to speak in such company; but my devotion may inspire me. suppose that your majesty only requested a deputation to watch over the safety of the king?" "well, i will consent to that. lord charny, if you approve of this suggestion, will you pray submit it to the king?" charny bowed and went out. "follow the count, weber, and bring me the king's answer." weber went out after the nobleman. charny's presence, cold, stern and devoted, was so cruel a reproach to her as a woman, if not as a sovereign, that she shuddered in it. perhaps she had some terrible forewarning of what was to happen. weber came back to say that the king accepted the idea. "two gentlemen are going to take his majesty's request to the assembly." "but look what they are doing!" exclaimed the queen. the besiegers were busy fishing for switzers. roederer looked out; but he had not the time to see what was in progress before a pistol-shot was followed by the formidable discharge. the building shook as though smitten to its foundations. the queen screamed and fell back a step, but returned to the window, drawn by curiosity. "oh, see, see!" she cried, with flaring eyes, "they fly! they are routed! why did you say, that we had no resource but in the assembly?" "will your majesty be good enough to come with me," said the official. "see, see," continued the queen, "there go the swiss, making a sortie, and pursuing them! oh, the carrousel is swept free! victory, victory!" "in pity for yourself, madame, follow me," persisted roederer. returning to her senses, she went with the attorney-syndic to the louvre gallery, where he learned the king was, and which suited his purpose. the queen had not an idea of it. the gallery was barricaded half down, and it was cut through at a third of the way, where a temporary bridge was thrown across the gap; the foot of a fugitive might send it down, and so prevent the pursuers following into the tuileries. the king was in a window recess with his captains and some courtiers, and he held a spy-glass in his hand. the queen had no need for it as she ran to the balcony. the army of the insurrection was approaching, long and dense, covering the whole of the wide street along the riverside, and extending as far as the eye could reach. over the new bridge, the southern districts effected a junction with the others. all the church-bells of the town were frenziedly swinging out the tocsin, while the big bell of notre dame cathedral overawed all the metallic vibrations with its bronze boom. a burning sun sparkled in myriad points from the steel of gun-barrels and lance-points. like the rumblings of a storm, cannon was heard rolling on the pavement. "what now, madame?" said roederer. some fifty persons had gathered round the king. the queen cast a long look on the group to see how much devotion lingered. then, mute, not knowing to whom to turn, the poor creature took up her son and showed him to the officers of the court and army and national guard, no longer the sovereign asking the throne for her heir, but the mother suing for protection for her boy. during this time, the king was speaking in a low voice with the commune attorney, or rather, the latter was repeating what he had said to the queen. two very distinct groups formed around the two sovereigns. the king's was cold and grave, and was composed of counselors who appeared of roederer's opinion. the queen's was ardent, numerous, and enthusiastic young military men, who waved their hats, flourished their swords, raised their hands to the dauphin, kissed the hem of the queen's robe, and swore to die for both of them. marie antoinette found some hope in this enthusiasm. the king's party melted into the queen's, and with his usual impassibility, the monarch found himself the center of the two commingled. his unconcern might be courage. the queen snatched a pair of pistols from colonel maillardet. "come, sire," she cried; "this is the time for you to show yourself and die in the midst of your friends!" this action had carried enthusiasm to its height, and everybody waited for the king's reply, with parted lips and breath held in suspense. a young, brave, and handsome king, who had sprung forward with blazing eye and quivering lip, to rush with the pistols in hand into the thick of the fight, might have recalled fortune to his crown. they waited and they hoped. taking the pistols from the queen's hands, the king returned them to the owner. "monsieur roederer," he said, "you were observing that i had better go over to the house?" "such is my advice," answered the legal agent of the commune, bowing. "come away, gentlemen; there is nothing more to be done here," said the king. uttering a sigh, the queen took up her son in her arms, and said to her ladies: "come, ladies, since it is the king's desire," which was as much as to say to the others, "expect nothing more from me." in the corridor where she would have to pass through, mme. campan was waiting. she whispered to her: "how i wish i dwelt in a tower by the sea!" the abandoned attendants looked at each other and seemed to say, "is this the monarch for whom we came here to die?" colonel chesnaye understood this mute inquiry, for he answered: "no, gentlemen, it was for royalty. the wearer of the crown is mortal, but the principle imperishable." the queen's ladies were terrified. they looked like so many marble statues standing in the corners and along the lobbies. at last the king condescended to remember those he was casting off. at the foot of the stairs, he halted. "but what will befall all those i leave behind?" he inquired. "sire," replied roederer, "it will be easy enough for them to follow you out. as they are in plain dress, they can slip out through the gardens." "alas," said the queen, seeing count charny waiting for her by the garden gate, with his drawn sword, "i would i had heeded you when you advised me to flee." the queen's life guardsman did not respond, but he went up to the king, and said: "sire, will you please exchange hats, lest yours single out your majesty?" "oh, you are right, on account of the white feather," said louis. "thank you, my lord." and he took the count's hat instead of his own. "does the king run any risk in this crossing?" inquired the queen. "you see, madame, that if so, i have done all i could to turn the danger aside from the threatened one." "is your majesty ready?" asked the swiss captain charged to escort the king across the gardens. the king advanced between two rows of swiss, keeping step with him, till suddenly they heard loud shouting on the left. the door near the flora restaurant had been burst through by the mob, and they rushed in, knowing that the king was going to the assembly. the leader of the band carried a head on a pole as the ensign. the swiss captain ordered a halt and called his men to get their guns ready. "my lord charny," said the queen, "if you see me on the point of falling into those ruffians' hands, you will kill me, will you not?" "i can not promise you that, for i shall be dead before they touch you." "bless us," said the king; "this is the head of our poor colonel mandat. i know it again." the band of assassins did not dare to come too near, but they overwhelmed the royal pair with insults. five or six shots were fired, and two swiss fell--one dead. "do not fire," said charny; "or not one of us will reach the house alive." "that is so," observed the captain; "carry arms." the soldiers shouldered their guns and all continued crossing diagonally. the first heats of the year had yellowed the chestnut-trees, and dry leaves were strewing the earth. the little prince found some sport in heaping them up with his foot and kicking them on his sister's. "the leaves are falling early this year," observed the king. "did not one of those men write that royalty will not outlast the fall of the leaf?" questioned the queen. "yes, my lady," replied charny. "what was the name of this cunning prophet?" "manuel." a new obstacle rose in the path of the royal family: a numerous crowd of men and women, who were waiting with menacing gestures and brandished weapons on the steps and the terrace which had to be gone over to reach the riding-school. the danger was the worse from the swiss being unable to keep in rank. the captain tried in vain to get through, and he showed so much rage that roederer cried: "be careful, sir--you will lead to the king being killed." they had to halt, but a messenger was sent to the assembly to plead that the king wanted asylum. the house sent a deputation, at the sight of whom the mob's fury was redoubled. nothing was to be heard but these shouts yelled with wrath: "down with veto!"--"over with the austrian!"--"dethronement or death!" understanding that it was in particular their mother who was threatened, the two children huddled up to her. the little dauphin asked: "lord charny, why do these naughty people want to hurt my mamma?" a gigantic man, armed with a pike, and roaring louder than the rest, "down with veto--death to the austrian!" kept trying to stab the king and the queen. the swiss escort had gradually been forced away, so that the royal family had by them only the six noblemen who had left the palace with them, charny, and the assembly deputation. there were still some thirty paces to go in the thick crowd. it was evident that the lives of the pair were aimed at, and chiefly the queen's. the struggle began at the staircase foot. "if you do not sheathe your sword," said roederer, "i will answer for nothing." without uttering a word, charny put up his sword. the party was lifted by the press as a skiff is tossed in a gale by the waves, and drawn toward the assembly. the king was obliged to push away a ruffian who stuck his fist in his face. the little dauphin, almost smothered, screamed and held out his hands for help. a man dashed forward and snatched him out of his mother's arms. "my lord charny, my son!" she shrieked; "in heaven's name, save my boy!" charny took a couple of steps in chase of the fellow with the prince, but as soon as he unmasked the queen, two or three hands dragged her toward them, and one clutched the neckerchief on her bosom. she sent up a scream. charny forgot roederer's advice, and his sword disappeared its full length in the body of the wretch who had dared to lay hands on the queen. the gang howled with rage on seeing one of their number slain, and rushed all the more fiercely on the group. highest of all the women yelled: "why don't you kill the austrian?"--"give her to us to have her throat slit!"--"death to her--death!" twenty naked arms were stretched out to seize her. maddened by grief, thinking nothing of her own danger, she never ceased to cry: "my son--save my son!" they touched the portals of the assembly, but the mob doubled their efforts for fear their prey would escape. charny was so closely pressed that he could only ply the handle of his sword. among the clinched and menacing fists, he saw one holding a pistol and trying to get a shot at the queen. he dropped his sword, grasped the pistol by both hands, wrenched it from the holder, and discharged it into the body of the nearest assailant. the man fell as though blasted by lightning. charny stooped in the gap to regain his rapier. at this moment, the queen entered the assembly vestibule in the retinue of the king. charny's sword was already in a hand that had struck at her. he flew at the murderer, but at this the doors were slammed, and on the step he dropped, at the same time felled by an iron bar on his head and a spear right through his heart. "as fell my brothers," he muttered. "my poor andrea!" the fate of the charnys was accomplished with the last one, as in the case of valence and isidore. that of the queen, for whom their lives were laid down, was yet to be fulfilled. at this time, a dreadful discharge of great guns announced that the besiegers and the garrison were hard at work. chapter xv. the blood-stains. for a space, the swiss might believe that they had dealt with an army and wiped it off the earth. they had slain nearly four hundred men in the royal yard, and almost two hundred in the carrousel; seven guns were the spoils. as far as they could see, no foes were in sight. one small isolated battery, planted on the terrace of a house facing the swiss guard-house, continued its fire without their being able to silence it. as they believed they had suppressed the insurrection, they were taking measures to finish with this battery at any cost, when they heard on the water-side the rolling of drums and the much more awful rolling of artillery over the stones. this was the army which the king was watching through his spy-glass from the louvre gallery. at the same time the rumor spread that the king had quitted the palace and had taken refuge in the house of representatives. it is hard to tell the effect produced by this news, even on the most firm adherents. the monarch, who had promised to die at his royal post, deserting it and passing over to the enemy, or at least surrendering without striking a blow! thereupon the national guards regarded themselves as released from their oath, and almost all withdrew. several noblemen followed them, thinking it foolish to die for a cause which acknowledged itself lost. alone the swiss remained, somber and silent, the slaves of discipline. from the top of the flora terrace and the louvre gallery windows, could be seen coming those heroic working-men whom no army had ever resisted, and who had in one day brought low the bastile, though it had been taking root during four centuries. these assailants had their plan; believing the king in his castle, they sought to encompass him so as to take him in it. the column on the left bank had orders to get in by the river gates; that coming down st. honore street to break in the feuillants' gates, while the column on the right bank were to attack in front, led by westerman, with santerre and billet under his orders. the last suddenly poured in by all the small entrances on the carrousel, singing the "it shall go on." the marseilles men were in the lead, dragging in their midst two four-pounders loaded with grape-shot. about two hundred swiss were ranged in order of battle on carrousel square. straight to them marched the insurgents, and as the swiss leveled their muskets, they opened their ranks and fired the pieces. the soldiers discharged their guns, but they immediately fell back to the palace, leaving some thirty dead and wounded on the pavement. thereupon, the rebels, headed by the breton and marseilles federals, rushed on the tuileries, capturing the two yards--the royal, in the center, where there were so many dead, and the princes', near the river and the flora restaurant. billet had wished to fight where pitou fell, with a hope that he might be only wounded, so that he might do him the good turn he owed for picking him up on the parade-ground. so he was one of the first to enter the center court. such was the reek of blood that one might believe one was in the shambles; it rose from the heap of corpses, visible as a smoke in some places. this sight and stench exasperated the attackers, who hurled themselves on the palace. besides, they could not have hung back had they wished, for they were shoved ahead by the masses incessantly spouted forth by the narrow doors of the carrousel. but we hasten to say that, though the front of the pile resembled a frame of fire-works in a display, none had the idea of flight. nevertheless, once inside the central yard, the insurgents, like those in whose gore they slipped, were caught between two fires: that from the clock entrance and from the double row of barracks. the first thing to do was stop the latter. the marseillais threw themselves at the buildings like mad dogs on a brasier, but they could not demolish a wall with hands; they called for picks and crows. billet asked for torpedoes. westerman knew that his lieutenant had the right idea, and he had petards made. at the risk of having these cannon-cartridges fired in their hands, the marseilles men carried them with the matches lighted and flung them into the apertures. the woodwork was soon set aflame by these grenades, and the defenders were obliged to take refuge under the stairs. here the fighting went on with steel to steel and shot for shot. suddenly billet felt hands from behind seize him, and he wheeled round, thinking he had an enemy to grapple: but he uttered a cry of delight. it was pitou; but he was pretty hard to identify, for he was smothered in blood from head to foot; but he was safe and sound and without a single wound. when he saw the swiss muskets leveled, he had called out for all to drop flat, and he had set the example. but his followers had not time to act like him. like a monstrous scythe, the fusillade had swept along at breast-high, and laid two thirds of the human field, another volley bending and breaking the remainder. pitou was literally buried beneath the swathe, and bathed by the warm and nauseating stream. despite the profoundly disagreeable feeling, pitou resolved not to make any move, while bathed in the blood of the bodies stifling him, and to wait for a favorable time to show tokens of life. he had to wait for over an hour, and every minute seemed an hour. but he judged he had the right cue when he heard his side's shouts of victory, and billet's voice, among the many, calling him. thereupon, like the titan under the mountain, he shook off the mound of carcasses covering him, and ran to press billet to his heart, on recognizing him, without thinking that he might soil his clothes, whichever way he took him. a swiss volley, which sent a dozen men to the ground, recalled them to the gravity of the situation. two thousand yards of buildings were burning on the sides of the central court. it was sultry weather, without the least breath; like a dome of lead the smoke of the fire and powder pressed on the combatants; the smoke filled up the palace entrances. each window flamed, but the front was sheeted in smoke; no one could tell who delivered death or who received it. pitou and billet, with the marseillais at the fore, pushed through the vapor into the vestibule. here they met a wall of bayonets--the swiss. the swiss commenced their retreat, a heroic one, leaving a rank of dead on each step, and the battalion most slowly retiring. forty-eight dead were counted that evening on those stairs. suddenly the cry rang through the rooms and corridors: "order of the king--the swiss will cease firing." it was two in the afternoon. the following had happened in the house to lead to the order proclaimed in the tuileries; one with the double advantage of lessening the assailants' exasperation and covering the vanquished with honor. as the doors were closing behind the queen, but still while she could catch a glimpse of the bars, bayonets, and pikes menacing charny, she had screamed and held her hands out toward the opening; but dragged away by her companions, at the same time by her maternal instinct, she had to enter the assembly hall. there she had the great relief afforded her of seeing her son seated on the speaker's desk; the man who had carried him there waved his red cap triumphantly over the boy's head and shouted gladly: "i have saved the son of my master--long live the dauphin!" but a sudden revulsion of feeling made marie antoinette recur to charny. "gentlemen," she said, "one of my bravest officers, most devoted of followers, has been left outside the door, in danger of death. i beg succor for him." five or six members sprung away at the appeal. the king, the queen, and the rest of the royal family, with their attendants, proceeded to the seats intended for the cabinet officers, and took places there. the assembly received them standing, not from etiquette, but the respect misfortune compelled. before sitting down, the king held up his hand to intimate that he wished to speak. "i came here to prevent a great crime," he said, in the silence; "i thought i could not be in safety anywhere else." "sire," returned vergniaud, who presided, "you may rely on the firmness of the national assembly; its members are sworn to die in defending the people's rights and the constitutional authorities." as the king was taking his seat, a frightful musketry discharge resounded at the doors. it was the national guards firing, intermingled with the insurgents, from the feuillants' terrace, on the swiss officers and soldiers forming the royal escort. an officer of the national guard, probably out of his senses, ran in in alarm, and only stopped by the bar, cried: "the swiss--the swiss are coming--they have forced past us!" for an instant the house believed that the swiss had overcome the outbreak and were coming to recover their master; for at the time louis xvi. was much more the king to the swiss than to any others. with one spontaneous movement the house rose, all of a mind, and the representatives, spectators, officials, and guards, raising their hands, shouted, "come what may, we vow to live and die free men!" in such an oath the royals could take no part, so they remained seated, as the shout passed like a whirlwind over their heads from three thousand mouths. the error did not last long, but it was sublime. in another quarter of an hour the cry was: "the palace is overrun--the insurgents are coming here to take the king!" thereupon the same men who had sworn to die free in their hatred of royalty, rose with the same spontaneity to swear they would defend the king to the death. the swiss captain, durler, was summoned outside to lay down his arms. "i serve the king and not the house," he said. "where is the royal order?" they brought him into the assembly by force; he was black with powder and red with blood. "sire," he said, "they want me to lay down arms. is it the king's order?" "yes," said louis; "hand your weapons to the national guard. i do not want such brave men to perish." durler lowered his head with a sigh, but he insisted on a written order. the king scribbled on a paper: "the king orders the swiss to lay down their arms and return into barracks." this was what voices were crying throughout the tuileries, on the stairs, and in the rooms and halls. as this order restored some quiet to the house, the speaker rang his bell and called for the debating to be resumed. a member rose and pointed out that an article of the constitution forbade debates in the king's presence. "quite so," said the king; "but where are you going to put us?" "sire," said the speaker, "we can give you the room and box of the 'logographe,' which is vacant owing to the sheet having ceased to appear." the ushers hastened to show the party where to go, and they had to retrace some of the path they had used to enter. "what is this on the floor?" asked the queen. "it looks like blood!" the servants said nothing; for while the spots might be blood, they were ignorant where they came from. strange to say, the stains grew larger and nearer together as they approached the box. to spare her the sight, the king quickened the pace, and opening the box door himself, he bid her enter. the queen sprung forward; but even as she set foot on the sill, she uttered a scream of horror and drew back, with her hands covering her eyes. the presence of the blood-spots was explained, for a dead body had been placed in the room. it was her almost stepping upon this which had caused her to leap back. "bless us," said the king, "it is poor count charny's body!" in the same tone as he had said to the gory relic on the pike, "this is poor mandat's head." indeed, the deputies had snatched the body from the cutthroats, and ordered it to be taken into the empty room, without the least idea that the royal family would be consigned to this room in the next ten minutes. it was now carried out and the guests installed. they talked of cleaning up, but the queen shook her head in opposition, and was the first to take a place over the blood-stains. no one noticed that she burst her shoe-laces and dabbled her foot in the red, still warm blood. "oh, charny, charny!" she murmured; "why does not my life-blood ooze out here to the last drop to mingle with yours unto all eternity?" three p. m. struck. the last of her life guards was no more, for in and about her palace nearly a thousand nobles and swiss had fallen. chapter xvi. the widow. during the slaying of the last of his adherents, what was the monarch doing? being hungry, he called for his dinner. bread and wine, cold fowl, and meat, and fruit were brought him. he set to eating as if he were at a hunting-party, without noticing how he was stared at. among the eyes fixed on him was a pair burning because tears would not come. they were the queen's. it seemed to her that she could stay there forever, with her feet in her beloved's blood, living like a flower on the grave, with no nourishment but such as death affords. she had suffered much lately, but never so as to see the king eating, for the position of affairs was serious enough to take away a man's appetite. the assembly, rather than protect him, had need of protection for itself. it was threatened by a formidable multitude roaring for the dethronement, and they obeyed by a decree. it proposed a national convention, the head of the executive power being temporarily suspended from his functions. the civil list was not to be paid. the king and family were to remain with the assembly until order was restored; then they were to be placed in the luxembourg palace. vergniaud told the deposed sovereign that it was the only way to save his neck. this decree was proclaimed by torch-light that night. the lights at the tuileries fell on the ghastly scenes of the searchers and the mourners among the dead. three thousand five hundred insurgents--to omit two hundred thieves shot by the rioters--had perished. this supposes as many wounded at the least. as the tumbrels rolled with the corpses to the working quarters, a chorus of curses went up against the king, the queen, their foreign _camerilla_, the nobles who had counseled them. some swore revenge, and they had it in the coming massacres; others took up weapons and ran to the palace to vent their spite on the dead swiss; others again crowded round the assembly and the abbey where were prisoners, shouting "vengeance." the tuileries presented an awful sight: smoking and bloody, deserted by all except the military posts which watched lest, under pretense of finding their dead, pillagers robbed the poor royal residence with its broken doors and smashed windows. the post under the great clock, the main stairs, was commanded by a young captain of the national guard, who was no doubt inspired by deep pity by the disaster, if one might judge by the expression of his countenance as each cart-load of dead was removed. but the dreadful events did not seem to affect him a whit more than they had the deposed king. for, about eleven at night, he was busy in satisfying a monstrous appetite at the expense of a quartern loaf held under his left arm, while his knife-armed right hand unceasingly sliced off hunks of goodly size, which he inserted into a mouth opening to suit the dimensions of the piece. leaning against a vestibule pillar, he was watching the silent procession go by, like shades of mothers, wives and daughters, in the glare of torches set up here and there; they were asking of the extinct crater for the remains of their dear ones. suddenly the young officer started at the sight of one veiled phantom. "it is the countess of charny," he muttered. the shadow passed without seeing or hearing him. the captain beckoned to his lieutenant. "desire," he said to him, on coming up, "yonder goes a poor lady of doctor gilbert's acquaintance, who is no doubt looking for her husband among the dead. i think of following her, in case she should need help and advice. i leave the command to you; keep good guard for both of us." "hang me if doctor gilbert's acquaintance has not a deucedly aristocratic bearing," remarked lieutenant desire maniquet. "because she is an aristocrat--she is a countess," replied the officer. "go along; i will look out." the countess of charny had already turned the first corner of the stairs, when the captain, detaching himself from his men, began to follow her at the respectful distance of fifteen paces. he was not mistaken. poor andrea was looking for her husband, not with the anxious thrill of doubt, but with the dull conviction of despair. when charny had been aroused in the midst of his joy and happiness by the echo of deeds in paris, he had come, pale but resolute, to say to his wife: "dear andrea, the king of france runs the risk of his life, and needs all his defenders. what ought i do?" "go where duty calls you, my dear george," she had replied, "and die for the king if you must." "but how about you?" he asked. "do not be uneasy about me," she said. "as i live but in you, god may allow that we shall die together." that settled all between those great hearts; they did not exchange a word further. when the post-horses came to the door, they set out, and were in town in five hours. that same evening, we have seen charny present himself for duty in his naval uniform at the same time that dr. gilbert was going to send for him. since that hour we know that he never quitted the queen. andrea had remained alone, shut in, praying; for a space she entertained the idea of imitating her husband, and claiming her station beside the queen, as he had beside the king; but she had not the courage. the day of the ninth passed for her in anguish, but without anything positive. at nine in the morning next day she heard the cannon; it is needless to say that each echo of the war-like thunder thrilled her to the inmost fiber of her heart. the firing died out about two o'clock. were the people defeated, or the victors? she questioned, and was told that the people had won the day. what had become of charny in this terrible fray? she was sure that he had taken a leading part. on making inquiries again, she was told that the swiss were slain, but most of the noblemen had got away. but the night passed without his coming. in august, night comes late. not till ten o'clock did andrea lose hope, when she drew a veil over her face and went out. all along the road she met clusters of women wringing their hands and bands of men howling for revenge. she passed among them, protected by the grief of one and the rage of the other; besides, they were man-hunting that night, and not for women. the women of both parties were weeping. arriving on the carrousel, andrea heard the proclamation that the rulers were deposed and safe under the wing of the assembly, which was all she understood. seeing some carts go by, she asked what they carried, and was told the dead from the palace yards. only the dead were being removed; the turn of the wounded would come later. she thought that charny would have fallen at the door of the rooms of the king or the queen, so she entered the palace. it was at the moment when pitou, commanding the main entrance as the captain, saw, and, recognizing her, followed. it is not possible to give an idea of the devastation in the tuileries. blood poured out of the rooms and spouted like cascades down the stairs. in some of the chambers the bodies yet lay. like the other searchers, andrea took a torch and looked at body after body. thus she made her way to the royal rooms. pitou still followed her. here, as in the other rooms, she sought in vain; she paused, undecided whither to turn. seeing her embarrassment, the soldier went up to her. "alas, i suspect what your ladyship is seeking!" he said. "captain pitou?" andrea exclaimed. "at your service." "yes, yes, i have great need of you," she said. going to him, she took both his hands, and continued: "do you know what has become of the count of charny?" "i do not, my lady; but i can help you to look for him." "there is one person who can tell us whether he is dead or alive, and where he is in either case," observed andrea. "who is that, my lady?" queried the peasant. "the queen," muttered andrea. "do you know where she is?" inquired pitou. "i believe she is in the house, and i have still the hope that my lord charny is with her." "why, yes, yes," said pitou, snatching at the hope for the mourner's sake; "would you like to go into the house?" "but they may refuse me admission." "i'll undertake to get the doors to open." "come, then." andrea flung the flambeau from her at the risk of setting fire to the place, for what mattered the tuileries to her in such desperation? so deep that she could not find tears. from having lived in the palace as the queen's attendant, she knew all the ways, and she led them back by short cuts to the grand entrance where maniquet was on the lookout. "how is your countess getting on?" he inquired. "she hopes to find her lord in the house, where we are going. as we may find him," he added, in a low voice, "but dead, send me four stout lads to the feuillants' gate, whom i may rely on to defend the body of an aristocrat as well as though a good patriot's." "all right; go ahead with your countess; i will send the men." andrea was waiting at the garden end, where a sentry was posted; but as that was done by pitou, he naturally let his captain pass. the palace gardens were lighted by lamps set mostly on the statue pedestals. as it was almost as warm as in the heat of the day, and the slight breeze barely ruffled the leaves, the lamp-flames rose straight, like spear-heads, and lighted up the corpses strewn under the trees. but andrea felt so convinced that she should find her husband where the queen had taken refuge, that she walked on, without looking to either right or left. thus they reached the feuillants' gate. the royal family had been gone an hour, and were in the record office, for the time. to reach them, there were two obstacles to pass: the guards and the royal attendants. pitou, as commanding the tuileries, had the password, and could therefore conduct the lady up to the line of gentlemen. the former favorite of the queen had but to use her name to take the next step. on entering the little room reserved for her, the queen had thrown herself on the bed, and bit the pillow amid sobs and tears. certainly, one who had lost a throne and liberty, and perhaps would lose her life, had lost enough for no one to chaffer about the degree of her despair, and not to seek behind her deep abasement if some keener sorrow still did not draw these tears from her eyes and sobs from her bosom. owing to the respect inspired by this supreme grief, she had been left alone at the first. she heard the room door open, but as it might be that from the king's, she did not turn; though she heard steps approaching her pillow, she did not lift her head from it. but suddenly she sprung up, as though a serpent had stung her. a well-known voice had simply uttered the single word, "madame." "andrea?" cried marie antoinette, rising on her elbow. "what do you want?" "i want the answer god demanded of cain when he said, 'what have you done with your brother'?" "with this difference," returned the queen, "that cain had killed his brother; whereas i--so gladly--would give not only my existence, but ten lives, to save his dear one." andrea staggered; a cold sweat burst out on her forehead, and her teeth chattered. "then he was killed?" she faltered, making a great effort. "do you think i am wailing for my crown?" demanded the fallen majesty, looking hard at her. "do you believe that if this blood were mine"--here she showed her dyed foot--"i should not have washed it off?" andrea became lividly pale. "then you know where his body is?" she said. "i could take you to it, if i were allowed to go forth," said the prisoner. andrea went out at the door by which pitou was waiting. "captain," she said, "one of my friends, a lady of the queen's, offers to take me where the count's body is. may she go out with me?" "on condition that you bring her back whence she came," said the officer. "that will do." "comrade," said pitou to his sentry, "one of the queen's women wants to go out to help us find the body of a brave officer of whom this lady is the widow. i will answer for her with my head." "that is good enough for me, captain," was the reply. the anteroom door opened and the queen appeared, but she had a veil wound round her head. they went down the stairs, the queen leading. after a twenty-seven hours' session, the house had adjourned, and the immense hall, where so much noise and so many events had been compressed, was dumb, void, and somber as a sepulcher. the queen called for a light. pitou picked up an extinguished link, lighted it at a lantern, and handed it to her, and she resumed the march. as they passed the entrance door, the queen pointed to it. "he was killed there," she said. andrea did not reply; she seemed a specter haunting one who had called her up. the queen lowered the torch to the floor in the lobby, saying: "behold his blood." andrea remained mute. the conductress went straight to a closet attached to the "logographe" box, pulled the door open, and said, as she held up the light to illumine the interior: "here is his body." andrea entered the room, knelt down, and taking the head upon her knee, she said: "madame, i thank you; this is all i wanted of you." "but i have something to ask you--won't you forgive me?" there fell a short silence, as though andrea were reflecting. "yes," she replied, at length, "for i shall be with him on the morrow." the queen drew a pair of scissors from her bosom, where they were hidden like a weapon to be used in an extremity. "then would you kindly--" she spoke almost supplicatingly, as she held out the joined blades to the mourner. andrea cut a lock of hair from the corpse's brow, and handed it and the instrument to the other. she caught her hand and kissed it, but andrea snatched away hers, as though the lips of her royal mistress had scorched her. "ah!" muttered the queen, throwing a last glance on the remains, "who can tell which of us loved him the most?" "oh, my darling george," retorted andrea, in the same low tone, "i trust that you at least know now that i loved you the best!" the queen went back on the way to her prison, leaving andrea with the remains of her husband, on which a pale moonbeam fell through a small grated window, like the gaze of a friend. without knowing who she was, pitou conducted marie antoinette, and saw her safely lodged. relieved of his responsibility toward the soldier on guard, he went out on the terrace to see if the squad he had asked of maniquet had arrived. the four were waiting. "come in," said pitou. using the torch which he had taken from the queen's hands, he led his men to the room where andrea was still gazing on her husband's white but still handsome face in the moonshine. the torch-light made her look up. "what do you want?" she challenged of the guards, as though she thought they came to rob her of the dead. "my lady," said pitou, "we come to carry the body of count charny to his house in coq-heron street." "will you swear to me that it is purely for that?" andrea asked. pitou held out his hand over the dead body with a dignity of which he might be believed incapable. "then i owe you apology, and i will pray god," said andrea, "in my last moments, to spare you and yours such woe as he hath afflicted me with." the four men took up the warrior on their muskets, and pitou, with his drawn sword, placed himself at the head of the funeral party. andrea walked beside the corpse, holding the cold and rigid hand in her own. they put the body on the countess's bed, when that lady said to the national guardsmen: "receive the blessings of one who will pray to god for you to-morrow before him. captain pitou," she added, "i owe you more than i ever can repay you. may i rely on you for a final service?" "order me, madame." "arrange that doctor gilbert shall be here at eight o'clock in the morning." pitou bowed and went out. turning his head as he did so, he saw andrea kneel at the bed as at an altar. chapter xvii. what andrea wanted of gilbert. at eight precisely next day, gilbert knocked at the house-door of the countess of charny. on hearing of her request made to pitou, he had asked him for full particulars of the occurrence, and he had pondered over them. as he went out in the morning, he sent for pitou to go to the college where his son and andrea's, sebastian, was being educated, and bring him to coq-heron street. he was to wait at the door there for the physician to come out. no doubt the old janitor had been informed of the doctor's visit, for he showed him at once into the sitting-room. andrea was waiting, clad in full mourning. it was clear that she had neither slept nor wept all the night through; her face was pale and her eyes dry. never had the lines of her countenance, always indicative of willfulness carried to the degree of stubbornness, been more firmly fixed. it was hard to tell what resolution that loving heart had settled on, but it was plain that it had come to one. this was comprehended by gilbert at a first glance, as he was a skilled observer and a reasoning physician. he bowed and waited. "i asked you to come because i want a favor done, and it must be put to one who can not refuse it me." "you are right, madame; not, perhaps, in what you are about to ask, but in what you have done; for you have the right to claim of me anything, even to my life." she smiled bitterly. "your life, sir, is one of those so precious to mankind that i should be the first to pray god to prolong it and make it happy, far from wishing it abridged. but acknowledge that yours is placed under happy influences, as there are others seemingly doomed beneath a fatal star." gilbert was silent. "mine, for instance," went on andrea; "what do you say about mine? let me recall it briefly," she said, as gilbert lowered his eyes. "i was born poor. my father was a ruined spendthrift before i was born. my childhood was sad and lonesome. you knew what my father was, as you were born on his estate and grew up in our house, and you can measure the little affection he had for me. "two persons, one of whom was bound to be a stranger to me, while the other was unknown, exercised a fatal and mysterious sway over me, in which my will went for naught. one disposed of my soul, the other of my body. i became a mother without ceasing to be a virgin. by this horrid event i nearly lost the love of the only being who ever loved me--my brother philip. "i took refuge in the idea of motherhood, and that my babe would love me; but it was snatched from me within an hour of its birth. i was therefore a wife without a husband, a mother without a child. "a queen's friendship consoled me. "one day chance sent me in a public vehicle with the queen and a handsome young gallant, whom fatality caused me to love, though i had never loved a soul. "he fell in love with the queen. i became the confidante in this amour. as i believe you have loved without return, doctor gilbert, you can understand what i suffered. yet this was not enough. it happened on a day that the queen came to me to say: 'andrea, save my life; more than life--my honor!' it was necessary that i should become the bride of the man i had loved three years without becoming his wife. i agreed. five years i dwelt beside that man, flame within, but ice without; a statue with a burning heart. doctor, as a doctor, can you understand what my heart went through? "one day--day of unspeakable bliss--my self-sacrifice, silence, and devotion touched that man. for six years i loved him without letting him suspect it by a look, when he came all of a quiver to throw himself at my feet and cry: 'i know all, and i love you!' "willing to recompense me, god, in giving me my husband, restored me my child. a year flew by like a day--nay, an hour, a minute. this year is all i call my life. "four days ago the lightning fell at my feet. the count's honor bid him go to paris, to die there. i did not make any remark, did not shed a tear; i went with him. hardly had we arrived before he parted from me. last night i found him, slain. there he rests, in the next room. "do you think i am too ambitious to crave to lie in the same grave? do you believe you can refuse the request i make to you? "doctor gilbert, you are a learned physician and a skillful chemist. you have been guilty of great wrongs to me, and you have much to expiate as regards me. well, give me a swift sure poison, and i shall not merely forgive you all, but die with a heart full of gratitude to you." "madame," replied gilbert, "as you say, your life has been one long, dolorous trial, and for it all glory be yours, since you have borne it nobly and saintly, like a martyr." she gave an impatient toss of the head, as if she wanted a direct answer. "now you say to your torturer: 'you made my life a misery; give me a sweet death.' you have the right to do this, and there is reason in your adding: 'you must do it, for you have no right to refuse me anything,' do you still want the poison?" "i entreat you to be friend enough to give it me." "is life so heavy to you that it is impossible for you to support it?" "death is the sweetest boon man can give me; the greatest blessing god may grant me." "in ten minutes you shall have your wish, madame," responded gilbert, bowing and taking a step toward the door. "ah!" said the lady, holding out her hand to him, "you do me more kindness in an instant than you did harm in all your life. god bless you, gilbert!" he hurried out. at the door he found pitou and sebastian, waiting in a hack. "sebastian," he said to the youth, drawing a small vial attached to a gold chain from inside his clothes at his breast, "take this flask of liquor to the countess of charny." "how long am i to stay with her?" "as long as you like." "where am i to find you?" "i shall be waiting here." taking the small bottle, the young man went in-doors. in a quarter of an hour he came forth. gilbert cast on him a rapid glance. he brought back the tiny flask untouched. "what did she say?" asked gilbert. "'not from your hand, my child!'" "what did she do then?" "she fell a-weeping." "she is saved," said gilbert. "come, my boy," and he embraced him more tenderly than ever before. in clasping him to his heart, he heard the crackling of paper. "what is that?" he asked, with a nervous laugh of joy. "do you by chance carry your compositions in your breast-pocket?" "there, i had forgotten," said the youth, taking a parchment from his pocket. "the countess gave it me, and says it is to be deposited in the proper registry." the doctor examined the paper. it was a document which empowered, in default of heirs male, to the titles of philip de taverney, knight of redcastle, sebastian emile gilbert, son of andrea taverney, countess of charny, to wear that title honorarily until the king should make it good to him by favor of his mother's service to the crown, and perhaps award him the estates to maintain the dignity. "keep it," said gilbert, with a melancholy smile; "as well date it from the greek kalends! the king, i fear, will nevermore dispose of more than six-feet-by-three of landed property in his once kingdom of france." gilbert could jest, for he believed andrea saved. he had reckoned without marat. a week after, he learned that the scoundrel had denounced the favorite of the queen, and that the widowed countess of charny had been arrested and lodged in the old abbey prison. chapter xviii. the assembly and the commune. it was the commune which had caused the attack on the palace, which the king must have seen, for he took refuge in the house, and not in the city hall. the commune wanted to smother the wolf--the she-wolf and the whelps--between two blankets in their den. this shelter to the royals converted the assembly into royalists. it was asserted that the luxembourg palace, assigned to the king as a residence, had a secret communication with those catacombs which burrow under paris, so that he might get away at any hour. the assembly did not want to quarrel with the commune over such a trifle, and allowed it to choose the royal house of detention. the city pitched on the temple. it was not a palace, but a prison, under the town's hand; an old, lonely tower, strong, heavy, lugubrious. in it philip the fair broke up the middle ages revolting against him, and was royalty to be broken down in it now? all the houses in the neighborhood were illuminated as the royal captives were taken hither to the part called "the palace," from count artois making it his city residence. they were happy to hold in bondage the king no more, but the friend of the foreign foe, the great enemy of the revolution, and the ally of the nobles and the clergy. the royal servants looked at the lodgings with stupefaction. in their tearful eyes were still the splendors of the kingly dwellings, while this was not even a prison into which was flung their master, but a kennel! misfortune was not to have any majesty. but, through strength of mind or dullness, the king remained unaffected, and slept on the poverty-stricken bed as tranquilly as in his palace, perhaps more so. at this time, the king would have been the happiest man in the world had he been given a country cottage with ten acres, a forge, a chapel and a chaplain, and a library of travel-books, with his wife and children. but it was altogether different with the queen. the proud lioness did not rage at the sight of her cage, but that was because so sharp a sorrow ached in her heart that she was blind and insensible to all around her. the men who had done the fighting in the capture of the royalist stronghold were willing that the prisoners, swiss and gentlemen, should be tried by court-martial. but marat shrieked for massacre, as making shorter work than even a drum-head court. danton yielded to him. before the snake the lion was cowed, and slunk away, trying to act the fox. the city wards pressed the assembly to create an extraordinary tribunal. it was established on the twentieth, and condemned a royalist to death. the execution took place by torch-light, with such horrible effect, that the executioner, in the act of holding up the lopped-off head to the mob, yelled and fell dead off upon the pavement. the revolution of , with necker, bailly, and sieyes, ended in ; that of barnave, lafayette, and mirabeau in , while the red revolution, the bloody one of danton, marat, and robespierre, was commencing. lafayette, repulsed instinctively by the army, which he had called upon in an address to march on paris and restore the king, had fled abroad. meanwhile, the austrians, whom the queen had prayed to see in the moonlight from her palace windows, had captured longwy. the other extremity of france, la vendee, had risen on the eve of this surrender. to meet this condition of affairs, the assembly assigned dumouriez to the command of the army of the east; ordered the arrest of lafayette; decreed the razing of longwy when it should be retaken; banished all priests who would not take the oath of allegiance; authorized house-to-house visits for aristocrats and weapons, and sold all the property of fugitives. the commune, with marat as its prophet, set up the guillotine on carrousel square, with an apology that it could only send one victim a day, owing to the trouble of obtaining convictions. on the th of august, the assembly passed the law on domiciliary visits. the rumor spread that the austrian and prussian armies had effected their junction, and that longwy had fallen. it followed that the enemy, so long prayed for by the king, the nobles, and the priests, was marching upon paris, and might be here in six stages, if nothing stopped him. what would happen then to this boiling crater from which the shocks had made the old world quake the last three years? the insolent jest of bouille would be realized, that not one stone would be left upon another. it was considered a sure thing that a general, terrible, and inexorable doom was to fall on the parisians after their city was destroyed. a letter found in the tuileries had said: "in the rear of the army will travel the courts, informed on the journey by the fugitives of the misdeeds and their authors, so that no time will be lost in trying the jacobins in the prussian king's camp, and getting their halters ready." the stories also came of the uhlans seizing republican local worthies and cropping their ears. if they acted thus on the threshold, what would they do when within the gates? it was no longer a secret. a great throne would be erected before the heap of ruins which was paris. all the population would be dragged and beaten into passing before it; the good and the bad would be sifted apart as on the last judgment day. the good--in other words, the religious and the royalists--would pass to the right, and france would be turned over to them for them to work their pleasure; the bad, the rebels, would be sent to the left, where would be waiting the guillotine, invented by the revolution, which would perish by it. but to face the foreign invader, had this poor people any self-support? those whom they had worshiped, enriched, and paid to defend her, would they stand up for her now? no. the king conspired with the enemy, and from the temple, where he was confined, continued to correspond with the prussians and austrians: the nobility marched against france, and were formed in battle array by her princes; her priests made the peasants revolt. from their prison cells, the royalist prisoners cheered over the defeats of the french by the prussians, and the prussians at longwy were hailed by the captives in the abbey and the temple. in consequence, danton, the man for extremes, rushed into the rostrum. "when the country is in danger, everything belongs to the country," he said. all the dwellings were searched, and three thousand persons arrested; two thousand guns were taken. terror was needed; they obtained it. the worst mischief from the search was one not foreseen; the mob had entered rich houses, and the sight of luxuries had redoubled their hatred, though not inciting them to pillage. there was so little robbery that beaumarchais, then in jail, said that the crowd nearly drowned a woman who plucked a rose in his gardens. on this general search day, the commune summoned before its bar a girondist editor, girey-dupre, who took refuge at the war ministry, from not having time to get to the house. insulted by one of its members, the girondists summoned the commune's president, huguenin, before its bar for having allowed the ministry to take girey by force. huguenin would not come, and he was ordered to be arrested by main force, while a fresh election for a commune was decreed. the present one determined to hold office, and thus was civil war set going. no longer the mob against the king, citizens against aristocrats, the cottage against the castle; but hovels against houses, ward against ward, pike to pike, and mob to mob. marat called for the massacre of the assembly; that was nothing, as people were used to his shrieks for wholesale slaughter. but robespierre, the prudent, wary, vague, and double-meaning denunciator, came out boldly for all to fly to arms, not merely to defend, but to attack. he must have judged the commune was very strong to do this. the physician who might have his fingers on the pulse of france at this period must have felt the circulation run up at every beat. the assembly feared the working-men, who had broken in the tuileries gates and might dash in the assembly doors. it feared, too, that if it took up arms against the commune, it would not only be abandoned by the revolutionists, but be bolstered up by the moderate royalists. in that case it would be utterly lost. it was felt that any event, however slight, might lead this disturbance to colossal proportions. the event, related by one of our characters, who has dropped from sight for some time, and who took a share in it, occurred in the chatelet prison. chapter xix. captain beausire appears again. after the capture of the tuileries, a special court was instituted to try cases of theft committed at the palace. two or three hundred thieves, caught red-handed, had been shot off-hand, but there were as many more who had contrived to hide their acts. among the number of these sly depredators was "captain" beausire, a corporal of the french guards once on a time, but more conspicuous as a card-sharper and for his hand in the plot of robbers by which the court jewelers were nearly defrauded of the celebrated set of diamonds which we have written about under their historic name of "the queen's necklace." this beausire had entered the palace, but in the rear of the conquerors. he was too full of sense to be among the first where danger lay in taking the lead. it was not his political opinions that carried him into the king's home, to weep over the fall of monarchy or to applaud the triumph of the people; bless your innocence, no! captain beausire came as a mere sight-seer, soaring above those human weaknesses known as opinions, and having but one aim in view, to wit, to ascertain whether those who lost a throne might not have lost at the same time some article of value rather more portable and easy to put out of sight. to be in harmony with the situation, beausire had clapped on an enormous red cap, was armed with the largest-sized saber, and had splashed his shirt-front and hands with blood from the first quite dead man he stumbled upon. like the wolf skulking round the edge and the vulture hovering over the battle-field, perhaps taken for having helped in the slaughter, some believed he had been one of the vanquishers. the most did so accept him as they heard him bellow "death to the aristocrats!" and saw him poke under beds, dash open cupboards, and even bureau drawers, in order to make sure that no aristocrat had hidden there. however, for the discomfiture of captain beausire, at this time, a man was present who did not peep under beds or open drawers, but who, having entered while the firing was hot, though he carried no arms with the conquerors, though he did no conquering, walked about with his hands behind his back, as he might have done in a public park on a holiday. cold and calm in his threadbare but well-brushed black suit, he was content to raise his voice from time to time to say: "do not forget, citizens, that you are not to kill women and not to touch the jewels." he did not seem to feel any right to censure those who were killing men and throwing the furniture out of the windows. at the first glance he had distinguished that captain beausire was not one of the storming-parties. the consequence was that, about half past nine, pitou, who had the post of honor, as we know, guarding the main entrance, saw a sort of woe-begone and slender giant stalk toward him from the interior of the palace, who said to him with politeness, but also with firmness, as if his mission was to modify disorder with order and temper vengeance with justice: "captain, you will see a fellow swagger down the stairs presently, wearing a red cap, swinging a saber and making broad gestures. arrest him and have your men search him, for he has picked up a case of diamonds." "yes, master maillard," replied pitou, touching his cap. "aha! so you know me, my friend?" said the ex-usher of the chatelet prison. "i rather think i do know you," exclaimed pitou. "don't you remember me, master maillard? we took the bastile together." "that's very likely." "we also marched to versailles together in october." "i did go there at that time." "of course you did; and the proof is that you shielded the ladies who went to call on the queen, and you had a duel with a janitor who would not let you go in." "then, for old acquaintance' sake, you will do what i say, eh?" "that, and anything else--all you order. you are a regular patriot, you are." "i pride myself on it," replied maillard, "and that is why i can not permit the name we bear to be sullied. attention! this is our man." in fact, at this time, beausire stamped down the grand stairs, waving his large sword and shouting: "the nation forever!" pitou made a sign to maniquet and another, who placed themselves at the door without any parade, and he went to wait for the sham rioter at the foot of the stairs. with a glance, the suspicious character noticed the movements, and as they no doubt disquieted him, he stopped, and made a turn to go back, as if he had forgotten something. "beg pardon, citizen," said pitou; "this is the way out." "oh, is it?" "and as the order is to vacate the tuileries, out you go, if you please." beausire lifted his head and continued his descent. at the last step he touched his hand to his red cap, and in an emphasized military tone, said: "i say, brother-officer, can a comrade go out or not?" "you are going out," returned pitou; "only, in the first place, you must submit to a little formality." "hem! what is it, my handsome captain?" "you will have to be searched." "search a patriot, a capturer of the tyrants' den, a man who has been exterminating aristocrats?" "that's the order; so, comrade, since you are a fellow-soldier," said the national guardsman, "stick your big toad-sticker in its sheath, now that all the aristos are slain, and let the search be done in good part, or, if not, i shall be driven to employ force." "force?" said beausire. "ha! you talk in this strain because you have twenty men at your back, my pretty captain; but if you and i were alone together--" "if we were alone together, citizen," returned the man from the country, "i'd show you what i should do. in this way, i should seize your left wrist with my right hand; with my left, i should wrench your saber from your grasp, like this, and i should snap it under my foot, just like this, as being no longer worthy of handling by an honest man after a thief." putting into practice the theory he announced, pitou disarmed the sham patriot, and breaking the sword, tossed the hilt afar. "a thief? i, captain de beausire, a thief?" thundered the conqueror in the red cap. "search captain beausire with the _de_," said pitou, pushing the card-sharper into the midst of his men. "well, go ahead with your search," replied the victim of suspicion, meekly dropping his arms. they had not needed his permission to proceed with the ferreting; but to the great astonishment of pitou, and especially of maillard, all their searching was in vain. whether they turned the pockets inside out, or examined the hems and linings, all they found on the ex-corporal was a pack of playing-cards so old that the faces were hardly to be told from the backs, as well as the sum of eleven cents. pitou looked at maillard, who shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, "i have missed it somehow, but i do not know what i can do about it now." "go through him again," said pitou, one of whose principal traits was patience. they tried it again, but the second search was as unfruitful as the former; they only found the same pack of cards and eleven cents. "well," taunted beausire, triumphantly, "is a sword still disgraced by having been handled by me?" "no," replied pitou; "and to prove it, if you are not satisfied with the excuses i tender you, one of my men shall lend you his, and i will give you any other satisfaction you may like." "thanks, no, young sir," said the other, drawing himself up to his full height; "you acted under orders, and an old veteran like me knows that an order is sacred. now i beg to remark that madame de beausire must be anxious about my long absence, and if i am allowed to retire--" "go, sir," responded pitou; "you are free." beausire saluted in a free-and-easy style and took himself out of the palace. pitou looked round for maillard, but he was not by. "i fancy i saw him go up the stairs," said one of the haramont men. "you saw clearly, for he is coming down," observed pitou. maillard was in fact descending, and as his long legs took the steps two by two, he was soon on the landing. "well, did you find anything?" he inquired. "no," rejoined the captain. "then, i have been luckier than you, for i lighted on the case." "so we were wrong, eh?" "no; we were right." maillard opened the case and showed the old setting from which had been prized all the stones. "why, what does this mean?" pitou wanted to know. "that the scamp guessed what might happen, picked out the diamonds, and as he thought the setting would be in his way, he threw it with the case into the closet where i found it." "that's clear enough. but what has become of the stones?" "he found some means of juggling them away." "the trickster!" "has he been long gone?" inquired maillard. "as you came down, he was passing through the middle yard." "which way did he take?" "he went toward the water-side." "good-bye, captain." "are you going after him, master maillard?" "i want to make a thorough job of it," returned the ex-usher. and unfolding his long legs like a pair of compasses, he set off in pursuit of captain beausire. pitou was thinking the matter over when he recognized the countess of charny, and the events occurred which we have related in their proper time and place. not to mix them up with this present matter, we think, falls into line here. chapter xx. the emetic. rapid as was maillard's gait, he could not catch up with his quarry, who had three things in his favor, namely: ten minutes' start, the darkness, and the number of passengers on the carrousel, in the thick of whom he disappeared. but when he got out upon the tuileries quay, the ex-usher kept on, for he lived in the working-quarter, and it was not out of his way home to keep to the water-side. a great concourse was upon the bridges, flocking to the open space before the palace of justice, where the dead were laid out for identification, and people sought for their dear ones, with hope, or, rather, fear. maillard followed the crowd. at a corner there he had a friend in a druggist, or apothecary, as they said in those days. he dropped in there, sat down, and chatted of what had gone on, while the surgeons rushed in and about to get the materials they wanted for the injured; for among the corpses a moan, a scream, or palpable breathing showed that some wretch still lived, and he was hauled out and carried to the great hospital, after rough dressing. so there was a great hubbub in the worthy chemist's store; but maillard was not in the way; on such occasions they were delighted to see a patriot of the degree of a hero of the bastile, who was balm itself to the lovers of liberty. he had been there upward of a quarter of an hour, with his long legs tucked well under him and taking up as little room as possible, when a woman, of the age of thirty-eight or so, came in. under the garb of most abject poverty, she preserved a vestige of former opulence, and a bearing of studied aristocracy, if not natural. but what particularly struck maillard was her marked likeness to the queen; he would have cried out with amaze but for his having great presence of mind. she held a little boy by the hand, and came up to the counter with an odd timidity, veiling the wretchedness of her garments as much as she could, though that was the more manifest from her taking extreme care of her face and her hands. for some time it was impossible for her to make herself heard owing to the uproar; but at last she addressed the master of the establishment, saying: "please, sir, i want an emetic for my husband, who is ill." "what sort do you want, citizeness?" asked the dispenser of drugs. "any sort, as long as it does not cost more than eleven cents." this exact amount struck maillard, for it will be remembered that eleven coppers were the findings in beausire's pockets. "why should it not cost more than that?" inquired the chemist. "because that is all the small change my man could give me." "put up some tartar emetic," said the apothecary to an assistant, "and give it to the citizeness." he turned to attend to other demands while the assistant made up the powder. but maillard, who had nothing to do to distract his attention, concentrated all his wits on the woman who had but eleven cents. "there you are, citizeness; here's your physic," said the drug clerk. "now, then, toussaint," said the woman, with a drawl habitual to her, "give the gentleman the eleven cents, my boy." "there it is," replied the boy, putting the pile of coppers on the counter. "come home quick, mamma oliva, for papa is waiting." he tried to drag her away, repeating, "why don't you come quick? papa is in such a hurry." "hi! hold on, citizeness!" cried the budding druggist; "you have only given me nine cents." "what do you mean by only nine?" exclaimed the woman. "why, look here; you can reckon for yourself." the woman did so, and saw there were just nine. "what have you done with the other two coins, you wicked boy?" she asked. "me not know nothing about 'em," whimpered the child. "do come home, mamma oliva!" "you must know, for i let you carry the money." "i must have lost 'em. but come along home," whined the boy. "you have a bewitching little fellow there, citizeness," remarked maillard; "he appears sharp-witted, but you will have to take care lest he become a thief." "how dare you, sir!--a thief?" cried the woman called oliva. "why do you say such a thing, i should like to know?" "only because he has not lost the two cents, but hid them in his shoe." "me?" retorted the boy. "what a lie!" "in the left shoe, citizeness--in the left," said maillard. in spite of the yell of young toussaint, mme. oliva took off his left shoe and found the coppers in it. she handed them to the apothecary's clerk, and dragged away the urchin with threats of punishment which would have appeared terrible to the by-standers, if they had not been accompanied by soft words which no doubt sprung from maternal affection. unimportant as the incident was in itself, it certainly would have passed without comment amid the surrounding grave circumstances, if the resemblance of the heroine to the queen had not impressed the witness. the result of his pondering over this was that he went up to his friend in drugs, and said to him, in a respite from trade: "did you not notice the likeness of that woman who just went out to--" "the queen?" said the other, laughing. "yes; so you remarked it the same as i?" "oh, ever so long ago. it is a matter of history." "i do not understand." "do you not remember the celebrated trial of 'the queen's necklace'?" "oh, you must not put such a question to an usher of the law courts--he could not forget that." "well, you must recall one nicole legay, _alias_ oliva." "oh, of course; you are right. she played herself as the queen upon the prince cardinal rohan." "while she was living with a discharged soldier, a bully and card-cheat, a spy and recruiter, named beausire." "what do you say?" broke out maillard, as though snake-bitten. "a rogue named beausire," repeated the druggist. "is it he whom she styles her husband?" asked maillard. "yes." "and for whom she came to get the physic?" "the rascal has been drinking too hard." "an emetic?" continued maillard, as one on the track of an important secret and did not wish to be turned astray. "a vomitory--yes." "by jupiter, i have nailed my man!" exclaimed the visitor. "what man?" "the man who had only eleven cents--captain de beausire, in short. that is, if i knew where he lives." "well, i know if you do not; it is close by, no. juiverie street." "then i am not astonished at young beausire stealing two cents from his mother, for he is the son of the cheat." "no cheat there--his living likeness." "a chip of the old block. my dear friend," continued maillard, "straight as a die, how long does your dose take to operate?" "immediately after taking; but these fellows fight shy of medicine. he will play fast and loose before he takes it, and his wife will have to make a cup of soup to wash the taste out of his mouth." "you mean i may have time to do what i have to do?" "i hope so; you seem to feel great interest in our captain beausire?" "so much so that, for fear he will be very bad, i am going to get a couple of male nurses for him." leaving the drug store with a silent laugh, the only one he indulged in, maillard hurried back to the tuileries. pitou was absent, for we know he was attending on the countess of charny, but lieutenant maniquet was guarding the post. they recognized each other. "well, citizen maillard, did you overtake the fellow?" asked maniquet. "no; but i am on his track." "faith, it is a blessing; for though we did not find the diamonds on the knave, somehow i am ready to bet that he has them." "make the bet, citizen, and you will win," said the usher. "good; and can we help you catch him?" "you can." "in what way, citizen maillard? we are under your orders." "i want a couple of honest men." "you can take at random, then. boulanger and molicar, step out this way." that was all the usher desired; and with the two soldiers of haramont he proceeded at the double-quick to the residence of beausire. in the house they were guided by the cries of young toussaint, still suffering from a correction, not maternal, as papa beausire, on account of the gravity of the misdemeanor, had deemed it his duty to intervene and add some cuffs from his hard hand to the gentle slap which oliva had administered much against her will with her softer one to her beloved offspring. the door was locked. "in the name of the law, open!" called out maillard. a conversation in a low voice ensued, during which young toussaint was hushed, as he thought that the abstraction of the two cents from his mother was a heinous crime for which justice had risen in her wrath; while beausire, who attributed it to the domiciliary visits, tried to tranquilize oliva, though he was not wholly at his ease. he had, moreover, gulped down the tartar as soon as he had chastised his son. mme. beausire had to take her course, and she opened the door just as maillard was going to knock for a second time. the three men entered, to the great terror of oliva and master toussaint, who ran to hide under a ragged straw-bottomed chair. beausire had thrown himself on the bed, and maillard had the satisfaction of seeing by the light of a cheap candle smoking in an iron holder that the physic paper was flat and empty on the night-table. the potion was swallowed, and they had only to abide the effects. on the march, maillard had related to the volunteers what had happened, so that they were fully cognizant of the state of matters. "citizens," he restricted himself to saying, "captain beausire is exactly like that princess in the arabian nights' entertainment, who never spoke unless compelled, but who, whenever she opened her mouth, let fall a diamond. do not, therefore, let beausire spit out a word unless learning what it contains. i will wait for you at the municipality offices. when the gentleman has nothing more to say to you, take him to the chatelet prison, where you will say citizen maillard sent him for safe keeping, and you will join me at the city hall with what he shall have delivered." the national guards nodded in token of passive obedience, and placed themselves with beausire between them. the apothecary had given good measure for eleven cents, and the effect of the emetic was most satisfactory. about three in the morning, maillard saw his two soldiers coming to him. they brought a hundred thousand francs' worth of diamonds of the purest water, wrapped in a copy of the prison register, stating that beausire was under ward and lock. in his name and the two haramontese, maillard placed the gems in charge of the commune attorney, who gave them a certificate that they had deserved the thanks of the country. chapter xxi. beausire's bravado. imprisoned in the chatelet, beausire was brought before the jury specially charged to deal with thefts committed in the taking of the tuileries. he could not deny what was only too clearly brought forth, so he most humbly confessed his deed and sued for clemency. his antecedents being looked up, they so little edified the court on his moral character, that he was condemned to five years in the hulks and transportation to the plantations. in vain did he allege that he had been led into crime by the most commendable feelings, namely, to provide a peaceful future for his wife and child; nothing could alter the doom, and as the court was one without appeal, and the sentences active, it was likely to be executed immediately. better for him had it not been deferred for a day. fate would have it that one of his old associates was put in prison with him on the eve of his sentence being carried out. they renewed acquaintance and exchanged confidences. the new-comer was, he said, concerned in a well-matured plot which was to burst on strand place or before the justice hall. the conspirators were to gather in a considerable number, as if to see the executions taking place at either spot, and, raising shouts of "long live the king!" "the prussians are coming, hurrah!" "death to the nation!" they were to storm the city hall, call to their help the national guards, two thirds royalist, or at least constitutional, maintain the abolition of the commune, and, in short, accomplish the loyal counter-revolution. the mischief was that beausire's old partner was the very man who was to give the signal. the others in the plot, ignorant of his arrest, would hie to the place of execution, and the rising would fall to the ground from nobody being there to start the cries. this was the more lamentable, added the friend, from there never being a better arranged plot, and one that promised a more certain result. his arrest was the more regrettable still as, in the turmoil, the prisoner would most certainly be rescued and get away, so that he would elude the branding-iron and the galleys. though captain beausire had no settled opinions, he leaned toward royalty, so he began to deplore the check to the scheme, in the first place for the king's sake, and then for his own. all at once he struck his brow, for he was illumined with a bright idea. "why, this first execution is to be mine!" he said. "of course, and it would have been a rich streak of luck for you." "but you say that it will not matter who gives the cue, for the plot will burst out?" "yes. but who will do this, when i am caged, and can not communicate with the lads outside?" "i," replied beausire in lofty, tragic tones. "will i not be on the spot, since it is i whom they are to put in the pillory? so i am the man who will cry out the arranged shouts; it is not so very hard a task, methinks." "i always said you were a genius," remarked the captain's friend, after being wonder-struck. beausire bowed. "if you do this," continued the royalist plotter, "you will not only be delivered and pardoned, but still further, when i proclaim that the success of the outbreak is due to you, you can shake hands with yourself beforehand on the great reward you will earn." "i am not going to do the deed for anything like lucre," said the adventurer, with the most disinterested of manners. "we all know that," rejoined the friend; "but when the reward comes along, i advise you not to refuse it." "oh, if you think i ought to take it--" faltered the gambler. "i press you to, and if i had any power over you, i should order you," resumed the companion, majestically. "i give in," said beausire. "well, to-morrow we will breakfast together, for the governor of the jail will not refuse this favor to two old 'pals,' and we will crack a jolly good bottle of the rosy to the success of this plot." though beausire may have had his doubts on the kindness of prison governors, the request was granted, to his great satisfaction. it was not one bottle they drained, but several. at the fourth, beausire was a red-hot royalist. luckily, the warders came to take him to the strand before he emptied the fifth. he stepped into the cart as into a triumphal chariot, disdainfully surveying the throng for whom he was storing up such a startling surprise. on notre dame bridge, a woman and a little boy were waiting for him to come along. he recognized poor oliva, in tears, and young toussaint, who, on beholding his father among the soldiers, said: "serves him right; what did he beat me for?" the proud father smiled protectingly, and would have waved a blessing but his hands were tied behind his back. the city hall square was crammed with people. they knew that this felon had robbed in the palace, and they had no pity for him. hence, the guards had their work cut out to keep them back when the cart stopped at the pillory foot. beausire looked on at the uproar and scuffling, as much as to say: "you shall see some fun in awhile; this is nothing to the joker i have up my sleeve!" when he appeared on the pillory platform, there was general hooting; but at the supreme moment, when the executioner opened the culprit's shirt and pulled down the sleeve to bare the shoulder, and then stooped down to take the red-hot brand, that happened which always does--all was silent before the majesty of the law. beausire snatched at this lull, and gathering all his powers, he shouted in a full, ringing and sonorous voice: "long live the king! hurrah for the prussians! down with the nation!" however great a tumult the prisoner may have expected, the one this raised much exceeded it; the protest was not in shouts, but howls. the whole gathering uttered an immense roar and rushed on the pillory. this time the guards were insufficient to protect their man. their ranks were broken, the scaffold swarmed upon, the executioner thrown over, and the condemned one torn from the stand and flung into the surging mob. he would have been flayed, dismembered, and torn to pieces but for one man, arrayed in his scarf as a town officer, who luckily saw it all from the city hall steps. it was the commune attorney, manuel. he had strongly humane feelings, which he often had to keep hidden, but they moved him at such times. with great difficulty he fought his way to beausire, and laying hold of him, said in a loud voice: "in the name of the law, i claim this man!" there was hesitation; he unloosed his scarf, floating it like a flag, and called for all good citizens to assist him. a score clustered round him and drew beausire, half dead, from the crowd. manuel had him carried into the hall, which was seriously threatened, so deep was the exasperation. manuel came out on the balcony. "this man is guilty," he said, "but of a crime for which he has not been tried. let us select a jury from among us to assemble in a room of the city hall. whatever the sentence, it shall be executed; but let us have a legal sentence." is it not curious that such language should be used on the eve of the massacre of the prisoners, by one of the men accused of having organized it, at the peril of his life? this pledge appeased the mob. beausire was dragged before the improvised jury. he tried to defend himself, but his second crime was as patent as the first; only in the popular eye it was much graver. was it not a dreadful crime and deserving of condign punishment to cheer the king who was put in prison as a traitor, to hurrah for the prussians who had captured a french town, and to wish death to the nation, in agony on a bed of pain? so the jury decided not only that the culprit deserved the capital penalty, but that to mark the shame which the law had sought to define by substituting the guillotine for the gallows, that he should be hanged, and on the spot where he committed the offense. consequently the headsman of paris had his orders to erect a gibbet on the pillory stand. the view of this work and the certainty that the prisoner could not escape them, pacified the multitude. this was the matter which the assembly was busied with. it saw that everything tended to a massacre--a means of spreading terror and perpetuating the commune. the end was that they voted that the commune had acted to merit the gratitude of the country, and robespierre, after praising it, asserted that the house had lost the public confidence, and that the only way for the people to save themselves was to retake their powers. so the masses were to be without check, but with a heart full of vengeance, and charged to continue the august massacre of those who had fought for the palace on the tenth, by following them into the prisons. it was the first of september, and a storm seemed to oppress everybody with its suspended lightning. chapter xxii. set upon dying. thus stood matters, when dr. gilbert's "officiator"--the word servant was abolished as non-republican--announced at nine in the evening that his carriage was at the door. he donned his hat, buttoned up his outer coat, and was going out, when he saw the door-way blocked by a man in a cloak and a slouch hat. gilbert recoiled a step, for all was hostile that came in the dark at such a period. "it is i, gilbert," said a kindly voice. "cagliostro!" exclaimed the doctor. "good; there you are forgetting again that i am no longer under that name, but bear that of baron zannone. at the same time, gilbert, for you i am changed in neither name nor heart, and am ever your joseph balsamo, i hope." "yes; and the proof is that i was going to find you." "i suspected as much, and that is what has brought me," said the magician. "for you can imagine that in such times i do not go into the country, as robespierre is doing." "that is why i feared that i should not find you at home, and i am happy to meet you. but come in, i beg." "well, here i am. say your wish," said cagliostro, following the master into the most retired room. "do you know what is going on?" asked the host, as soon as both were seated. "you mean what is going to happen; for at present nothing is doing," observed the other. "no, you are right; but something dreadful is brewing, eh?" "dreadful, in sooth; but such is sometimes needful." "master, you make me shudder," said gilbert, "when you utter such sayings with your inexorable coolness." "i can not help it. i am but the echo of fate." gilbert hung his head. "do you recall what i told you when i warned you of the fate of marquis favras?" the physician started; strong in facing most men, he felt weak as a child before this mysterious character. "i told you," went on the enigma, "that if the king had a grain of common sense, which i hoped he had not, he would exercise the wish for self-preservation to flee." "he did so." "yes; but i meant while it was in good time; it was, you know, too late when he went. i added, you may remember, that if he and the queen and the nobles remained, i would bring on the revolution." "you are right again, for the revolution rules," said gilbert, with a sigh. "not completely, but it is getting on. do you further recall that i showed you an instrument invented by a friend of mine, doctor guillotin? well, that beheading machine, which i exhibited in a drinking-glass to the future queen at taverney manor, you will remember, though you were but a boy at the time--no higher than that--yet already courting nicole--the same nicole whose husband, beausire, by the way, is being hung at the present speaking--not before he deserved it! well, that machine is hard at work." "too slowly, since swords and pikes have to be supplementing its blade," said gilbert. "listen," said cagliostro; "you must grant that we have a most block-headed crew to deal with. we gave the aristocrats, the court, and the monarchs all sorts of warnings without their profiting or being advised by them. we took the bastile, their persons from versailles, their palace in paris; we shut up their king in the temple, and the aristocrats in the other prisons; and all serves for no end. the king, under lock and bolt, rejoices at the prussians taking his towns, and the lords in the abbey cheer the germans. they drink wine under the noses of poor people who can not get wholesome water, and eat truffle pies before beggars who can not get bread. on king wilhelm of prussia being notified that if he passes longwy into french territory, as it will be the warrant for the king's death, he replies: 'however imbittered may be the fate of the royal family, our armies must not retrograde. i hope with all my heart to arrive in time to save the king of france, but my duty before all is to save europe.' and he marches forward to verdun. it is fairly time to end this nonsense." "end with whom?" cried gilbert. "with the king, the queen, and their following." "would you murder a king and a queen?" "oh, no; that would be a bad blunder. they must be publicly tried, condemned, and executed, as we have the example set by the execution of charles i. but, one way or another, doctor, we must get rid of them, and the sooner the better." "who has decided this?" protested gilbert. "let me hear. is it the intelligence, the honor, and the conscience of the people of whom you speak? when genius, loyalty, and justice were represented by mirabeau, lafayette, and vergniaud, if you had said 'louis must die,' in the name of those three i should still have shuddered, but i should doubt. in whose name do you pronounce now? hissed actors, paltry editors, hot-heads like marat, who have to be bled to cool them when they shriek for thousands of heads. leave these failures who think they are wonders because they can undo in a stroke the work which it has taken nature a few score years, for they are villains, master, and you ought not to associate with such burlesques of men." "my dear gilbert, you are mistaken again," said the prime mover; "they are not villains; you misuse the word. they are mere instruments." "of destruction." "ay; but for the benefit of an idea. the enfranchisement of the people, gilbert; liberty, the republic--not merely french--god forbid me having so selfish an idea! but universal, the federation of the free world. no, these men have not genius, or honor, or conscience, but something stronger, more inexorable, less resistible--they have instinct." "like attila's." "you have hit it. of attila, who called himself the scourge of god, and came with the barbaric blood of the north to redeem roman civilization, corrupted by the feasting, debauched emperors." "but, in brief, to sum up instead of generalizing, whither will tend a massacre?" asked gilbert. "to a plain issue. we will compromise the assembly and commune and the people of paris. we must soak paris in blood; for you understand that paris is the brain of france, or of europe, so that paris, feeling that there is no forgiveness possible for her, will rise like one man, urge france before her, and hurl the enemy off the sacred soil." "but you are not a frenchman; what odds is it to you?" asked gilbert. "you were not an american, but you were glad to have the rebel paul jones take you to america and aid the rebels to free the colonies from the british yoke. how can a man of superior mettle and intelligence say to another: 'do not meddle with us, for you are not french?' are not the affairs of france those of the world? is france working solely for herself now, think you? hark you, gilbert; i have debated all these points with a mind far stronger than yours--the man or devil named althotas; and one day he made a calculation of the quantity of blood which must be shed before the sun rises on the free world. his reasonings did not shake my conviction. i marched on, i march on, and on i shall march, overturning all that stands in my path, and saying to myself, in a calm voice, as i look around with a serene look: woe to the obstacle, for this is the future which is coming! now you have the pardon of some one to ask? i grant it beforehand. tell me the name of the man or the woman?" "i wish to save a woman whom neither of us, master, can allow to die." "the countess of charny?" "the mother of sebastian gilbert." "you know that it is danton who, as minister of justice, has the prison keys." "yes; but i also know that the chief of the invisibles can say to danton, 'open or shut that door.'" cagliostro rose, and going over to a writing-desk, wrote a cabalistic sign on a small square of paper. presenting this to gilbert, he said: "go and find danton, and ask him anything you like." gilbert rose. "what are you going to do when the king's turn comes?" "i intend to be elected to the convention, so as to vote with all my power against his death." "be it so; i can understand that," said the leader. "act as your conscience dictates, but promise me one thing." "what is it?" "there was a time when you would have promised without a condition, gilbert." "at that time you would not have told me that a nation could heal itself by murdering, or a people gain by massacre." "have it your own way. only promise me that, when the king shall be executed, you will follow the advice i give you." "any advice from the master will be precious," he said, holding out his hand. "and will be followed?" persisted cagliostro. "i swear, if not hurtful to my conscience." "gilbert, you are unjust. i have offered you much; have i ever required aught of you?" "no, master," was gilbert's reply; "and now, furthermore, you give me a life dearer than mine own." "go," said the arch-revolutionist, "and may the genius of france, one of whose noblest sons you are, ever guide you." the count went out, and gilbert followed him, stepping into the carriage still waiting, to be driven to the minister of justice. danton was waiting for one of two things: if he turned to the commune, he and marat and robespierre would rule, and he wanted neither of them. unfortunately, the assembly would not have him, and its support to rule alone was the other alternative. when gilbert came, he had been wrestling with his wife, who guessed that the massacre was determined upon. he had told her that she talked like a woman in asking him to die rather than let the red tide flow on. "you say that you will die of the stain, and that my sons will blush for me. no; they will be men some day, and if true dantons, they will carry their heads high; if weak, let them deny me. if i let them commence the massacre by me, for opposing it, do you know what will become of the revolution between that blood-thirsty maniac, marat, and that sham utopist, robespierre? i will stay the bloodshed if i can, and if not, i will take all the guilt on my shoulders. the burden will not prevent me marching to my goal, only i shall be the more terrible." gilbert entered. "come, doctor gilbert, i have a word for you." opening a little study door, he led the visitor into it. "how can i be useful to you?" he asked. gilbert took out the paper the invisible had given him and presented it to danton. "ha! you come on _his_ account, do you? what do you desire?" "the liberation of a woman prisoned in the abbey." "the name?" "the countess of charny." danton took a sheet of paper and wrote the release. "there it is," he said; "are there others you would wish to save? speak; i should like to save some of the unfortunates." "i have all my desire," said gilbert, bowing. "go, doctor," said the minister; "and when you need anything of me, apply direct. i am happy to do anything for you, man to man. ah," he muttered at the door, in showing him out, "if i had only your reputation, doctor, as an honorable man!" bearer of the precious paper which assured andrea's life, the father of her son hastened to the abbey. though nearly midnight, threatening groups still hung round the door. gilbert passed through the midst of them and knocked at it. the gloomy panel in the low arched way was opened. gilbert shuddered as he went through--it was to be the way to the tomb. the order, presented to the warden, stated that instant release was to be given to the person whom dr. gilbert should point out. he named the countess of charny, and the governor ordered a turnkey to lead gilbert to the prisoner's cell. the doctor followed the man up three flights of a spiral staircase, where he entered a cell lighted by a lamp. pale as marble, in mourning, a woman sat at a table bearing the lamp, reading a shagreen prayer-book adorned with a silver cross. a brand of fire burned in the fire-place. in spite of the sound of the door opening, she did not lift her eyes; the steps approaching did not move her; she appeared absorbed in her book, but it was absence of mind, for gilbert stood several minutes without her turning a leaf. the warder had closed the door, with himself on the outer side. "my lady the countess," ventured gilbert, after awhile. raising her eyes, andrea looked without perceiving at first; the veil of her mind was between her and the speaker, but it was gradually withdrawn. "ah, and is it you, doctor gilbert--what do you want?" she inquired. "madame, very ugly rumors are afloat about what is going to happen in the prisons." "yes; it is said that the prisoners are to be slaughtered," rejoined andrea; "but you know, doctor gilbert, that i am ready to die." "i come to take you away madame," he continued, bowing. "whither would you take me, doctor?" she asked, in surprise. "wherever you like, madame; you are free." he showed her the release order signed by danton, which she read; but instead of returning it, she kept it in her hand. "i might have suspected this," she observed, trying to smile, but she had forgotten the way. "you were sure to try to prevent me dying." "madame, there is but one existence which would be dearer to me than my parents', had i ever known my parents--it is yours." "yes; and that is why you broke your promise to me." "i did not, madame, for i sent you the poison." "by my son?" "i did not tell you by what hand i should send it." "in short, you have thought of me, gilbert. so you entered the lion's den for my sake, and came forthwith the talisman which unseals doors?" "i told you, madame, that as long as i lived you should not die." "nay, doctor gilbert, i believe that this time i hold death by the hand," said andrea, with something more like a smile than her previous attempt. "madame, i declare to you that i will stay you from dying, even though i have to employ force." without replying, andrea tore the order into pieces and tossed them into the fire. "try it," she said. gilbert uttered an outcry. "doctor gilbert," said she, "i have given up the idea of suicide, but not of dying. i long for death." gilbert let a groan escape him. "all that i ask of you is that you will save my body from outrage after death--it has not escaped it in life. count charny rests in the family vault at boursonnes. there i spent the happiest days of my life, and i wish to repose by him." "oh, in heaven's name, i implore you--" "and i implore you in the name of my sorrow--" "it is well, lady; you were right in saying that i am bound to obey you in all points. i go, but i am not vanquished." "do not forget my last wish." "if i do not save you in spite of yourself, it shall be accomplished," replied gilbert. saluting her for the last time, he went forth, and the door banged to with that lugubrious sound peculiar to prison doors. chapter xxiii. the death of the countess. in the night, while gilbert was vainly trying to save andrea, the commune, unable to secure danton's help, formed a committee of vigilance, including marat, though he was not a member of the commune. but his name enthroned murder, and showed the frightful development of his power. the first order of this committee was to have twenty-four prisoners removed from the abbey, and brought before them at the mayor's offices--now the police prefecture building. it was expected that they would be set upon in the streets, and the butchery there begun would be introduced into the prisons. marat's "barkers," as they were called, in vain, however, shouted as the hacks went along: "look at the traitors--the accomplices of the prussians! there they go who are surrendering our towns, slaying our wives and babes, and will do it here if you leave them in the rear when you march to the border." but, as danton said, massacres are a scarce bird, and the incitement only brought out more uproar. fortune came to the ruffians' assistance. at a crossing was a stage run up for the voluntary enlistments. the cabs had to stop. a man pushed through the escort and plunged his sword several times inside a carriage, drawing it out dripping with blood. a prisoner had a cane, and trying to parry the steel, he struck one of the guards. "why, you brigands," said the struck man, "we are protecting you and you strike us! lay on, friends!" twenty scoundrels, who only waited for the call, sprung out of the throng, armed with knives tied to poles in the way of spears, and stabbed through the carriage windows. the screams arose from inside the conveyances, and the blood trickled out and left a track on the road-way. blood calls for blood, and the massacre commenced which was to last four days. it was regularized by maillard, who wanted to have every act done in legal style. his registry exists, where his clear, steady handwriting is perfectly calm and legible in the two notes and the signature. "executed by the judgment of the people," or "acquitted by the people," and "maillard." the latter note appears forty-three times, so that he saved that number. after the fourth of september he disappeared, swallowed up in the sea of blood. meanwhile, he presided over the court. he had set up a table and called for a blank book; he chose a jury, or rather assistant judges, to the number of twelve, who sat six on either side of him. he called out the prisoner's name from a register; while the turnkeys went for the person, he stated the case, and looked for a decision from his associates as soon as the accused appeared. if condemned, he said: "to laforce!" which seemed to mean the prison of that name; but the grim pun, understood, was that he was to be handed over to "brute force." beyond the outer door the wretch fell under the blows of the butchers. if the prisoner was absolved, the black phantom rose, laid his hand on the person's head, and said, "put him out!" and the prisoner was freed. when maillard arrived at the abbey prison, a man, also in black, who was waiting by the wall, stepped forward to meet him. on the first words exchanged between them, maillard recognized this man, and bowed his tall figure to him in condescension, if not submission. he brought him into the prison, and when the tribunal was arranged, he said: "stand you there, and when the person comes out in whom you are interested, make me a sign." the man rested his elbow against the wall and stood mute, attentive, and motionless as when outside. it was honore gilbert, who had sworn that he would not let andrea die, and was still trying to fulfill his oath. between four and six in the morning, the judges and butchers took a rest, and at six had breakfast. at half past the horrid work was resumed. in that interval such of the prisoners as could see the slaughter out of a window reported by which mode death came swiftest and with the least suffering; they concluded it was by a stab to the heart. thereupon, some took turn after turn with a pocket-knife to cheat the slaughterers. in the midst of this dreadful ante-chamber of death, one woman in deep mourning was kneeling in prayer and smiling. it was the countess of charny. two hours yet passed before she was called as "citizeness andrea of taverney, previously known as the countess of charny." at the name, gilbert felt his legs yield under him and his heart weaken. a life, more important than his own, was to be debated, tried, and doomed or spared. "citizens," said maillard, "the person about to appear before you is a poor woman who was devoted formerly to the austrian, but with truly royal ingratitude, she paid her with sorrow; to that friendship she gave all--her property and her husband. you will see her come in, dressed in mourning, which she owes to the prisoner in the temple. citizens, i ask you for the life of this woman." the bench of judges nodded; but one said the prisoner ought to appear before them. "then, look," said the chief. the door opening, they saw in the corridor depths a woman clad wholly in black, with her head crowned with a black veil, who walked forward alone without support, with a steady step. she seemed an apparition from another world, at the sight of which even those justices shuddered. arriving at the table, she lifted her veil. never had beauty less disputable but none more pale met the eyes of man; it was a goddess in marble. all eyes were fixed upon her, while gilbert panted. "citizen"--she addressed maillard in a voice as sweet as firm--"you are the president?" "yes, citizeness," replied the judge, startled at his being questioned. "i am the countess of charny, wife of the count of that house, killed on the infamous tenth of august; an aristocrat and the bosom friend of the queen, i have deserved death, and i come to seek it." the judges uttered a cry of surprise, and gilbert turned pale and shrunk as far as he could back into the angle by the door to escape andrea's gaze. "citizens," said maillard, who saw the doctor's plight, "this creature has gone mad through the death of her husband; let us pity her, and let her senses have a chance to come back. the justice of the people does not fall on the insane." he rose and was going to lay his hands on andrea's head as he did when he pronounced those innocent; but she pushed aside his hand. "i have my full reason," she said; "and if you want to pardon any one, let it be one who craves it and merits it, but not i, who deserve it not and reject it." maillard turned to gilbert and saw that he was wringing his clasped hands. "this woman is plainly mad," he said; "put her out." he waved his hand to a member of the court, who shoved the countess toward the door of safety. "innocent," he called out; "let her go out." they who had the weapons ready parted before andrea, lowered them unto this image of mourning. but, after having gone ten paces, and while gilbert, clinging to the window bars, saw her going forth, she stopped. "god save the king!" she cried. "long live the queen, and shame on the tenth of august!" gilbert uttered a shriek and darted out into the yard. for he had seen a sword glitter, and swift as a lightning flash, the blade disappeared in andrea's bosom. he arrived in time to catch her in his arms, and as she turned on him her dying gaze she recognized him. "i told you that i would die in spite of you," she muttered. "love sebastian for both of us," she added, in a barely intelligible voice, and still more faintly continued: "you will have me laid to rest by him--next my george, my husband, for time everlasting?" and she expired. gilbert raised her up in his arms, while fifty blood-smeared hands menaced him all at once. but maillard appeared behind him and said, as he spread his hands over his head: "make way for the true citizen gilbert, carrying out the body of a poor crazed woman slain by mistake." they stepped aside, and carrying the corpse of andrea, the man who had first loved her, even to committing crime to triumph over her, passed amid the murderers without one thinking of barring the way, so sovereign was maillard's words over the multitude. chapter xxiv. the royal martyr. let us return to the somber edifice confining a king become mere man, a queen still a queen, a maid who would be a martyr, and two poor children innocent, from age if not by birth. the king was in the temple, not the temple tower, but the palace of the knights templars, which had been used by artois as a pleasure resort. the assembly had not haggled about his keep, but awarded a handsome sum for the table of one who was a hearty eater, like all the bourbons. not only did the judges reprimand him for his untimely gluttony during his trial, but they had a note made of the fact to be on record to our times. in the temple he had three servants and thirteen attendants connected with the table. each day's dinner was composed of four _entrées_--six varieties of roast meat, four fancy dishes, three kinds of stews, three dishes of fruit, and bordeaux, madeira, and malvoisie wine. he and his son alone drank wine, as the queen and the princesses used water. on the material side, he had nothing to complain of; but he lacked air, exercise, sunshine, and shady trees. habituated by hunting in the royal forests to glade and covert, he had to content himself with a green yard, where a few withered trees scattered prematurely blighted leaves on four parterres of yellowed grass. every day at four, the royal family were "walked out" here, as if they were so many head of stall-fed cattle. this was mean, unkind, ferocious in its cruelty; but less cruel and ferocious than the cells of the pope's dungeons where they had tried to drive cagliostro to death, or the leads of venice, or the spielberg dungeons. we are not excusing the commune, and not excusing kings; we are bound to say that the temple was a retaliation, terrible and fatal, but clumsy, for it was making a prosecution a persecution and a criminal a martyr. what did they look like now--those whom we have seen in their glory? the king, with his weak eyes, flabby cheeks, hanging lips, and heavy, carefully poised step, seemed a good farmer upset by a great disaster; his melancholy was that of an agriculturist whose barn had been burned by lightning or his fields swept by a cyclone. the queen's attitude was as usual, stiff, proud, and dreadfully irritating. marie antoinette had inspired love of grandeur in her time; in her decline, she inspired devotion, but never pity; that springs from sympathy, and she was never one for fellow-feeling. the guardian angel of the family was princess elizabeth, in her white dress, symbol of her purity of body and soul; her fair hair was the handsomer from the disuse of powder. the princess royal, notwithstanding the charm of youth, little interested any one; a thorough austrian like her mother, her look had already the scorn and arrogance of vultures and royal races. the little dauphin was more winning from his sickly white complexion and golden hair; but his eye was a hard raw blue, with an expression at times older than his age. he understood things too well, caught the idea from a glance of his mother's eye, and showed politic cunning which sometimes wrung tears from those who tormented him. the commune were cruel and imprudent; they changed the watchers daily, and sent spies, under the guise of town officers. these went in sworn enemies to the king and came out enemies to the death of marie antoinette, but almost all pitying the king, sorrowing for the children, and glorifying the lady elizabeth. indeed, what did they see at the prison? instead of the wolf, the she-wolf and the whelps--an ordinary middle-class family, with the mother rather the gray mare and spitfire, who would not let any one touch the hem of her dress, but of a brood of tyrants not a trace. the king had taken up latin again in order to educate his son, while the queen occupied herself with her daughter. the link of communication between the couple was the valet, clery, attached to the prince royal, but from the king's own servant, hue, being dismissed, he waited on both. while hair-dressing for the ladies, he repeated what the king wanted to transmit, quickly and in undertones. the queen would often interrupt her reading to her daughter by plunging into deep and gloomy musing; the princess would steal away on tiptoe to let her enjoy a new sorrow, which at least had the benefit of tears, and make a hushing sign to her brother. when the tear fell on her ivory hand, beginning to yellow, the poor prisoner would start back from her dream, her momentary freedom in the immense domain of thought and memories, and look round her prison with a lowered head and broken heart. weather permitting, the family had a walk in the garden at one o'clock, with a corporal and his squad of the national guard to watch them. then the king went up to his rooms on the third story to dine. it was then that santerre came for his rigorous inspection. the king sometimes spoke with him; the queen never; she had forgotten what she owed to this man on the twentieth of june. as we have stated, bodily needs were tyrannical in the king, who always indulged in an after-dinner nap; during this, the others remained silent around his easy-chair. only when he woke was the chat resumed. when the newsboys called out the news items in the evening, clery listened, and repeated what he caught to the king. after supper, the king went into the queen's room to bid her good-night, as well as his sister, by a wave of the hand, and going into his library, read till midnight. he waited before going off to sleep to see the guards changed, to know whether he had a strange face for the night-watcher. this unchanging life lasted till the king left the small tower--that is, up to september th. it was a dull situation, and the more worthy of pity as it was dignifiedly supported. the most hostile were softened by the sight. they came to watch over the abominable tyrant who had ruined france, massacred frenchmen, and called the foreigners in; over the queen who had united the lubricities of messalina to the license of catherine ii.; but they found a plain old fellow whom they could not tell from his valet, who ate and drank heartily and slept soundly, playing piquet or backgammon, teaching latin and geography to his boy, and putting puzzles to his children out of old newspapers; and a wife, proud and haughty, one must admit, but calm, dignified, resigned, still handsome, teaching her daughter tapestry-work and her son his prayers, speaking gently to the servants and calling them "friends." the result was that the more the commune abased the prisoner, and the more he showed that he was like any other man, the more other men took pity on their fellow-man. still, all who came into contact with the royal family did not feel the same respect and pity. hatred and revenge were so deeply rooted in these, that the sight of the regal misery supported with domestic virtues, only brought out rudeness, insults, and actual indignities. on the king saying that he thought a sentry was tired, the soldier pressed his hat on the more firmly, and said, in the teeth of the monarch: "my place here is to keep an eye on you and not for you to criticise me. nobody has the right to meddle with my business, and you least of all." once the queen ventured to ask a town officer where he came from. "i belong to the country," he loftily replied, "at least, as much of it as your foreign friends have not taken possession of." one day a municipal officer said to clery, loud enough for the king to overhear: "i would guillotine the lot of them if the regular executioner backed out." the sentinels decked the walls, where the royals came along to go into the garden, with lines in this style: "the guillotine is a standing institution and is waiting for the tyrant louis."--"madame veto will soon dance on nothing."--"the fat hog must be put on short rations."--"pull off the red ribbon he wears--it will do to strangle his cubs with." one drawing represented a man hanging, and was labeled: "louis taking an air-bath." the worst tormentors were two lodgers in the temple, rocher, the sapper, and simon, the notorious cobbler. the latter, whose harsh treatment of the royal child has made him noted, was insult personified. every time he saw the prisoners, it was to inflict a fresh outrage. rocher was the man whom we saw take up the dauphin when charny fell, and carry him into the house; yet he, placed by manuel to prevent harm befalling the captives, resembled those boys who are given a bird to keep--they kill time by plucking out the feathers one by one. but, however unhappy the prisoners were, they had yet the comfort that they were under the same roof. the commune resolved to part the king from his family. clery had an inkling of the intention, but he could not get at the exact date until a general searching of the prisoners on the twenty-ninth of september gave him a hint. that night, indeed, they took away the king into rooms in the great tower which were wet with plaster and paint and the smell was unbearable. but the king lay down to sleep without complaining, while the valet passed the night on a chair. when he was going out to attend to the prince, whose attendant he strictly was, the guard stopped him, saying: "you are no longer to have communications with the other prisoners; the king is not to see his children any more." as they omitted to bring special food for the servant, the king broke his bread with him, weeping while the man sobbed. when the workmen came to finish the rooms, the town officer who superintended them came up to the king with some pity, and said: "citizen, i have seen your family at breakfast, and i undertake to say that all were in health." the king's heart ached at this kind feeling. he thanked the man, and begged him to transmit the report of his health to his dear ones. he asked for some books, and as the man could not read, he accompanied clery down into the other rooms to let him select the reading matter. clery was only too glad, as this gave an opportunity of seeing the queen. he could not say more than a few words, on account of the soldiers being present. the queen could not hold out any longer, and she besought to let them all have a meal in company. the municipal officers weakened, and allowed this until further orders. one of them wept, and simon said: "hang me if these confounded women will not get the water-works running in my eyes. but," he added, addressing the queen, "you did not do any weeping when you shot down the people on the tenth of august." "ah!" said the queen; "the people have been much misled about our feelings toward them. if you knew us better, you would be sorry, like this gentleman." so the dinner was served in the old place; it was a feast, for they gained so much in one day, they thought. they gained everything, for nothing more was heard of the commune's new regulation; the king continued to see his family daily, and to take his meals with them. one of these days, when he went in, he found the queen sweeping up the dauphin's room, who was unwell. he stopped on the sill, let his head sink on his breast, and sighed: "ah, my lady, this is sorry work for a queen of france, and if they could see from vienna what you are doing here! who would have thought that, in uniting you to my fate, i should ever bring you so low?" "do you reckon it as nothing," replied marie antoinette, "this glory of being the wife of the best and most persecuted of men?" this was spoken without an idea there were hearers; but all such sayings were picked up and diffused to embroider with gold the dark legend of the martyr king. chapter xxv. master gamain turns up. one morning, while these events were occurring at the temple, a man wearing a red shirt and cap to match, leaning on a crutch to help him to hobble along, called on the home secretary, roland. the minister was most accessible; but even a republican official was forced to have ushers in his ante-chamber, as went on in monarchical governments. "what do you want?" challenged the servant of the man on the crutch. "i want to speak with the citizen minister," replied the cripple. since a fortnight, the titles of citizen and citizeness had officially replaced all others. "you will have to show a letter of audience," replied the domestic. "halloo! i thought that was all very fine fun in the days when the tyrant ruled, but folks ought to be equals under the republic, or at least not so aristocratic." this remark set the servant thinking. "i can tell you that it is no joke," continued the man in red, "to drag all the way from versailles to do the secretary of state a service and not to get a squint of him." "oh, you come to do citizen roland a service, do you?" "to show up a conspiracy." "pooh! we are up to our ears in conspiracies. if that is all you came from versailles for, i suggest you get back." "i don't mind; but your minister will be deuced sorry for not seeing me." "it is the rule. write to him and get a letter of audience; then you will get on swimmingly." "hang me if it is not harder to get a word in to minister roland than to his majesty louis xvi. that was." "what do you know about that?" "lord help your ignorance, young man; there was a time when i saw the king whenever i pleased; my name would tell you that." "what is your name? are you king frederick william or the emperor francis?" "no; i am not a tyrant or a slave-driver--no aristo--but just nicholas claude gamain, master of the masters of my trade of locksmithery. did you never hear of master gamain who taught the craft to old capet?" the footman looked questioningly at his fellows, who nodded. "then it is another pair of shoes. write your name on a sheet of paper, and i will send it in to the home secretary." "write? it is all very easy to say write, but i was no dabster at the pen before these villains tried to poison me; and it is far worse now. just look how they doubled me up with arsenic." he showed his twisted legs, deviated spine, and hand curled up like a claw. "what! did they serve you out thus, poor old chap?" "they did. and that is what i have come to show the citizen minister, along with other matters. as i hear they are getting up the indictment against old capet, what i have to tell must not be lost for the nation." five minutes afterward, the locksmith was shown into the official's presence. the master locksmith had never, at the height of his fortune and in the best of health, worn a captivating appearance; but the malady to which he was a prey, articular rheumatism in plain, while twisting his limbs and disfiguring his features, had not added to his embellishments. the outcome was that never had an honest man faced a more ruffianly looking rogue than roland when left alone with gamain. the minister's first feeling was of repugnance; but seeing how he trembled from head to foot, pity for a fellow-man, always supposing that a wretch like gamain is a fellow to a roland, led him to use as his first words: "take a seat, citizen; you seem in pain." "i should rather think i am in pain," replied gamain, dropping on a chair; "and i have been so ever since the austrian poisoned me." at these words a profound expression of disgust passed over the hearer's countenance, while he exchanged a glance with his wife, half hidden in the window recess. "and you came to denounce this poisoning?" "that and other things." "do you bring proof of your accusations?" "for that matter, you have only to come with me to the tuileries and i will give you piles of it. i will show you the secret hole in the wall where the brigand hid his hoard. i ought to have guessed that the wine was poisoned that the austrian sneaked out to offer me, a-saying, with her wheedling voice: 'here you are, gamain! drink this glass of wine; it will do you good now the work is done.'" "poisoned?" "yes; everybody knows," continued gamain, with sullen hate, "that those who help kings to conceal treasures never make old bones." "there is something at the bottom of this," said mme. roland, coming forward at his glance; "this was the smith who was the king's tutor. ask him about the hole in the wall." "the press?" said gamain, who had overheard. "why, i am here to lay that open. it is an iron safe, with a lock-bolt working both ways, in which citizen capet hid his private papers and savings." "how did you come to know about it?" "did he not send for me to show him how to finish the lock, one he made himself, and of course would not work smoothly?" "but this press would be smashed and rifled in the capture of the tuileries." "there is no danger of that. i defy anybody in the world to get the idea of it, barring him and me." "are you sure?" "sure and certain. it is just the same as when he left the tuileries." "what do you say to all this, madeleine?" asked roland of his wife, when they had listened to gamain's story, told in his prolix style. "i say the revelation is of the utmost importance, and no time must be lost in verifying it." the secretary rang for his carriage, whereupon gamain stood up sulkily. "i see you have had enough of me," he grumbled. "why, no; i only ring for my carriage." "what! do ministers have carriages under the republic?" "they have to do so, to save time, my friend. i call the carriage so that we shall be quickly at the tuileries. but what about the key to the safe?--it is not likely louis xvi. left it in the key-hole." "why, certainly not, for our fat capet is not such a fool as he looks. here is a duplicate," he continued, drawing a new key from his pocket; "i made it from memory. i tell you i am the master of my craft. i studied the lock, fancying some day--" "this is an awful scoundrel," said roland to his wife. "yes; but we have no right to reject any information coming to us in the present state of affairs in order to arrive at a knowledge of the truth. am i to go with you?" asked the lady. "certainly, as there are papers in the case. are you not the most honest _man_ i know?" gamain followed them to the door, mumbling: "i always said that i would pay old capet out for what he did to me. what louis xvi. did was kindness." chapter xxvi. the trial of the king. on the seventh of november the girondists began the indictment against the king, assisted by the fatal deposit of papers in the iron safe, although those were missing which were confided to mme. campan. after gamain's opening the press, which was to have so severe an effect on the prisoners in the temple, roland had taken them all to his office, where he read them and docketed them, though he vainly searched for the evidence of danton's oft-cited venality. besides, danton had resigned as minister of justice. this great trial was to crown the victory of valmy, which had made the defeated king of prussia almost as angry as the news of the proclamation of the republic in paris. this trial was another step toward the goal to which men blundered like the blind, always excepting the invisibles; they saw things in the mass, but not in detail. alone on the horizon stood the red guillotine, with the king at the foot of the scaffold on which it rose. in a materialistic era, when such a man as danton was the head of the indulgent party, it was difficult for the wish not to be outrun by the deed; yet only a few of the convention comprehended that royalty should be extirpated, and not the royal person slain. royalty was a somber abstraction, a menacing mystery of which men were weary, a whited sepulcher, fair without, but full of rottenness. but the king was a different matter; a man who was far from interesting in his prosperity, but purified by misfortune and made great by captivity. even on the queen the magic of adversity was such that she had learned, not to love--for her broken heart was a shattered vase from which the precious ointment had leaked out--but to venerate and adore, in the religious sense of the word, this prince, though a man whose bodily appetite and vulgar instincts had so often caused her to blush. royalty smitten with death, but the king kept in perpetual imprisonment, was a conception so grand and mighty that but few entertained it. "the king must stand trial," said the ex-priest gregoire to the convention; "but he has done so much to earn scorn that we have no room for hatred." and tom paine wrote: "i entreat you to go on with the trial, not so much of this king as the whole band of them; the case of this individual whom you have in your power will put you on the track of all. louis xvi. is useful as showing the necessity of revolutions." so great minds like paine and great hearts like gregoire were in tune on this point. the kings were to be tried, and louis might even be allowed to turn state's evidence. this has never been done, but it is good yet to do. suppose the charge against the empress catherine, pasiphæ of the north; who will say there would not come out instruction to the world from such a revelation? to the great disappointment of the rolands, we repeat, the papers in the iron safe did not compromise dumouriez and danton, while they earned gamain a pension, little alleviating the pangs of his ailment, which made him a thousand times regret the guillotine to which he consigned his master. but they injured the king and the priests, showing up the narrow mind, sharp and ungrateful, of louis, who only hated those who wanted to save him--necker, lafayette, and mirabeau. there was nothing detrimental to the girondists. who was to read the dread indictment? who was to be the sword-bearer and float over the court like the destroying angel? st. just, the pet of robespierre, a pale young man with womanly lips, who uttered the atrocious words. the point was that the king must be killed. the speech made a terrible impression; not one of the judges but felt the repeated word enter his soul like steel. robespierre was appalled to see his disciple plant the red flag of revolution so far ahead of the most advanced outposts of republicanism. as time progressed, the watch over the prisoners was closer, and clery could learn nothing; but he picked up a newspaper stating that louis would be brought before the bar of the house on the eleventh of december. indeed, at five that morning the reveille was beaten all over paris. the temple gates were opened to bring in cannon; but no one would tell the captives the meaning of the unusual stir. breakfast was the last meal they partook of in company; when they parted, the prince was left playing a numerical game with his father, who kept the truth from him. "curse sixteen," said the boy, on losing three times running; "i believe you are bad luck!" the king was struck by the figure. at eleven the dauphin was removed and the king left in silence, as the officials did not intrude, for fear he would question them. at one o'clock santerre arrived with officers, and a registrar who read the decree calling "the prisoner louis capet" before the house. the king interrupted to say that capet was not his name, but that of an ancestor. he stopped the reading on the grounds that he had read it in the papers. as it was raining, they had a carriage in which to carry him. on alighting, santerre laid his hand on his shoulder and led him to the same spot at the bar, by the same chair, where he had taken the oath to the constitution. all the members save one had kept their seats as he entered; this one saluted him. the astonished king recognized gilbert. he wished him good-day. "are you acquainted with doctor gilbert?" asked santerre. "he was my physician once, so i hope no ill feeling will be harbored because he was polite to me." the examination began. unfortunately, the glamour of misfortune vanished before duplicity; not only did the king answer the questions put to him, but he did so badly, stammering, hesitating, trying to evade direct issues, chaffering for his life like a pettifogger arguing a party-fence case in a county court. the king did not appear at his best in broad day. the examination lasted five hours. though he refused refreshment offered, he asked a grenadier for a piece of the bread he saw him eating. on crossing the yard to step into the carriage, the mob sung with marked emphasis the line of the "marseillaise" about "the impure blood should fertilize our furrows." this made him lose color. the return was miserable. in the public hack, swaying on the black, pestiferous, vile pavement, while the mob surged up to the windows to see him, he blinked his eyes at the daylight; his beard was long, and his thin hair of a dirty yellow hue; his thin cheeks fell in folds on his wrinkled neck; clad in a gray suit, with a dark-brown overcoat, he mumbled with the bourbon's automatic memory: "this is such and such a street." on remarking that orleans street had been changed to egalite, on account of the duke having dropped his titles, though that did not save him from the guillotine, he fell into silence, and so returned into prison. he was not allowed to see his family, and had to go to bed without the meal with them. "ah, clery!" he said to his man, as he undressed him, "i little dreamed what questions they were going to put to me." indeed, almost all the inquiry was based on the contents of the iron safe, which he did not suspect was discovered, from having no idea that gamain had betrayed him. nevertheless, he soon sunk to sleep with that tranquillity of which he had given so many proofs, and which might be taken for lethargy. but the other prisoners did not bear the separation and the secrecy so tamely. in the morning the queen asked to see her husband, but the only arrangement offered was that the king might see his children on condition that they should not see their mother or aunt any more. the king refused this plan. consequently, the queen had her son's bed put in her rooms, and she did not quit him till removed for trial by the revolutionary tribunal, as her husband was by the convention. clery, however, worked communications with a servant of the princesses named turgy. they exchanged a few words, and passed notes scratched with pins on scraps of paper, on the ladies' side; the king could write properly, as he had writing materials supplied since his trial commenced. by means of a string, collected from the pieces around the packets of candles, clery lowered pens, ink, and paper to princess elizabeth, whose window was below that of the valet's room. hence the family had news of one another daily. on the other hand, the king's position was morally much worse since he had appeared before the convention. it had been surmised that he would either refuse to answer any interrogation, like charles i., whose history he knew so well; or else that he would answer proudly and loftily in the name of royalty, not like an accused criminal, but a knight accepting the gage of battle. unfortunately, louis was not regal enough to do either act. he so entangled himself that he had to ask for counsel. the one he named fearing to accept the task, it fell to malesherbes, who had been in the turgot ministry, a commonplace man in whom little did any suspect contempt for death. (on the day of his execution, for he was beheaded, he wound up his watch as usual.) throughout the trial he styled the king "sire." attacked by a flow of blood to the head, the king asked for dr. gilbert to be allowed to attend him, but the application was refused, and he was brutally told that if he drank cold water he would not have such a fullness of blood. as he was not allowed a knife to carve his food, unless a servant did it before the guards, so he was not let shave but in the presence of four municipal officers. on the evening of the twenty-fifth he wrote his will, in which he said that he did not blame himself for any of the crimes of which he was accused. he did not say that they were false. this evasive response was worthy the pupil of the duke of vauguyon. in any case, the twenty-sixth found him ready for any fate, death included. his counsel read the defense, which was a purely legal document. it seems to us that if we had been charged with it, we should not have spoken for the law, but let st. louis and henry iv. defend their descendants from the crimes of their intermediate successors. the more unjust the accusation, the more eloquent should have been the rejoinder. hence the convention asked, in astonishment: "have you nothing more to say in your defense?" he had nothing to say, and went back to the temple. when his defender called in the evening, he told him of a number of gentlemen who were pledged to prevent the execution. "if you do not know them personally," said the king to lamoignon malesherbes, "try to come in touch with them and tell them that i will never forgive myself for blood shed on my behalf. i would not have it spilled to save my throne and life, when that was possible; all the more reason for me not allowing it now." the voting on the th of january, , was on three points: is louis guilty? shall there be an appeal from the convention to the people? state the penalty. to the first question was the answer of voices, "yes." to the appeal question, ayes and noes. the third decision of the penalty was subdivided into death, imprisonment, banishment, or death, with the people allowed to reduce it to imprisonment. all tokens of approval or displeasure were prohibited, but when a member said anything but death, murmurs arose. once there were groans and hisses when a member spoke for death--when philippe egalite cast his vote for the execution of his kinsman. the majority for death was seven, and vergniaud uttered the sentence with deep emotion. it was three on the morning of the twentieth, sunday. the illustrious culprit was up when malesherbes bore him the news. "i was sure of it," he said, shaking hands with his defender. "for two days i have been trying to find if i have merited my subjects' reproach for what i have done in the course of my reign. i swear to you in all sincerity, as a man about to appear before his maker, that i have always wished the happiness of my people, and have not framed a wish contrary to it." the death-warrant was officially read to him, and he was allowed to choose his own confessor. the name of one had been already written down by princess elizabeth, whose confessor this abbe edgeworth was. chapter xxvii. the parallel to charles i. this worthy priest, of english origin, had escaped the september massacres and was hiding out at choisy, under the name of essex, as the princess elizabeth knew, and where to find him. he came to the call, though he believed that he would be killed within an hour of the dreadful scene. he was not to quit the prisoner till he quitted the world. the king was allowed to take farewell of his family in the dining-room, where the glass door allowed the guards still to keep him in sight. they knew the trial had taken place, but not the particulars, with which he supplied them. he dwelt particularly on the fact that petion had not pressed for the death penalty, and that gilbert had voted to spare his life. heaven owed the poor prisoner some comfort, and it came in the love of the queen. as has been seen in our story, the queen easily let the picturesque side of life attract her. she had that vivid imagination which makes women imprudent even more than disposed; she had been imprudent all her life in her friendship and in her loving. her captivity saved her in a moral point of view; she returned to the pure and holy domestic virtues from which youthful passions had led her; and as she could do nothing without extravagance, she fell to loving passionately, in his distress, this royal consort whose vulgar traits were all she could see in the days of felicity. in their first disasters she saw a dullard, almost cowardly, without impulse or resolution; at the temple she began to see that the wife had not only misjudged the husband, but the queen the monarch. she beheld one calm and patient, meek but firm under outrages; all the worldly dryness in her was melted, and turned to the profit of better sentiments. the same as she had scorned too deeply, she loved too fondly. "alas!" the king said to his confessor, "to think that i love so dearly and am loved so much." in their last interview, the queen seemed to yield to a feeling akin to remorse. when she found that she could not be alone with her lord, she drew him into a window recess, where she would have fallen on her knees at his feet; but he understood that she wanted to ask his forgiveness, so he stayed her and drew his will from his pocket to show her the lines: "i pray my wife to forgive all the woes i have led her to suffer and the sorrows caused her in the course of our union, as she may be sure that i cherish no ill feeling toward her, if she should think that she had reason to blame herself in any way." marie kissed his hands, for while there was full pardon, there was great delicacy, too, in the rest of the phrase. so this royal magdalen might die tranquil, late as came her love for her husband, it won her divine and human mercy, and her pardon was bestowed on earth, not in a mysterious whisper as an indulgence, of which the king felt ashamed, but openly and publicly. who would reproach her who went toward posterity with the double crown of the martyr and her husband's forgiveness? the poignant farewell lasted nearly two hours before the condemned went out to his priest. as day began to break, the drums were beaten throughout the town; the bustle and the sound penetrated the old tower and chilled the blood of the priest and clery. at nine o'clock the noise increased and the doors were loudly flung open. santerre came in, followed by town officers and soldiers, who formed a double row. the king received the priest's blessing and a prayer for support, and called for his hat, as all the others had kept their hats on. seeing that clery had his overcoat ready for fear he would be cold, and the shiver would be taken for that of fright, he said: "no; nothing but my hat." he took advantage of the act to shake his hand for the last time. "let us go, gentlemen," he said, with the tone of command so rarely used by him. in crossing the first yard, he turned two or three times to wave a farewell to his dear ones. with the priest he stepped into a hack, and the procession started, leaving the queen no hope save for a rescue on the road. that of a respite had already vanished. she fell into a chair, sobbing: "to think of his going without saying good-bye!" the streets were foggy and deserted, as all citizens were forbidden to be about unless belonging to the armed militia, and there were no faces up at the windows. all the prisoner saw was a forest of pikes and bayonets, with a large drum corps before the party and cavalry around. the clamor prevented the king talking with the confessor, who read his prayer-book. at st. denis gate the king lifted his head, for the uproar was marked by a change in the shouts. a dozen young men, sword in hand, rushed through the retinue and shouted: "rescue! this way, those who would save the king!" one baron de batz, an adventurer, had engaged three thousand bravoes to make this attempt, but only a handful responded when he sounded the signal-cry. this forlorn hope of royalty, meeting no reply, retreated and slipped away in the confusion. the incident was of such slight importance that the carriage did not stop; it was at its journey's end when it did. one of the three brothers sanson, the paris executioners, came to open the door. laying his hand on the abbe's knee, the king said, in the tone of a master: "gentlemen, i recommend this gentleman to you. take care of him after my death, for he has done nobody harm." he threw off his coat, not to be touched by the headsman. one had a rope to bind his hands, but he said he would not submit to it. a hand-to-hand fight would rob the victim of all the merit of six months' calmness, courage, and resignation, so the confessor advised him to yield, particularly as one of the sansons, moved with pity, offered to substitute a handkerchief. he held out his hands resignedly, saying: "do as you like. i shall drain the chalice to the dregs." the scaffold steps were high and slippery, and he had the priest's arm for support, but on the top step he escaped, so to say, from the spiritual guide, and went to the further end of the platform. he was flushed in the face, and had never appeared more hale or animated. the drums began to beat, but he imposed silence by a look as, with a lusty voice, he said: "i die innocent of all the crimes imputed to me. i forgive the authors of my death, and i pray god that this blood shall not fall on france." "strike up, drums!" roared a voice long believed to be santerre's, but was that of beaufranchet, count oyat, illegitimate son of louis xv., and a courtesan, the prisoner's natural uncle. the drums beat, and the king stamped his foot in vain. "do your duty!" yelled the pikemen to the executioners, who threw themselves on the king. he returned with slow steps under the knife, of which he had designed the proper shape only a year ago. he glanced at the priest who was praying at a corner of the scaffold. behind the two upright beams a scuffle went on. the tilting flap fell into place, and the prisoner's head appeared in the ominous gap. a flash, a dull, chopping sound was heard, and a large jet of blood spouted forth. then, one of the death's-men taking up the head, sprinkled the by-standers with the dripping fluid. at this sight the pikemen whooped and rushed to dye their weapons in the blood, which they ran to show the town, with shouts of "long live the republic!" for the first time this cry found no echo, though it had oft thrilled hearers with joy. the republic had a stain on the brow which nothing ever could efface. as a great diplomatist said, it had committed worse than a crime--a blunder. thus died, on the st of january, , king louis xvi. he was aged thirty-nine years. he had reigned eighteen, and was over five months a prisoner. his last wish was not accomplished, for his blood not only fell on france, but over the whole of europe. chapter xxviii. cagliostro's advice. on the evening of this awful day, while the pike-bearers were scouring paris through streets illuminated but deserted, to exhibit rags dyed in blood, with shouts of "the tyrant is dead! behold his blood!" two men whose dress was different, sat in silence in a room in a house in st. honore street. dressed in black, one was sitting at a table, with his head resting on his hand, plunged into deep reverie, if not grief. the other, wearing a countryman's dress, strode up and down, with wrinkled forehead, gloomy eye, and folded arms. every time his crossing line brought him by the table, he cast a glance on the thinker. at last the countryman stopped and said, as he fixed his eye on the other: "come, now, citizen gilbert, am i a brigand because i voted for the king's death?" the man in black raised his head, shook his melancholy brow, and said, holding out his hand to his companion: "no, billet, you are no more a brigand for that than i am an aristocrat for voting the other way. you voted according to your conscience, and i to mine. it is a terrible thing to take away from man that which you can not restore." "so it is your opinion that despotism is inviolable," returned billet, "liberty is revolt, and there is no justice on earth except such as kings, that is, tyrants, dispense? then what remains for the people, the right to serve and obey? do you, gilbert, the pupil of rousseau, say that?" "no, billet, for that would be an impiety against the people." "come," said the farmer, "i am going to talk to you with the roughness of my plain good sense, to which i do not mind your answering with all the sharpness of your fine wit. do you admit that a nation, believing itself oppressed, should have the right to disestablish its church, lower or even demolish the throne, fight and make itself free?" "not a doubt of it." "then it has the right to gather in the spoils of the victory?" "yes, billet; but not to compass such things with murder and violence. remember that it is written, 'thou shalt not kill thy neighbor.'" "but the king was no neighbor of mine," returned billet; "he was my enemy. i remember what my poor mother read me in the bible of what samuel said to the israelites who asked him to appoint a king." "so do i, billet; and samuel anointed saul--he did not kill him. "oh, i know that if i get to arguing with you in book learning, i shall lose. so i simply ask you, were we right to take the bastile?" "yes." "when the king took away our right to hold a meeting, were we right to meet in another place?" "you were." "had we the right, when the king gathered foreign troops at versailles to feast them and overawe us, to take him away from among them and lodge him in paris?" "yes." "to bring him back when he tried to run away from the country?" "yes." "then we had a right to shut him up where he was so little out of mischief that he continued to correspond with the invader. ought we not have brought him before the court for trial, to doom him, and--" "ay, to banish, to perpetually imprison, all except death, because, guilty in the result, he was not so in the intention. you judge him from the people's standing, billet; but he acted like the son of kings. was he a tyrant, as you call him? no. an oppressor of the people? no. an accomplice of aristocrats and an enemy of freedom? no." "then you judge him as royalty would?" "no; for then he would have been acquitted." "but you did so by voting for his life." "no; with life imprisonment. granting he was not your neighbor, but your enemy, he was a vanquished one, and ought not to have been slain in cold blood. that is not execution, but immolation. you have conferred on royalty something like martyrdom, and made justice seem vengeance. take care! in doing too much, you have not done enough. charles of england was executed, but his son reigned. but james ii. was banished, and his sons died in exile. human nature is humane, and you have alienated from the republic for fifty or a hundred years the immense proportion of the population judging revolutions by their feelings. believe me, my friend, republicans ought most to bewail the death of louis, for the blood will fall on them, and cost the republic its life." "there is some truth in what you say, gilbert," said a voice at the door. "cagliostro!" exclaimed both debaters, turning with the same impulse. "yes; but there is also truth in what billet said." "that is the trouble in it," sighed gilbert; "the cause we plead has two faces, and each, as he looks upon it, can say he is right." "but he ought also to admit that he may be wrong." "what is your opinion, master?" asked the doctor. "yes, your opinion?" said billet. "you have been trying the accused over again, but you should test the sentence. had you doomed the king, you would have been right. you doomed the man, and you were wrong." "i don't understand," said billet. "you ought to have slain the king amid his guards and courtiers, while unknown to the people--when he was to them a tyrant. but, after having let him live and dwell under the eyes of the private soldier, the petty civil servant, the workman, as a man, this sham abasement elevated him, and he ought to have been banished or locked up, as happens to any man." "i did not understand you," said billet to the doctor, "but i do the citizen cagliostro." "just think of their five months' captivity molding this lump--who was born to be a parish beadle--into a statue of courage, patience, and resignation, on a pedestal of sorrow; you sanctified him so that his wife adored him. who would have dreamed, my dear gilbert," said the magician, bursting into laughter, "that marie antoinette would ever have loved her mate?" "oh, if i had only guessed this," muttered billet, "i would have slain him before! i could have done it easily." these words were spoken with such intense patriotism that gilbert pardoned them, while cagliostro admired. "but you did not do it," said the latter. "you voted for death; and you, gilbert, for life. now, let me give you a last piece of advice. you, gilbert, strove to be a member of the convention to accomplish a duty; you, billet, to fulfill vengeance; both are realized. you have nothing more to do here. be gone." the two stared at him. "to-morrow, your indulgence will be regarded as a crime, and on the next day your severity as bad. believe me, in the mortal strife preparing between hatred, fear, revenge, fanaticism, few will remain unspotted; some will be fouled with mud, some with blood. go, my friends, go!" "but france?" said the doctor. "yes, france?" echoed billet. "materially," said cagliostro, "france is saved; the external enemy is baffled, the home one dead. the revolution holds the ax in one hand and the tri-colored flag in the other. go in tranquillity, for before she lays them down, the aristocracy will be beheaded, and europe conquered. go, my friends, go to your second country, america!" "will you go with me, billet?" asked the doctor. "will you forgive me?" asked billet. the two clasped hands. "you must go at once. the ship 'franklin' is ready to sail." "but my son?" cagliostro had opened the door. "come in, sebastian," he said; "your father calls you." the young man rushed into his father's arms, while billet sighed. "my carriage is at the door," said cagliostro. then, in a whisper to the doctor while billet was asking news of the youth, he said, emphatically: "take him away; he must not know how he lost his mother. he might thirst for revenge." gilbert nodded and opened a money drawer. "fill your pockets," he said to billet. "will there be enough in a strange country?" he asked. "bless you! with land at five dollars an acre, cleared, we can buy a county. but what are you looking round for?" "for what would be no use to me, who can not write." "i see; you want to send good-bye to pitou. let me." "what have you written?" "my dear pitou,--we are leaving france--billet, sebastian, and i--and send you our united love. we think that as you are manager of billet's farm, you do not need anything. one of these days we may write for you to come over and join us. "your friend, "gilbert." "is that all?" asked the farmer. "there is a postscript," said the writer, looking the farmer in the face as he said: "billet hopes you will take the best of care of catherine." billet uttered a cry of gratitude and shook gilbert's hand again. ten minutes afterward, the post-chaise carried far from paris gilbert and his friend and the son of andrea of charny. chapter xxix. the crown of ange's love. a little over a year after the execution of the king and the departure of gilbert, his son, and billet, on a fine, cold morning of the hard winter of , three or four hundred persons--that is, a sixth of the population of villers cotterets--waited on the square before the manor-house and in the mayor's yard for the coming out of two married folks whom mayor longpre was uniting in the holy bonds. these were ange pitou and catherine billet. alas! it had taken many grave events to bring the flame of viscount charny, the mother of little isidore, to become mistress pitou. everybody was chattering over these events; but in whatever manner they related and discussed them, there was always something to the greater glory of the devotion of ange pitou and the good behavior of billet's daughter. only, the more interesting the couple were, the more they were pitied. perhaps they were happier than any in the crowd; but human nature is inclined that way--it must pity or applaud! on this occasion it was in the compassionate vein. indeed, what cagliostro had foreseen, had come on rapidly, leaving a long track of blood after it. on the st of february, , the issue of more paper money was agreed. in march, the fugitive nobles were perpetually banished and their property confiscated. in november, a new kind of religion was proposed instead of the established church. the result of the confiscation decree was, that billet and gilbert being considered fugitives, their lands were seized for the public good. the same fate befell the estates of the charnys, the count having been killed and the countess murdered in prison. the consequence to catherine was that she was turned out of billet's farm, which was national property. pitou wanted to protest, but pitou was a moderate and a "suspect," and wise souls advised him not to oppose the orders of the nation in will or deed. so catherine and pitou had gone over to haramont. she had thought of taking refuge in daddy clovis's lodge, but he appeared at the door to lay his finger on his lips and shake his head in token of impossibility; the place was already occupied. the law on the banishment of refractory priests was still in force, and it is easy to understand that father fortier had banished himself, as he would not take the oath. but he had not felt like passing the frontier, and his exile was limited to his leaving his house in charge of his sister, to see the furniture was not stolen, and asking clovis for shelter, which was granted. this retreat was only a cave, and it would with difficulty hold, in addition to the corpulent priest, catherine, little isidore, and pitou. besides, we recall the refusal of the priest to bury mrs. billet. catherine was not good christian enough to overlook the unkindness, and had she been so, the abbe fortier was too good a catholic to forgive her. so they had to give up the idea of staying with old clovis. this choice lay between aunt angelique's house and pitou's lodgings at haramont. they dared not think of the former. as the revolution had followed its course, angelique had become more and more diabolic, which seems incredible, and thinner, which seems impossible. this change in her temper and her physique arose from the fact that the churches were closed at villers as elsewhere, awaiting the invention of a reasonable and civic cult, according to the board of public instruction. the churches being shut, aunt angelique's principal revenue, from letting seats, fell into disuse. it was the drying up of her income which made her tartar--we beg pardon, tarter and bonier than ever. let us add that she had so often heard the story of pitou and billet capturing the bastile, and had so often seen them start off for paris whenever any great event was to take place, that she did not in the least doubt that the french revolution was led by ange pitou and farmer billet, with citizens danton, marat, robespierre & co., playing the secondary parts. the priest's sister fostered her in these somewhat erroneous opinions, to which the regicidal vote of billet had given the seal on heated fanaticism. pitou ought not to think of placing the regicide's daughter under angelique's roof. as for the petty accommodation at haramont, how could he think of installing two--there were three--souls in two rooms; while if they were comfortable, it would set evil tongues wagging? it was more out of the question than clovis's hut. so pitou made up his mind to beg shelter for himself of desire maniquet. that worthy son of haramont gave the hospitality which pitou paid for in kind; but all this did not provide catherine with a fixed habitation. pitou showed her all the attentions of a loving friend and the affection of a brother; but poor catherine was well aware that he did not love her like friend or brother. little isidore had something of the same idea; for the poor child, having never known the viscount of charny, loved him more perhaps, for pitou was not merely the sweetheart of catherine, but his slave. a skillful strategist must have understood that the way to win catherine's heart was through the help of the little one. but we hasten to say that no such calculation tarnished the purity of pitou's sentiments. he was just the simple fellow we met him at the first, unless, on becoming a man, he became simpler than ever. all his good gifts touched catherine. she saw that pitou adored her ardently, to the point of fanaticism, and she caught herself wishing that she could repay so great a love and utter devotion with something better than friendship. gradually, by dint of dwelling on her isolation from all the world, pitou excepted, and on her boy being left alone if she were to die, pitou again excepted, she came to giving pitou the only reward in her power--her hand. alas, her first love, that perfumed flower of youth, was in heaven! for six months catherine had been nourishing this conclusion without pitou suspecting that the wind was blowing up in his favor, though her welcoming was a shade warmer and her parting a trifle more lingering each time; so she was forced to speak the first--but women take the lead in such matters. one evening, instead of offering her hand, she held up her cheek for a kiss. pitou thought she had forgot, and was too honest to take advantage of a mistake. but catherine had not let go his hand, and she drew him closer to her. seeing him still hesitate, little isidore joined in, saying: "why won't you kiss mamma catherine, papa pitou?" "good gracious!" gasped pitou, turning pale as if about to die, but letting his cold and trembling lip touch her cheek. taking the boy up, she put him in pitou's arms, and said: "i give you the boy, ange; will you have the mother?" this time, it was too much for the swain, whose head swam; he shut his eyes, and while he hugged the child, he dropped on a chair, and panted with the delicacy which only a delicate heart could appreciate: "oh, master isidore, how very fond i am of you!" isidore called pitou "papa pitou," but pitou called him "master isidore." that is why, as he felt that love for her son had made catherine love ange, he did not say: "oh, how dearly i love you, catherine!" this point settled that pitou thought more of isidore than of catherine, they spoke of marriage. "i don't want to seem in a hurry," said the man, "but if you mean to make me happy, do not be too long about it." catherine took a month. at the end of three weeks ange, in full regimentals, went respectfully to pay a visit to aunt angelique, with the aim to inform her of his near at hand union with catherine billet. seeing her nephew from afar, she hastened to shut her door. but he did not hold back from the inhospitable door whence he had once been expelled. he rapped gently. "who is there?" snarled angelique, in her sourest voice. "i--your dutiful nephew, ange pitou." "go on your bloody way, you september man of massacre!" cried aunt angelique. "auntie, i come to tell you of a bit of news which can not fail to make you jolly, because it is my happiness." "what is the news, you red-capped jacobin?" "i will tell you if you open the door." "say it through the door; i shall not open it to a breechless outlaw like you." "if there is no other way, here you have it--i am going to get married." the door flew open as by magic. "who are you going to marry, you wretched fellow?" asked the old spinster. "catherine billet, please." "oh, the villain, the scamp, the regicide!" said the good soul; "he marries a ruined girl! get you gone, scapegrace; i curse you!" with a gesture quite noble, she held up her dry and yellow hands toward her nephew. "dear aunt," replied the young man, "you ought to know that i am too well hardened to your maledictions to care a fig for them. i only wanted to do the proper thing by inviting you to dance at my wedding; if you won't come, still i have asked you to shake a leg--" "shake a--fy, for shame!" "fare thee well, sweet aunt angelique!" touching his cocked hat in the military manner, pitou made a salute to his relative and hurried away. chapter xxx. the effect of happy news. pitou had to tell his intended marriage to mayor longpre, who lived hard by. less set against the billet family than aunt 'gelique, he congratulated pitou on the match. pitou listened to his praise without seeing where he was doing very much of a noble action. by the way, as a pure republican, pitou was delighted to find that the republic had done away with the publication of the banns and other ecclesiastical trammels which had always galled true lovers. it was, therefore, settled between the mayor and the suitor that the wedding should take place on the following saturday, at the town hall. next day, sunday, the sale of the charny estate and the billet farm was to come off. the latter, at the upset price of four hundred thousand and the other at six hundred thousand in paper money; assignats were dropping fearfully; the gold louis was worth nine hundred and twenty francs in paper. but, then, nobody ever saw a gold piece nowadays. pitou had run all the way back to acquaint catherine with the good news. he had ventured to anticipate the marriage-day by forty-eight hours, and he was afraid he should vex catherine. she did not appear vexed, and he was lifted up among the angels--his namesakes. but she insisted on his going once more to aunt angelique's, to announce the exact date of the wedding-day and invite her to be at the ceremony. she was the bridegroom's sole relative, and though not at all tender toward him, he ought to do the proper thing on his side. the consequence was that on thursday morning, pitou went over to villers cotterets to repeat the visit. nine o'clock was striking as he got in sight of the house. the aunt was not on the door-step, but the door was closed any way, as if she expected his call. he thought that she had stepped out, and he was delighted. he would have paid the visit, and a polite note with a piece of wedding-cake after the ceremony would acquit the debt to courtesy. still, as he was a conscientious fellow, he went up to the door and knocked; as no answer came to his raps, he called. at the double appeal of knuckle and voice, a neighbor appeared at her own door. "do you know whether or no my aunt has gone out, eh, mother fagot?" asked pitou. "has she not answered?" asked dame fagot. "no; she has not, as you see; so i guess she has gone out for a gossip." mother fagot shook her head. "i should have seen her go out," she said; "my door opens the same way as hers, and it is pretty seldom that in getting up of a morning she does not drop into our house to get some warm ashes to put in her shoes, with which the poor dear lamb keeps her toes warm all the day. ain't that so, neighbor farolet?" this question was addressed to a fresh character, who likewise opening his door, shoved his conversational oar into the parley. "what are you talking about, madame fagot?" "i was a-saying that aunt angelique had not gone out. have you seen anything of her?" "that i hain't, and i am open to wager that she has not gone out, otherwise her shutters would not be open, d'ye see." "by all that is blue, that is true enough," remarked pitou. "heavens, i hope nothing unfortunate has happened to my poor aunt." "i should not wonder," said mother fagot. "it is more than possible, it is probable," said farolet, sententiously. "to tell the truth, she was not over-tender to me," went on pitou; "but i do not want harm to befall her for all that. how are we going to find out the state of things?" "that is not a puzzle," suggested a third neighbor, joining in; "send for rigolot, the locksmith." "if it is to open the door, he is not wanted," said pitou; "i know a little trick of prying the bolt with a knife." "well, go ahead, my lad," said farolet; "we are all witnesses that you picked the lock with the best intentions and your pocket-knife." pitou had taken out his knife, and in the presence of a dozen persons, attracted by the occurrence, he slipped back the bolt with a dexterity proving that he had used this means of opening the way more than once in his youth. the door was open, but the interior was plunged into complete darkness. as the daylight gradually penetrated and was diffused, they could descry the form of the old girl on her bed. pitou called her by name twice. but she remained motionless and without response. he went in and up to the couch. "halloo!" he exclaimed, touching the hands; "she is cold and stark." they opened the windows. aunt angelique was dead. "what a misfortune!" said pitou. "tush," said farolet; "a hard winter is coming, and wood never so dear. she saves by departing where the firing is plentiful. besides, your aunt did not dote on you." "maybe so," said pitou, with tears as big as walnuts, "but i liked her pretty well. oh, my poor auntie!" said the big baby, falling on his knees by the bed. "i say, captain pitou," said mme. fagot, "if you want anything, just let us know. if we ain't good neighbors, we ain't good for anything." "thank you, mother. is that boy of yours handy?" "yes. hey, fagotin!" called the good woman. a boy of fourteen stood frightened at the door. "here i am, mother," he said. "just bid him trot over to haramont to tell catherine not to be uneasy about me, as i have found my aunt 'gelique dead. poor aunt!" he wiped away fresh tears. "that is what is keeping me here." "you hear that, fagotin? then off you go." "go through soissons street," said the wise farolet, "and notify citizen raynal that there is a case of sudden death to record at old miss pitou's." the boy darted off on his double errand. the crowd had kept increasing till there were a hundred before the door. each had his own opinion on the cause of the decease, and all whispered among themselves. "if pitou is no fool, he will find some hoard smuggled away in an old sock, or in a crock, or in a hole in the chimney." dr. raynal arrived in the midst of this, preceded by the head tax-gatherer. the doctor went up to the bed, examined the corpse, and declared to the amaze of the lookers-on that the death was due to cold and starvation. this redoubled pitou's tears. "oh, poor aunt!" he wailed, "and i thought she was so rich. i am a villain for having left her to poverty. oh, had i only known this! it can not be, doctor raynal!" "look into the hutch and see if there is any bread; in the wood-box and see if there is any fire-wood. i have always foretold that the old miser would end in this way." searching, they found not a crumb or a splinter. "oh, why did she not tell me this?" mourned pitou. "i would have chopped up some wood for her and done some poaching to fill the larder. it is your fault, too," the poor fellow added, accusing the crowd; "you ought to have told me that she was in want." "we did not tell you that she was in want," returned wiseacre farolet, "for the plain reason that everybody believed that she was rolling in riches." dr. raynal had thrown the sheet over the cold face, and proceeded to the door, when pitou intercepted him. "are you going, doctor?" "why, what more do you expect me to do here?" "then she is undoubtedly dead? dear me, to die of cold and hunger, too!" raynal beckoned him. "boy, i am of the opinion that you should none the less seek high and low," he said. "but, doctor, after your saying she died of want--" "misers have been known to die the same way, lying on their treasures. hush!" he said, laying a finger on his lips, and going out-doors. chapter xxxi. the easy-chair. pitou would have pondered more deeply on what the doctor told him, only he spied catherine running up, with her boy in her arms. since there was no doubt that aunt angelique had died of privation, the eagerness of the neighbors to help her nephew had lessened. so catherine arrived most timely. as she might be considered the wife of pitou, it was her place to attend to his aunt, which the good creature set about doing with the same tenderness she had shown awhile before to her own mother. meanwhile, pitou ran out to arrange for the funeral, which would be at two days' time, as the suddenness of the death compelled retention of the remains forty-eight hours. religious ceremonies being suppressed for funerals as for marriages, he had only to do business with the sexton and the grave digger, after the mayor. before he departed, catherine suggested that the marriage should be deferred for a day or two, as it would look strange for an act so important and joyous as a wedding to be performed on the same day as he conducted his aunt's remains to the cemetery. "besides, my dear, it is bad luck to have a wedding while a grave is open." "stuff," said pitou; "from the moment i am your husband, i defy misfortune to get a grip on me." "dear pitou, let us put it off till monday," said the bride, holding up her hand to him; "you see that i am trying to make your wishes suit proprieties." "but two days is a deuce of a long time, catherine." "not when you have been waiting five years." "a lot of things may happen in forty-eight hours," moaned pitou. "my falling off in love can not happen, ange; and as you pretend that is the only thing in the world which concerns you--" "lord, yes, catherine; the only--only thing!" "why, then, look here, isidore, say to papa pitou: 'do not be afraid, papa pitou; mamma loves you dearly, and will always love you.'" the child repeated this in his pretty voice. on this assurance, pitou made no difficulty about going to the mayor's. he returned in about an hour, with all settled and paid for. with what money he had left he laid in a stock of wood and food for a couple of days. it was high time that the firing had come into the old, weather-worn house, where the wind poured in at many a chink, and they might perish of cold. pitou had found catherine half frozen when he got back. according to catherine's wish, the marriage was postponed until monday. the intermediate time passed with the pair mourning by the death-bed. despite the huge fire pitou kept roaring, the wind came in so sharp and chill that pitou acknowledged that if his aunt had not died of hunger she must have been carried off by cold. the time came for the removal of the corpse, the transit not taking long, as aunt angelique's dwelling adjoined the burial-ground. all of that quarter and other representatives of the town went to the funeral, which pitou and catherine led as the chief mourners. when the ceremony terminated, pitou thanked those attending in his name and that of the dead, and they all filed before him, throwing holy water into the old maid's grave. when left alone, pitou looked round for catherine, and saw her and isidore kneeling on another grave where cypresses were planted. it was mother billet's. pitou had dug those four cypresses in the woods and transplanted them. he did not care to disturb them in this pious occupation, but thinking that catherine would be very cold at the end of her devotions, he determined to run on before and have a good fire blazing at her return. unfortunately, one thing opposed the realization of this good intention--they were out of wood. pitou was in a pinch, for he was out of money, too. he looked around him to see if there was nothing good to burn. there was aunt angelique's bread-safe, bed, and easy-chair. the bed and cupboard were not unworn, but they were still good; while the arm-chair was so rickety that nobody but the owner had ever risked themselves in it. it was therefore condemned. like the revolutionary tribunal, pitou had no sooner condemned a thing than he proceeded to execute it. pitou set his knee to the seat, and seizing one of the sides, gave a pull. at the third of such tugs, it gave way at the joints. it uttered a kind of squeak, as if an animal capable of feeling pain and expressing emotion. if pitou had been superstitious, he might have imagined that the aunt's spirit had located itself in her old arm-chair. but pitou had no superstition except his love for catherine. this article of furniture was doomed to warm her, and though it had bled in each limb like an enchanted tree, it would have been rent to pieces. he grasped the other arm with the same fierceness, and tore that from the carcass, which began to look dismantled. again the chair sent forth a sound strange and metallic. pitou remained insensible. he took up the chair by one leg, and swinging the whole round his head, he brought it down on the floor. this split the seat in half, and to the great astonishment of the destroyer, out of the yawning chasm spouted torrents of gold. our readers will remember that it was angelique's habit to change all her coppers into silver, and them into gold pieces, which she stowed away inside her chair. when pitou recovered from his surprise and dismay, his first impulse was to run out to catherine and little isidore and bring them in to view the riches he had discovered. but the dreadful terror seized him that catherine would not marry him if he were a rich man, and he shook his head. "no," he said, "she would refuse me." after reflecting for an instant, careworn and motionless, a smile passed over his face. no doubt he had hit on a means of surmounting the obstacle which this sudden wealth had raised. he gathered up the coin scattered on the floor and poked about in the cushion with his knife for still more of the golden eggs. they were literally crammed into the lining. he reckoned, and there were fifteen hundred and fifty louis, otherwise, thirty-seven thousand and two hundred livres or francs, and at the discount in the favor of gold, he was the master of one million three hundred and twenty-six thousand livres! and at what a moment had this slice of good luck befallen him! when he was obliged to smash up the furniture from having no means to buy fuel for his wife. what a lucky thing that pitou was so poor, the weather was so cold, and the old chair so rotten! who knows what would have happened but for this happy conjunction of circumstances? he stuffed the coin away in all his pockets, and scraping the splinters together he built a fire, which he managed to kindle with the unused flint and steel. he was no more than in time, for in came catherine and little isidore, shivering with cold. pitou gave the boy a hug, kissed the woman's icy hands, and dashed out, crying: "get warm. i have a piece of business to go through." "where does papa pitou go?" asked the boy. "i do not know, but judging by the gait he is going at, it is for you or me." she might have said, "for you _and_ me." chapter xxxii. what pitou did with the find. it has not been forgotten that the charny estate and the gilbert and billet farms were in the market at a price. on the sale day, mayor longpre bought for "mr. cash" the properties at the price of , gold louis, for the equivalent of assignats. this happened on sunday, the eve of the day when catherine and pitou were married. at eleven on the following day, all the crowd were grieving that a fine fellow like pitou should throw himself away upon a girl who was ruined utterly, with a child who was even more poverty-stricken than herself. when mayor longpre had pronounced citizen pierre ange pitou and citizeness anne catherine billet united in wedlock, he beckoned little isidore to him. the youngster had been sitting upon the desk, whence he slipped down and came to him. "my boy," he said, "here are some papers which you will please give your mamma catherine when papa pitou takes her home." "yes, sir," said the little fellow, taking two papers in his little hand. all was finished, only, to the great astonishment of the spectators, pitou pulled out five gold pieces and handed them to the mayor, saying: "for the poor of the parish." "are we rich?" asked catherine, smiling. "happy folks are always rich," returned pitou, "and you have made me the happiest man in creation." he offered his arm to the wife, who leaned on it affectionately. on going forth, they found the crowd to which we have alluded. unanimous cheers greeted the couple. pitou saluted his friends and gave many hand-shakes; catherine nodded to hers and gave many smiles. pitou turned to the right. "why, where are you going, dearest?" asked madame pitou. "come, my dearly beloved," he replied, "to a place you will be glad to see again." "why, you are going toward our old farm," she said. "come on, all the same," he persisted. "oh, pitou!" she sighed, as he brought her over the well-remembered way. "and i thought to make you happy," he sighed, too. "how could you think to make me happy by taking me again to a place which was my parents', and might have been mine, but which was sold yesterday to some stranger whose name even i do not know." "only a couple of steps farther; that is all i ask of you." they turned the corner of the wall, and had the farm entrance before them. all the farm-hands, carters, cow-men, dairy-maids, plowmen, were there, with father clovis marshaling them, a bunch of flowers in his hand. "i understand; you wanted me to be welcomed once more in the old home by those who, like me, will leave it forever. i thank you, dear." leaving her husband's arm and isidore's hand, she ran forward to meet the people, who surrounded her and bore her into the house. pitou led isidore, who was still carrying the papers, into the door-way, and they saw catherine seated in the main room, staring about her as in a dream. "in heaven's name, tell me what they are saying!" she cried. "i do not understand a bit of what they are saying." "perhaps these papers which the child has for you will make it all clear, dear catherine," replied the husband. she took the papers from the little hand, and read one by chance: "i acknowledge that the manor-house of boursonnes and the lands dependent were bought and paid for by me, yesterday, on behalf of jacques philip isidore, minor son of catherine billet, and that consequently said house and lands are the property of the said son. "longpre, mayor of villers cotterets." "what does this mean, pitou? you must understand that i can not make head or tail of it." "better read the other document," suggested the husband. unfolding the second paper, catherine read as follows: "i hereby acknowledge that the farm called billet's, with the lands and buildings thereon and the appurtenances thereof, were bought and paid for by me, on behalf and for the account of citizeness anne catherine billet, and that it follows the said farm and lands and buildings belong to the said citizeness ann catherine billet. "longpre, mayor of villers cotterets." "in heaven's name, tell me what this all means, or i shall go mad!" said catherine. "the meaning is," rejoined pitou, "that thanks to some gold found in my aunt angelique's old easy-chair, which i broke up to warm you, the house and manor of charny will not go out of the family, or the farm from the billets." catherine understood all at last. she opened her arms to pitou, but he pushed isidore into them. but she leaned forward and infolded husband and child in the same embrace. "oh, god!" exclaimed pitou, stifling with bliss and yet unable to repress one tear for the old maid, "to think there are people who die of hunger and cold, like poor aunt angelique!" "faith!" said a stout teamster, nudging a rosy milk-maid for her to take particular heed of their new master and mistress, "i do not think that pair is going to die in any such way." * * * * * let us turn from these truly happy ones, in the peaceful country, to the bereaved widow of louis xvi. in her lonesome jail she mourns over the loss of all--husband, lover, friend. what can replace a charny or an andrea? she thinks there is no champion of the blood of either, for she knows not that cagliostro's surmise was not baseless. when the son of andrea shall know how his mother fell, he will fly to arms to avenge that loss and to spite her foes, who are also the queen's! we shall trace his gallant, and desperate attempts to rescue the royal captive in the pages of the conclusion of this series, entitled: "the knight of redcastle: or, the captivity of marie antoinette." the end _a book for every family._ how to live well on cents a day. by mrs. gesine lemcke, one of the most noted cooks and housekeepers of the day. it contains a complete bill of fare for every day for six weeks, also valuable hints and helps for housekeepers. the _philadelphia call_ says of it: "utopia discovered! everybody happy and want absolutely abolished. hats off to mrs. lemcke! whether this volume accomplishes its purpose or not is immaterial. it is stuffed full of just the sort of information that is good for young housekeepers and should be widely read, and is worth $ . to any family." this book is for sale by all dealers, or it will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of cents, by j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york. terms to agents. _sample copy by mail, postpaid, cents._ _less than copies, cents per copy. one hundred or more copies, cents per copy._ the above prices do not include freight or express charges. _terms cash with order._ address, j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york. are you a woman? and do you want to get married? if so, you ought to buy our new book. "how to get married although a woman," by a young widow. read what _the christian advocate_ says about it: "how to get married although a woman," by a young widow, comes from the j. s. ogilvie publishing co., rose street, new york. the woman anxious to get married, but unable to do so, will find an immense amount of advice and assistance in this little volume, and will learn what manner of woman is liked and what disliked by men, the reasons of success and failure in the race matrimonial, some unfailing methods of catching a husband, why it is that a plain widow can come into a community and take her pick among the most eligible men, and finally, how to retain the love of a husband when he has been captured and how to get another one when he has been gathered to his fathers. any woman who cannot catch a husband by the rules laid down in this book does not deserve one, and it costs only cents for all this valuable advice and information. this book will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of cents. address, _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, lock box . rose st., new york._ catalogue of useful and popular books. any of the books on this list will be mailed postpaid to any address on receipt of price by j. s. ogilvie publishing company, rose street, new york. _write your name and address very plainly so as to avoid mistakes._ =album writer's friend (the).=--compiled by j. s. ogilvie, mo, pages. paper cover, cents; cloth cents. this is a new and choice selection of gems of prose and poetry, comprising over seven hundred selections, suitable for writing in autograph albums, valentines, and for birthday and wedding celebrations. it also contains a new and choice collection of verses suitable for christmas and new-year cards. it contains pages, with paper cover, price cents: bound in cloth, cents. =amateur's guide to magic and mystery.=--an entirely new work, containing full and ample instructions on the mysteries of magic, sleight-of-hand tricks, card tricks, etc. the best work on conjuring for amateurs published. illustrated. cents. =art of ventriloquism.=--contains simple and full directions by which any one may acquire the amusing art, with numerous examples for practice. also instructions for making the magic whistle, for imitating birds, animals, and peculiar sounds of various kinds. any boy who wishes to obtain an art by which he can develop a wonderful amount of astonishment, mystery, and fun, should learn ventriloquism, as he easily can follow the simple secret given in this book. mailed for cents. =bad boy's diary (a).=--this is one of the most successful humorous books of the present day, filled with fun and good humor, and "will drive the blues out of a bag of indigo." it is printed from new, large type, and on fine, heavy white paper of a superior finish, and contains pages. new, full-page illustrations from unique designs have been prepared expressly for this edition. handsome paper cover, cents. =battle for bread (the).=--this book contains a series of sermons by rev. t. dewitt talmage, the greatest of living preachers. every workingman and those who employ them should read this book, and thus be informed of the real solution of the question of the relations of labor and capital. mo, pages. paper cover, cents; cloth, cents. =black art exposed (the).=--this book contains some of the most marvelous things in ancient and modern magic, jugglery, etc., ever printed, and has to be seen to be fully appreciated. suffice it to say that any boy knowing the secrets it contains will be able to do things that will astonish all. cents. =blunders of a bashful man (the).=--by the popular author of "a bad boy's diary." this is one of the most humorous books ever issued, and has been pronounced _better_ than "a bad boy's diary." mo, pages. handsomely illustrated from original designs, including also the portrait and autograph of "the bashful man." price, paper cover, cents. =boiler-maker's assistant (the)=, and the theoretical and practical boiler-maker and engineer's reference book. by samuel nicholls, foreman boiler-maker. vol. mo, extra cloth, $ . . =complete fortune teller and dream book.=--this book contains a complete dictionary of dreams, alphabetically, with a clear interpretation of each dream, and the lucky numbers that belong to it. it includes palmistry, or telling fortunes by the lines of the hand; fortune telling by the grounds in a tea or coffee cup; how to read your future life by the white of an egg; tells how to know who your future husband will be, and how soon you will be married; fortune telling by cards; hymen's lottery; good and bad omens, etc. cents. =concert exercises for sunday school.=-- cents each; cents per dozen; per hundred, by mail, postpaid, $ . no. , the christian's journey. no. , the story of redeeming love. 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which secret correspondence may be carried on without fear of detection. no one (even if provided with one of these dials) can decipher it. it is entirely new, and nothing like it has ever appeared. it is simple and reliable and can be used by any person. it will be mailed for cents. =educating the horse.=--a new and improved system of educating the horse. also a treatise on shoeing, with new and valuable receipts for diseases of horses. contents: the great secret of horse-taming; how to throw a horse; the wild colts to halter; break a colt; hitching colt in stall; how to handle a colt's feet; breaking and driving colts to harness; objects of fear; to train a horse to stand when getting into a carriage; balking horses; pulling at halter; to break horses from jumping; pawing in stall and kicking in harness; the runaway horse; shoeing; corns; to teach a horse to appear intelligent; to teach a horse how to dance, waltz, kiss you, shake hands, etc., etc.; cure of sore breasts, big head, big leg, fullness of blood, catarrh; loose bowels, corns, cough, inflammation of eye, brittle feet, sand crack in foot, founder (a sure cure), galled back, grease, inflammation of kidneys, worms, itch, nasal, gleet, over-reaching, staggers, botts, etc., etc.; concluding with rules and regulations for the government of trotting and racing. --> no man who owns a horse can afford to do without this book. it is very thorough, complete and reliable, and well worth a dozen times the price asked for it. it contains matter not to be found in any other horse book. price, cents. =grand wonder collection.=--a wonderful offer. $ . worth of goods for only cents! everything is now very cheap, and people get a good deal more for their money than they used to, but we have no hesitation in saying that never before was so much offered for the money as is offered in this grand wonder collection. it could not be done, only that we expect to sell thousands of them and are fully satisfied that each one sold will sell a dozen more. the contents of the grand wonder collection--comprising seven complete books in one-- . old secrets and new discoveries. . secrets for farmers. . laughing gas. . the swindlers of america. . preserving and manufacturing secrets. . the housewife's treasure. . fourteen popular songs, words and music. --> any person ordering this collection and not fully satisfied, the money will be cheerfully refunded. price, cents. =magic trick cards.=--the magician's own cards, for performing wonderful tricks. every boy a magician! every man a conjurer! every girl a witch! every one astonished! they are the most superior trick cards ever offered for sale, and with them you can perform some of the most remarkable illusions ever discovered. complete illustrated directions accompany each pack. they will be mailed, postpaid, sealed as a letter, for cents a pack. =health hints.=--a new book showing how to acquire and retain bodily symmetry, health, vigor, and beauty. its contents are as follows: laws of beauty--air, sunshine, water, and food--work and rest--dress and ornament--the hair and its management--skin and complexion--the mouth--the eyes, ears, and nose--the neck, hands and feet--growth and marks that are enemies of beauty--cosmetics and perfumery. =fat people.=--it gives ample rules how corpulency may be cured--the fat made lean, comely and active. =lean people.=--it also give directions, the following of which will enable lean, angular, bony or sharp visaged people, to be plump and rosy skinned. =gray hair.=--it tells how gray hair may be restored to its natural color without the aid of dyes, restorers or pomades. =baldness.=--it gives ample directions for restoring hair on bald heads, as well as how to stop falling of the hair, how to curl the hair, etc. =beard and mustache.=--it tells what young men should do to acquire a fine, silky and handsome beard and mustache. =freckles and pimples.=--it gives full directions for the cure of sunburn, freckles, pimples, wrinkles, warts, etc., so that they can be entirely removed. =cosmetics.=--this chapter, among other things, gives an analysis of perry's moth and freckle lotion, balm of white lilies, hagan's magnolia balm, laird's bloom of youth, phalon's enamel, clark's restorative for the hair, chevalier's life for the hair, ayer's hair vigor, professor wood's hair restorative, hair restorer america, gray's hair restorative, phalon's vitalia, ring's vegetable ambrosia, mrs. allen's world's hair restorer, hall's vegetable sicilian hair renewer, martha washington hair restorative, etc., etc. (no room for more), showing how the lead, etc., in these mixtures causes disease and oftentimes premature death. price, cents. =love and courtship cards.=--sparking, courting, and lovemaking all made easy by the use of these cards. they are arranged with such apt conversation that you will be able to ask the momentous question in such a delicate manner that the girl will not suspect what you are at. they may be used by two persons only, or they will make lots of fun for an evening party of young people. there are sixty cards in all, and each answer will respond differently to every one of the questions. price, cents. =miss slimmens' boarding-house.=--by the author of "a bad boy's diary." mo, pages, with nine illustrations. complete edition. paper cover, cents. =housewife's treasure (the).=--a manual of information of everything that relates to household economies. it gives the method of making jackson's universal washing compound, which can clean the dirtiest cotton, linen or woolen clothes in twenty minutes without rubbing or harming the material. this recipe is being constantly peddled through the country at $ . each, and is certainly worth it. it also tells all about soap-making at home, so as to make it cost about one-quarter of what bar soap costs; it tells how to make candles by molding or dipping; it gives seven methods for destroying rats and mice; how to make healthy bread without flour (something entirely new); to preserve clothes and furs from moths; a sure plan for destroying house-flies, cockroaches, beetles, ants, bedbugs and fleas; all about house cleaning, papering, etc., and hundreds of other valuable hints just such as housekeepers are wanting to know. cents. =how to entertain a social party.=--a complete selection of home recreations. profusely illustrated with fine wood-cuts, containing: round games and forfeit games; parlor magic and curious puzzles; comic diversions and parlor tricks; scientific recreations and evening amusements; the blue beard tableaux; tableaux-vivant for acting; the play-room; blind-man's buff; one old ox opening oysters; how do you like it? when do you like it? and where do you like it? cross questions and crooked answers; cupid's coming; proverbs; earth, air and water; yes and no; copenhagen; hunt the hare, and a thousand other games. here is family amusement for the million. here is parlor or drawing-room entertainment, night after night, for a whole winter. a young man with this volume may render himself the _beau ideal_ of a delightful companion to every party. price, cents. =how to woo and how to win.=--this interesting work contains full and interesting rules for the etiquette of courtship, with directions showing how to win the favor of the ladies; how to begin and end a courtship; and how love-letters should be written. it not only tells how to win the favor of the ladies, but how to address a lady; conduct a courtship; "pop the question;" write love-letters; all about the marriage ceremony; bridal chamber; after marriage, etc. price, cents. =odell's system of shorthand.=--by which the taking down of sermons, lectures, trials, speeches, etc., may be easily acquired, without the aid of a master. by this plan the difficulties of mastering this useful art are very much lessened, and the time required to attain proficiency reduced to the least possible limits. price cents. =how to talk and debate.=--contents: introduction; laws of conversation; listening; self-possession; appreciativeness; conversation, when confidential; the matter and the manner; proper subjects; trifles; objectionable subjects; politics; rights of women; wit and humor; questions and negatives; our own hobbies; the voice, how to improve; speaking one's mind; public speaking; how to make a speech; opening a debate; division of the subject; the affirmative; the reply, etc., etc. a really valuable book, and one that every man and woman, boy and girl should possess. cents. =life in the backwoods.=--a guide to the successful hunting and trapping of all kinds of animals. it gives the right season for trapping; how to make, set and bait all kinds of traps, traps for minks, weasels, skunks, hawks, owls, gophers, birds, squirrels, musk-rats, foxes, rabbits, raccoons, etc.; how to make and use bird lime. it gives the english secrets for catching alive all kinds of birds; it tells how to know the true value of skins, as well as how to skin all animals; deodorize, stretch, and cure them; to dress and tan skins, furs and leather; to tan with or without the wool or hair; to skin and stuff birds; baits and hooks for fishing; how to fish successfully without nets, lines, spears, snares, "bobs," or bait (a great secret), how to choose and clean guns; how to breed minks for their skins (hundreds of dollars can be made by any boy or young man who knows how to breed minks), etc. this book is by an old trapper, for many years engaged in trapping in the northwest, who has finally consented to publish and disclose these secrets. persons living where wild animals exist, with some traps and the information contained in this book, can make money faster through the trapping season by giving their time and energies to the business than they can by seeking their fortunes in the gold regions or in oil speculations. this is at once the most complete and practical book now in the market. price, cents. =model letter-writer (the).=--a comprehensive and complete guide and assistant for those who desire to carry on epistolary correspondence--containing instructions for writing letters of introduction; letters of business; letters of recommendation; applications for employment; letters of congratulation; letters of condolence; letters of friendship and relationship; love-letters; notes of invitation; letters of favor, of advice, and of excuse, etc., etc., together with appropriate answers to each. this is an invaluable book for those persons who have not had sufficient practice to enable them to write letters without great effort. cents. =napoleon's complete book= of fate and complete fortune teller.--this is the celebrated oracle of human destiny consulted by napoleon the first previous to any of his undertakings, and by which he was so successful in war, business, and love. it is the only authentic and complete copy extant, being translated into english from a german translation of an ancient egyptian manuscript found in the year by m. sonini, in one of the royal tombs near mount libycus, in upper egypt. this oraculum is so arranged that any question on business, love, wealth, losses, hidden treasures, no matter what its nature, the oraculum has an answer for it. it also shows how to learn of one's fate by consulting the planets. price cents. =ogilvie's house plans; or how to build a house.=--a neat new book, containing over thirty finely executed engravings of dwellings of all sizes, from two rooms up; also churches, barns, and out-houses in great variety. this handy, compact, and very useful volume contains, in addition to the foregoing, plans for each floor in each and every dwelling of which an engraving is given. it has, also, valuable information relative to building, such as number of shingles required in a roof, quantity of plaster for a house, quantity of materials required for building a house, etc., etc., and much other information of permanent and practical value. any one of the plans is alone worth very much more than the price asked for the book. it is invaluable to every architect, builder, mason, or carpenter, and particularly do we urge all who anticipate erecting a new or remodeling an old dwelling to send for a copy, as its fortunate possessor may save hundred of dollars by following the suggestions it contains. cents. =how to behave.=--hand-book of etiquette and guide to true politeness. contents: etiquette and its uses; introductions; cutting acquaintances; letters of introduction; street etiquette; domestic etiquette and duties; visiting; receiving company; evening parties; the lady's toilet; the gentleman's toilet; invitations; etiquette of the ball-room; general rules of conversation; bashfulness and how to overcome it; dinner parties; table etiquette; carving; servants; traveling; visiting cards; letter writing; conclusion. this is the best book of the kind yet published, and every person wishing to be considered well-bred, who wishes to understand the customs of good society, and to avoid incorrect and vulgar habits, should send for a copy. cents. =miss slimmens' window.=--complete edition in one volume now ready. mo, pages. bound in heavy paper covers, with illustrations. cents. =ogilvie's handy monitor and universal assistant=, containing statistical tables of practical value for mechanics, merchants, editors, lawyers, printers, doctors, farmers, lumbermen, bankers, bookkeepers, politicians and all classes of workers in every department of human effort, and containing a compilation of facts for reference on various subjects, being an epitome of matters historical, statistical, biographical, political, geographical and general interest. pages bound in paper, cents. no more valuable book has ever been offered containing so much information of practical value in everyday life. =old secrets and new discoveries.=--containing information of rare value for all classes, in all conditions of society. =it tells= all about _electrical psychology_, showing how you can biologize any person, and, while under the influence, he will do anything you may wish him, no matter how ridiculous it may be, and he cannot help doing it. =it tells= how to _mesmerize_. knowing this, you can place any person in a mesmeric sleep, and then be able to do with him as you will. this secret has been sold over and over again for $ . =it tells= how to make persons at a distance think of you--something all lovers should know. =it tells= how you can charm those you meet and make them love you, whether they will or not. =it tells= how spiritualists and others can make writing appear on the arm in blood characters, as performed by foster and all noted magicians. =it tells= how to make a cheap galvanic battery; how to plate and gild without a battery; how to make a candle burn all night; how to make a clock for cents; how to detect counterfeit money; how to banish and prevent mosquitoes from biting; how to make yellow butter in winter; circassian curling fluid; sympathetic or secret writing ink; cologne water; artificial honey; stammering; how to make large noses small; to cure drunkenness; to copy letters without a press; to obtain fresh-blown flowers in winter; to make good burning candles from lard. =it tells= how to make a horse appear as though he was badly foundered; to make a horse temporarily lame; how to make him stand by his food and not eat it; how to cure a horse from the crib or sucking wind; how to put a young countenance on the horse; how to cover up the heaves; how to make him appear as if he had the glanders; how to make a true-pulling horse balk; how to nerve a horse that is lame, etc., etc.--these horse secrets are being continually sold at one dollar each. =it tells= how to make the eggs of pharo's serpents, which when lighted, though but the size of a pea, there issues from it a coiling, hissing serpent, wonderful in length and similarity to a genuine serpent. =it tells= how to make gold and silver from block tin (the least said about which the better). also how to take impressions from coins. also how to imitate gold and silver. =it tells= of a simple and ingenious method of copying any kind of drawing or picture. also, more wonderful still, how to print pictures from the print itself. =it tells= how to perform the davenport brothers' "spirit mysteries." so that any person can astonish an audience, as they have done. also scores of other wonderful things which there is no room to mention. =old secrets and new discoveries= is worth $ to any person; but it will be mailed to any address on receipt of only cents. =out in the streets.=--by s. n. cook. price, cents. we take pleasure in offering the strictly moral and very amusing temperance drama entitled, "out in the streets," to all entertainment committees as one that will give entire satisfaction. the parts are taken by six male and six female characters. =phunny phellow's grab bag=; or, jolly tid-bits for mirthful mortals.--josh billings, danbury news man and bret harte rolled into one. it is not too much to say that the book contains the choicest humor in the english language. its size is mammoth, containing more than one thousand of the raciest jests, comical hits, exhilarating stories, flowers of wit, excruciating jokes, uproarious poems, laughable sketches, darky comicalities, clowns' efforts, button-bursting conundrums, endmen's jokes, plantation humors, funny caricatures, hifalutin dialogues, curious scenes, cute sayings, ludicrous drolleries, peculiar repartees, and nearly illustrations. cents. =science of a new life (the).=--by john cowan, m.d. a handsome vo, containing over pages, with more than illustrations, and sold at the following prices: english cloth, beveled boards, gilt side and back, $ . ; leather, sprinkled edges, $ . ; half turkey morocco, marbled edges, gilt back, $ . . =some funny things= said by clever children. who is not interested in children? we are satisfied that this book will give genuine satisfaction to all who are interested in listening to the happy voices of children. this will show that humor is not confined to adult minds by any means. pages, cents. the every-day educator or, how to do business. prepared for ambitious americans by prof. seymour eaton. the brightest and best help manual ever issued in this country. each of the numerous departments forms a unique feature. here are the titles of a few: [illustration: how to apply _for a situation_] book-keeping, banking, correspondence, arithmetic, french, german, lessons in electricity, astronomy, penmanship, physical culture, how to write for the press, figure shorthand, lessons in drawing, telegraphy, facts and figures, these bodies of ours, games and puzzles, character in hands, good openings in new trades, u. s. history, public speaking, how to get a start, literature, authors and books. [illustration: rules of order for business meetings] but why go further? get the book and we guarantee you will say it is away ahead of anything you have seen before. =the every-day educator= contains pages. handsomely printed on fine paper. fully illustrated. substantially bound in cloth, and in every respect a perfect specimen of advanced book-making, price, cents; bound in paper cover, cents. sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price. agents wanted. address all orders and applications for an agency to _j. s. ogilvie publishing company, lock box . rose street, new york._ ayer's cherry pectoral [illustration] cures colds coughs throat and lung diseases. transcriber's notes text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=). --> represents a hand pointing right. a table of contents has been added for the convenience of the reader. the original publication did not include a table of contents. obvious typographical errors were repaired, as listed below. other apparent inconsistencies or errors have been retained. missing, extraneous, or incorrect punctuation has been corrected. please note that the hard-copy book used to create this ebook was not in the best condition. as such, some characters were unreadable. the best effort has been made to recreate this book as faithfully as possible. the corner of the cover of the book was torn. thus, the last two digits of the year were missing. the date of copyright was used to complete the cover date. page , "verennes" changed to "varennes". (all his feeling for catherine when isidore was slain at varennes, where billet arrested the king in his flight, was of utter pity.) page , "verginaud" changed to "vergniaud" for consistency. (a speech of vergniaud blasted it.) page , "damouriez" changed to "dumouriez" for consistency. (dumouriez held his tongue for a space, and, being a consummate actor, he regarded the speaker with deep pity.) page , "seaman" changed to "seamen". (they were hardy seamen, rugged peasants, sunburned by the african simoom or the mountain gale, with hands callous from the spade or tough with tar.) page , "mes age" changed to "message". (while he was playing thus, and chatting with roederer, attorney of the province, the message came twice that the king wanted to see him.) page , "your" changed to "you". ("why did you order out the cannon?") page , "fisheman" changed to "fisherman". (the fisherman hooked another, and jerked him out like the first.) page , "one" changed to "on". (on the th of august, the assembly passed the law on domiciliary visits.) page , "boursonnse" changed to "boursonnes" for consistency. (count charny rests in the family vault at boursonnes.) page , "eat" changed to "ate". (... but they found a plain old fellow whom they could not tell from his valet, who ate and drank heartily and slept soundly,...) page , "mirabean" changed to "mirabeau" for consistency. (but they injured the king and the priests, showing up the narrow mind, sharp and ungrateful, of louis, who only hated those who wanted to save him--necker, lafayette, and mirabeau.) page , "robespiere" changed to "robespierre" for consistency. (... the french revolution was led by ange pitou and farmer billet, with citizens danton, marat, robespierre & co., playing the secondary parts.) page , "bans" changed to "banns". (by the way, as a pure republican, pitou was delighted to find that the republic had done away with the publication of the banns and other ecclesiastical trammels which had always galled true lovers.) in the advertisement for =the battle for bread=, the number of pages was unreadable in the original. therefore, an educated guess was made to arrive at the number, . in the advertisement for =the black art exposed=, "cnts" has been changed to "cents" for consistency. ( cents.) in the advertisement for =ogilvie's handy monitor and universal assistant=, "books" has been changed to "book". (no more valuable book has ever been offered containing so much information of practical value in everyday life.)